>///< the tentacle monster and the human are sOOOOo cute! you have the best brain ever *gives your brain a cookie* may your pillow always be cold!!! you should definitely write a part 3! I love how oblivious the human is 😆
I noticed you mentioned the monster had a body and a mouth! What if his crush brought him some sweets they baked, and while they both eat it at his place, his crush starts fixating on his mouth, trying to see if it's the same as their own. The monster allows them to get closer to see, and after being satisfied, poking around here and there, the human says they're free to explore their own mouth in return as well. While the monster feels their nice warm mouth and tongue with some of his tentacles, his crush gently nips at the end of one tentacle with their teeth to tease him for his nervousness, and absent mindedly plays with another tentacle with their tongue, circling around it and stuff. The human might find their own spit gross, but the monster is secretly fascinated with the feeling of it! 💗 They also love the vibrations that get shot through his tentacles whenever his crush tries to talk with their mouth full of his appendages!! It's kind of addicting.
Thanks again for writing such amazing stuff!!! Also am I weird for being fixated on tentacle stuff now o-o you just write it so well!!
Oooo, thank you for the brain cookie. My brain appreciates it!
It's so much fun writing an oblivious person. But it's even funnier thinking that they understand what's happening the entire time and just go along with it.
I will let you, as the reader, choose if they are aware of the implications of the touches and such. Because either way it's so fun to write.
And yes! I will absolutely write this!!! I am loving our Tentacle Co-Worker. Who I cannot think of a good name for yet. So, they're just going to stay as our Co-Worker!
Warning: suggestive content but no actual nsfw, yearning monster, salvia mentioned and described
𖥸 𖥸 𖥸
You brought him sweets... Oh dear Gods, you were trying to kill him with his own heart. Surely.
You had announced you were coming over that afternoon with a present for your Tentacle Co-Worker and he nearly had a melt-down trying to keep himself calm. First you let him hug you, which now became a common occurrence. And now you were bringing him something home baked?
You didn't understand the significance of this. Why would you? He never explained certain Monster customs because they clashed with the adorable Human ones. He didn't want you to feel embarrassed.
But between his kind, an interested courting person might bring food or a gift to showcase their attraction. It was basically Monster Courting 101.
There was some guilt in his stomach about keeping this from you. A little selfish part of him twisted eagerly to accept your gift. As if this was a step into a romantic relationship.
He would tell you... he definitely would tell you... but maybe after tasting your treats.
You presented the baked goods like they were made of gold. And he cherished them as if they were. They smelled divine. And it took every ounce of his willpower not to gather the entire batch in his tentacles and munch down on them in one gulp.
You prepared a warm beverage for yourself and the two of you sat on the couch to share the treats.
He was one his third helping when he noticed you staring. He paused. The tentacle that carefully cradled the baked item lowered it slowly from the opening between the curtain of limbs over his face.
"What?" He asked, a soft chirp tinkling his tone.
"How do you eat?" You asked. And he was thrilled by your confidence with the question. Over the past few weeks you've become more brazen with your curiosity. It made him happy knowing you've become so comfortable with him to openly ask whatever was on your mind.
"I have a mouth." He replied with a chuckle. "It's... I could just show you if you're comfortable-"
"Yes! I wanna see!" You practically bounced on the cushions beside him with your excitement. And the baked food in his limb almost crumbled when the tentacle clenched from how cute you were being.
Your Co-Worker placed it down before he snapped it. And then faced you fully.
You turned your body in return and wait patiently as the limbs covering him began to shift. Like heavy braids of living hair, the tentacles parted like a fringe to reveal a head deep within the shadows of the tangles. Your eyes widened and he felt your surprise. He didn't exactly know what he looked like. Since he had no eyes to see his reflection. He did know his face was humanoid. A fact he found out after you had let him touch and map your face one time.
However, his features were more skeletal. And he didn't have a nose. Just a flat grey face that split and twisted into a mess of tentacles along his upper skull.
His mouth however, was very monstrous. He had thin black lips that split his face nearly in half. Hiding rows of thin, needle like fangs that filled his mouth like a shredder. When he opened his mouth, the fangs shifted like snake fangs. The hooked tips pointing towards you in a nightmarish pit of teeth and red gums.
