“ i’m not a social recluse, ” parker shot back without missing a beat, defensive, and then: “ am i a social recluse? ” sure, this kind of suit-and-tie affair with small talk and mingling wasn’t what parker would describe as his scene, and he’d never had much interest in the club scene, but wasn’t he … fairly good at talking to strangers, making friends, going to bars and restaurants and casual events? hadn’t he moved on from those days of debilitating social anxiety that bordered on full-fledged agoraphobia?
— whatever. whether parker had regressed to full social recluse was a problem to work out with his therapist, not over hors d’oeuvres when he knew lottie was teasing—or, at the very least, didn’t mean it in the way that would give him an existential crisis. “ i’ll let you have screeching, bloodthirsty asshole, though. if there’s one thing i admire about you, it’s how you really know how to establish those work-life boundaries like no one else around here does. everyone’s always fucking their coworkers or whatever. ” himself included, technically, but parker loved nothing if not a self-roast, and they’d been together before they both conveniently got themselves hired at masters. it’d been cute, back then—commuting together, meeting for lunch. “ but i’m pretty sure the drinks here are way more free than the drinks at home, because you don’t have to pay for anything with these. you at least had to buy the alcohol back home. that said, yeah, we should absolutely go. i mean, unless you want to go home without me, since i’m such a dick and all. ”
in a single motion, he leaned down, scooped up the heels lottie had just abandoned in one hand ( a familiar move; old habits, and all that ), and started for the elevator that would take them downstairs to the office proper. “ there’s probably some flats in the fashion closet that we can steal for you, right? ” admittedly, he was mostly basing this information on the criterion classic film the devil wears prada, but a vague memory told him there were also multiple incidents where nell had brought home clothes that big-name designers had sent to masters to editorialize. “ if not, i’ll buy you some flip flops. you got the ham and cheese hot pockets? you know those are my favorite. ”
lottie grinned up at him and rested her head against the wall, “you have to be at least 1/8th a social recluse to fuck with me. i can’t be friends with someone who would make me stay at an event like this for any longer than absolutely necessary.” there was a time not-so long ago that lottie frequented overly crowded clubs that wreaked of the bitter tang sweat and alcohol nightly, but after she stopped getting high it stopped being fun––and now there really wasn’t much of anything she enjoyed besides rewatching the same anime over and over again in the same pajamas all weekend. parker had to be a little bit of an introverted hermit if he put up with that.
wrinkling her nose, lottie grimaced and folded her arms over the suede bodice of her dress, “i refuse to fuck anyone who has access to my phone number or knows my last name. can’t risk a google search after i ghost.” after all, her last attempt at a relationship had gone spectacularly wrong. really, her commitment issues were for the benefit of mankind. she tilted her chin and snorted, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “so, when you said you owed me a drink, you mean one from the open bar. i’m touched, carson, truly.”
sighing heavily, lottie padded after parker barefoot, too tired and lazy to insist that she could carry her own shoes. “you’re lucky that you’re my only option,” she grumbled, rubbing at her eyes before realizing far too late that she was actually wearing eyeshadow for once. she looked down at the black smudge on the back of her hand and sighed again, “ooor, you can give me a piggyback ride because you’re the dorky green giant.” she waited exactly five seconds before grinning and leaning her entire weight into his side, “i have a pair of slippers in my desk for emergencies.” also, for daily use, but he didn’t need to know her business. “ham and cheese is the worst kind––but, yes, i have your subpar pockets and pepperoni if you want to develop good taste tonight.”