Further back, nestled in a slit clean of sharp instruments, was a very long, thin tongue.
You inched closer and your Co-Worker kept unnaturally still when he felt your fingers brush along the angles of his face. Your skin blazed against his. And you found his skin to be smooth like marble and just as cool.
"I don't know what I imagined." You said as your fingers continued to explore his face. His tentacles twitched and curled when your hands trailed down along his neck and felt the boney edges of his shoulders. All hidden behind the curtain of limbs that writhed and petted your hands. "But you're more nightmarish than I thought."
Your Co-Worker wasn't offended. He felt your excitement and intrigue through the flutter of your pulse. He in-fact took it as a compliment.
You moved closer still. And your Co-Worker involuntarily circled your waist with his limbs. The thickest of them took residence against your hips, keeping you close while you practically crawled into his lap.
He kept very still. Thinking of anything other than how warm your body was against his chest. Now that you have found him beneath his tentacles, you seemed absolutely intent on mapping out all of him.
"Is it hard to eat with fangs like that?" You asked and your Co-Worker shook his head.
"I don't actually chew things. I can swallow decently large portions without choking." He showcased this by plucking a baked good off the plate and carefully placed it on his tongue. Which curled around it like a tiny tentacle and drew it deeper into his maw. He closed his lips before you got to see it swallowed.
"Cool." Your fingers found the tip of one of the larger fangs. He felt the pressure and pulled back. His hands emerged from the tangle of limbs and caught your wrist before you managed to cut yourself on the sharp ends.
Before he could warn you of the danger, your attention shifted to the elongated fingers that were now circling your forearms.
"How have we been friends for this long and this is the first time I'm seeing these?" You practically yelled. Your fingers pressed and rotated his hands in yours. Fascinated by the claws and the very large expanse of his palms.
"I don't need to use them when I am made out of hundreds of limbs." Your Co-Worker laughed. Very happy to sit there and be doted on by your curiosity.
But then you said something that shattered his dreamy illusion. "Well, it's only fair that you get to poke around my mouth now my hands have been in yours."
You said it so light-heartedly, so confidently, that he was adamant you didn't know what you were asking.
Sure, he played along with the strange request of yours purely because he craved your touch more than anything. But you openly offering? Now he wasn't so sure if this was appropriate.
"Oh... I don't really think-"
"Come on~ Surely you're curious what a Human mouth feels like too! I don't mind, really!"
It took some convincing and multiple reassurances from you to convince him to lift a tentacle and let you guide him towards your lips.
He knew what this could symbolize. He's heard the mutterings from Human co-workers. The snide remarks from passerbyers about hentai and whatnot... thankfully he didn't have eyes to watch the tip of his tentacle press against your mouth.
But he could feel everything. The smooth, soft skin of your lips. The way your tongue pressed against the underside of his tentacle as he gingerly slid along the hot muscle.
What he believed to be addicting warmth from your skin was nothing compared to the soft, snug confines of your mouth.
You relaxed your jaw so he had ample room to slide the tip against the insides of your cheeks. He felt the scraping of your teeth against his flesh and he had to clamp down on a rippling chuff from deep within his chest. It felt... very good.
Then there was your salvia. Warm and wet. Coating the tip of his limb until your lips passed over his skin smoothly. Free of any friction.
He had to remind himself to breathe.
"You ok?" You asked. Voice muffled from the thick tip occupying half your mouth. "You stopped."
You needed to stop talking because the vibrations from your words were shamefully pleasant against his limb.
He knew he was shaking. And it shamed him when he slid a second smaller tentacle between your lips. Which you welcomed with a soft surprised grunt.
Your Co-Worker nearly crumpled when your tongue swirled over the thin tip. It moved as dexterously as his own tentacles. Petting and swiping along the smooth undersides of his appendages with just as much curiosity as him.
Your fingers intertwined with his. Grounding him in a way he knew you didn't realize. He squeezed your hands and you squeezed right back. A soft reassurance that you were ok.
He couldn't take the shame of it, the addicting warmth that coaxed him deeper, the ideas running through his head - he pulled out. Sighing shakily when the cool air tickled along the wettened tip of his tentacles.
"Is everything ok?" You asked and it mortified him when he felt excitement towards your disappointment.
"Everything's ok. I am just... surprised by how smooth your teeth are." It was a humiliatingly bad attempt at a joke but it at least made you laugh.
"Here let me wipe that off you." It took but a second for him to realize you were going to clean his tentacles and the tips jerked back. Disappearing into the nest of limbs before your hand managed to grab it and wipe away the mess.
"No! Um, it's ok. I don't mind." He said sheepishly. Ignoring how his tentacles attempted to spread the wetness over each other. Coiling and knotting until there was nothing left of your salvia on his skin.
"Sorry if that's disgusting. Humans produce a lot of salvia. I should have warned you."
He would have taken a warning, but not because it was disgusting. But because the feeling of your mouth was indescribably enjoyable. Salvia and all.
"It's ok. It's not disgusting. I..." He promised to be truthful with you. He couldn't lie to you. "I actually don't mind it. Your mouth is... nice."
Oh Gods, smite him now! What a terrible thing to say. Nice? Nice?!
But he couldn't tell you he wanted to keep feeling your tongue on him. That he immensely enjoyed how warm and soft and addicting your tongue felt against his tips.
It was shameful!
"I don't mind the feeling either. Your tentacles, that is. It's probably going to sound weird but the feeling of them on my tongue is kinda of satisfying."
Your Co-Worker was pretty sure his brain malfunctioned.
You...liked it too?
"Maybe later after we eat we can do it again?"
Oh, be still his beating heart. You were welcoming this indecent act? Surely you didn't know what you were doing... surely you were just too innocent or naive....
"Uh... m-maybe that's enough for today. I.. uh.. wouldn't mind just hugging you for now. If that's ok."
Thankfully you didn't push the matter. But dammit, he almost wished you did.
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Synopsis: Hobie invites you to a gig and it doesn't end well.
Word count: 14.2k
Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, co-worker AU, part 2, mockumentary AU, slow burn, co-worker! Hobie, CW alcohol, CW anxiety, a bit of loser! Hobie.
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Part 2 >>> Part 3
The music booms around the bar, bass reverberating against the sticky walls whilst the boom mics had to be toned down unless it'll break from the sheer volume. The glasses on the tables shake from the loud music, it's all felt through your chest. You stand near the bar, draped in black and a clearly borrowed leather jacket that still bears the initials of its owner right on the lapel— MJ.
Spotlights flicker in and out in the darkened room as the cameras hone in on your bobbing head and shining eyes. Your face says you're having fun, but from how you hug yourself and how you make your presence smaller by hiding behind the cheering crowd— you look uncomfortable to say the least. The music is nice while you tap your foot to the rhythm, but the new place and unfamiliar faces meld together in harmony to make you feel as out of place as possible.
Pursing your lips together as your gaze falls on Hobie's bare arms down to his lithe fingers playing the guitar expertly, you feel like a creep at your obvious ogling of your co-worker. Your hand feels frozen around your drink, as you take a sip, expecting the warm concoction to ebb through you, there's nothing left but a drop of it. You frown, eyes roaming around the noisy venue, trying to look for MJ until it stops at the out of place camera crew all huddled around in the corner.
Blinking, you narrow your eyes at them, realization flits across your face and morphs into shock and disgust.
“Fuckers.” You say, muffled and quiet enough to not be picked up by the boom mic as you place your glass on the table with a thud.
The documentary crew dodges the dancing crowd and elbows flying around as they get to you. All the while you try to escape from them by weaving through the crowd.
“Is that a dog?” Your eyes catch a four legged friend. You pause in the thick of it, pointing at an actual dog being carried around on someone's shoulders. It's meant to be a distraction for the camera crew, but it has you stopping by to look at the very happy dog getting pet by everyone.
The crew doesn't believe it at first while they're still a few steps behind you, but as you continue to point at the dog, they wrench the cameras away from you to film the dancing dog in the crowd. When they look back at you, you're already gone.
The numerous sweaty limbs uncomfortably brushing along your arms as you dodge people has your skin crawling. The cameras still follow you around like paparazzi as Hobie's band continues to play, adrenaline flowing through the lunch club as they play and sing their hearts out. You almost make it out towards the bathroom, but you're stopped by the owner of the jacket you're currently wearing.
“Woah, where are you heading out to? I got your refill.” The redhead shows you a half empty glass of your preferred drink as she places a hand on your shoulder. You sigh and look behind you, finding that they're now filming you and hounding you. MJ notices them, and tries to shoo them away with a sharp glare. They take a step back, and only that.
You fully face the camera and get hit straight on by the bright light held by a crew member. Shielding yourself with your hand over your eyes, you look like you're about to hit them.
“Why are you all even here? It's Saturday!” You yell above the loud music, peripheral picking up Hobie looking at you, or behind you as MJ steps in between you and the camera.
“C’mon, guys, leave the girl alone.” Her words are slightly slurred around, clearly tipsy from drinking.
The producer tries to say something, and you only pick up the words, ‘contract’, and ‘obligated’ above the sound of the raging crowd and the guitar riff on stage. You take a glimpse at the show and you almost fall backwards from how Hobie's making his guitar sing with his expert movements.
“Obligated for what?” MJ asks for you, body nudging your own when her balance fails her.
“To film some drama!” This time, the producer yells above the sound.
“Drama? There's no drama here! It's just us hanging around!” The audience's clapping falls in your deaf ears. “Go away, we're not at work!”
Just as you say it, Hobie jumps off the stage, instruments and all. Even the cameraman has a shocked look on his face. Before you could react, ears still ringing from the prolonged loud sound banging around in your eardrums, and the shining light blaring in your eyes, you're overwhelmed by everything. The alcohol in your system doesn't help. Hobie siddles up next to you, an after show musk coupled up with burgundy wafts on your nose. His elbow perches on your shoulder, eyeing the lenses that stare back at him.
“Hobie—”
“Y’know, ‘m not one to complain ‘bout shit like this but,” he pokes the lense, smudging it with his index finger. “Stay the fuck away, yeah? Or I'll get your little show cancelled before it premieres on shitty cable.”
The producer grumbles and glares at Hobie before leading the rest towards the far end of the bar. After a quick wipe on the lense, they continue to film your group from a distance. At least they're not in your space anymore.
“Thank you, Hobie—”
“Hobie, our knight in shining armor!” MJ exclaims, warm breath fanning across your cheek as the cold drink spills all over your front.
“Shit, MJ!” You flinch away, frantically wiping at your blouse that now smells of alcohol and regrets.
“Fuck, I'm sorry!” She grabs a napkin from the nearby table to the dismay of its occupants. Fruitlessly dabbing on your blouse and smudging the wetness even more.
Hobie takes a handkerchief from his pocket and gives it to you. “I think your friend ‘ere has had too much to drink, love.”
“Thank you.” You give him an apologetic look as you desperately try to dry yourself off.
You wince at how you probably look like in front of him and his band right now. Hobie looks handsome in his leather and metal getup complete with mascara running down his cheeks. You never thought that running mascara would look good on anyone, but here's Hobie proving you wrong once again just like the fishnets decorating his arms that are in full display from his sleeveless shirt. A sleeveless shirt is a generous way to call it as it's ripped from his armpit down to his lean stomach. You feel lightheaded.
To add insult to injury, the rest of his band appears from the stage. Sweat clinging on their brows, instruments still in their hands as they look at you with unfamiliarity.
“Yeah, sorry, h–hi.” You laugh nervously, eyes roaming around the familiar faces and new ones that accompany him. “I made it— we made it.” MJ is still trying to wipe at your probably see through blouse right now. But Hobie's eyes are staying right on your face, you can't say the same thing to one of his blond mates though. Grabbing the edges of the leather jacket, you close it around yourself and make your roommate stop fussing around you.
“Hey!” MJ stumbles backwards but Hobie catches her with a firm hand around her wrist. “Thanks, dude.” She clumsily winks, and you regret letting her out of your sight for five minutes when she went to the bathroom.
“Sure,” Hobie smiles just as a pink spotlight illuminates his face. You're sure the camera crew are having a field day, and you're definitely going to complain to O’Hara when you get back to work. Clearing his throat, he sidles up next to you once again, palm placed on your shoulder and nudging you in place. “Meet the band, this ‘ere is Yuri.” He points towards a woman with slicked back hair and dark shadow around her brown eyes.
“Hey,” she nods at you, spiked earrings moving around. “I met your friend in the bathroom before we played, I had to stop her from calling her ex.”
“Thanks?” You eye MJ, and she cowers away from you teasingly as she hides behind Yuri, who only chuckles at her. “I—I mean, nice to meet you Yuri.”
Hobie grins as he continues to introduce you to his friends, including the blond aka James, who's six foot two and looks like he came out of a magazine catalogue. Giving a spare glance at MJ, whose head is lolling back, but with Yuri's help, she's kept upright. “This one's Ned, my roommate, who's leavin’ me for some fancy school.”
Ned rolls his dark eyes at Hobie, keyboard placed next to him as he gives you a hand to shake. “He's overdramatic,” you take it with a smile and let go not a moment longer. “I'm just moving to a dorm.” Hobie dramatically pouts, chin placed on your shoulder that he immediately moves away after what his adrenaline made him do. Ned gives him a knowing smile, one that the camera didn't miss out on. “Still going to be in the same city, I might add.”
“Nice to meet you, Ned. And I'm getting used to his overdramatic self.” You say, and Hobie nudges your side with feigned offense.
“You better get used to it, I think you two will hangout more.” Ned raises his brow at Hobie with a snicker.
“‘course they will.” Gwen clicks her tongue, arm looped over Miles’ shoulder, who doesn't seem like he minds it very much as he holds onto her hand gingerly.
Hobie gives her his middle finger as he leans against you. “You're jus’ jealous that I let her in the mailroom, Gwendy—”
A loud gasp and then a squeal can be heard from MJ, eyes wide as she gazes behind you. The whole group turns towards the bar where a familiar set of faces sits and waves her down.
“Mary Janes!” MJ bolts towards them, arms flailing around excitedly while her band meets her halfway.
You wince, thinking that your friend has ruined her first impression, and in turn yours.
As you turn towards Hobie, there's a smile on his face and eyes twinkling in the light as he watches MJ and her band embrace and jump for joy at the reunion. He notices your eyes on him, and as he meets with yours, his smile turns into a grin, piercings shimmering and hand splayed over your back. You're entranced by him, lips smiling bashfully as you feel your heartbeat quickening the longer he gazes upon you.
“They seem excited.” Yuri's voice smacks you out of your stupor.
Hobie looks away, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows down thickly. He coughs on his fist, hand falling away from your back to your slight disappointment. He still stays in place, elbow to elbow and shoulder to shoulder right next to you.
“Y–Yeah, they're always like that even though they see eachother everyday.” You manage to let out despite your wobbly legs.
“We should introduce ourselves.” James says as he combs his hair with his fingers and fixes his shirt.
Ned raises a brow at James as he saunters over to the all girl group. “I gotta make sure he doesn't get punched this time.” With a sigh, he follows his bandmate.
“I think I know the purple haired one.” Yuri murmurs, and slowly walks over to the bar with her eyes straining to have a look. “Oh shit, I definitely do.” She quickly walks towards them, even overtaking James and Ned.
You see MJ mouth something to her bass player, and the band's eyes collectively move towards the man standing next to you. They smile and beckon him and the rest of the band over.
“Good thing we have to leave before we have to socialise.” Gwen says, looping her arm around Miles’ shoulder. “Study at my place again, Miles?”
Miles visibly stiffens, mouth in a straight line. You swear you can see a bead of sweat dribble off his temple. “S–Sure.”
“You guys are leaving already?” You ask, smiling as Gwen holds out her fist to you. Awkwardly fist bumping her, Miles nods at you. An attempt to make a coherent farewell while Gwen still has her arm around him.
“Yeah, homework. College sucks, man.” She clasps Hobie's shoulder. “Take care of her, wanker.” She chuckles out, copying his accent.
“Sure, knobhead.” Hobie waves them off, watching as the pair walks out of the bar with Gwen's drum sticks sticking out of her back pocket and Miles lugging his guitar case. “Those two better have real homework for bailin’ on us. Did you like the show?” He asks, biting his lip.
“They're driving home?” You ask, worried about them. Your eyes glance over to his lips before flicking back to his brown eyes. “Yeah, I loved it. You were great— and the band too.”
“Don't worry about them, they're sober.” Hobie lingers next to you. “And thanks, love. I thought you wouldn't show up.”
“I couldn't miss it.”
“Too bad Pav ain't ‘ere, he fancies meetin’ other bands.”
“Oh, what happened to him?”
“Got himself sick after takin’ care of Gayatri.” He sighs as he leans against the wall casually with his hands tucked inside his pockets.
“That's too bad.” Glancing at the bar, you see them making introductions and it looks like they're all hitting it off. “Aren't you going to join them?” You nudge his boot with your own.
“Aren't you?” He raises a pierced brow, the corner of his lip tugging into a subtle smile as red lights flicker in and out of his face.
“I have to clean myself up before I make a fool out of myself even more.” You chuckle nervously, the lack of humour from your tone has Hobie standing up straight.
“You didn't do anythin’ foolish, love.”
“I smell like beer, and I'm not in my own clothes. I feel and smell silly.”
He twists in place, head laying against the wall as he turns his full attention on you. “You do smell like a pub right now.”
You groan, eyes closing briefly like you're in pain. “More reason to head to the bathroom and clean myself up.” Turning around to head towards the restrooms, Hobie reaches for your wrist, tugging you back in place.
“I like pubs.” He says a bit sheepishly as his hand remains braceleted around your wrist.
You feel like you're about to choke on your own breath. And the two of you haven't realized that the cameras are now situated right next to you and Hobie, a lot more sneaky this time as they use the darkness of the bar to their advantage.
“But why aren't you in your own clothes?” Hobie asks, genuinely concerned for you.
“I—” the cameras capture your wobbling lips and blown out irises. “I just thought I'd stick out like a sore thumb if I went in wearing my regular clothes.”
Hobie smiles, a softness etched in his smile lines and eyes slowly blinking at you. All the while the documentary crew records the whole thing with bated breath.
“Yeah, but you'll be yourself. That's better than tryin’ to blend in with the rest of the crowd.”
You inhale shakily, insecurity gnawing at the back of your neck. “Who would want that?” It's meant as a joke, a self deprecating one that's only targeted to yourself but a joke nonetheless.
“I would.” Hobie says matter-of-factly. “I might've seen you sooner while I was on stage. If you're uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else. Bail on these arseholes.”
“I'm not uncomfortable— well, not because I don't want to be here. I do want to be here.” You ramble on and he listens wholeheartedly. “It's just…I get nervous around new people, and being at a new place…it's just I don't know.”
“Nah, I do know.” He pats your bicep, palm warm as he lingers there for a second. “If it gets too much, tell me, and I'll drive you home or somewhere quieter.”
Biting your lip, you take a leap and take one step closer to him. You think he's about to move away from you, but he adjusts his position so you're perfectly in place in front of him; so that he can see your eyes illuminated by the spotlights. Your knee brushes along his own, and his hand grows closer to your hand, fingers dangling on the jacket's sleeve, mere inches from the back of your hand. A comfortable silence wafts over the two of you. After a beat, you finally talk.
“The coolest thing I have in my closet is a brown corduroy jacket and these boots.” You gesture by lifting your foot up to show him your high heeled boots with dangling stars on the laces. “And maybe a pair of spiky earrings that I bought when I was in highschool.” Chuckling, you try not to let your shyness ebb out ever since MJ managed to persuade you to get out of your well worn shell.
Hobie smiles with every word you uttered. “That sounds like a bloody good outfit, love. It suits you.”
“Maybe I'll wear that next time— I mean— if there's another show?” Your brave face falters.
He can't help but be endeared by your flusteredness. “We have another one if you're free on December twenty four, only if you can make it. It's a long shot, ‘m sure you have plans with mates and family.”
You nod a bit too enthusiastically, so you try to act more smooth by slowing your nodding. You have no idea if you look as suave as you think you are when you're probably smiling at him like you've won a car. Then it hits you, he's a colleague.
The fact that he's your co-worker at your very new job, a job that's still teetering you on the edge of unemployment whether you do good in the next six months or not. Maybe it's better if you just stay professional with him. Or at least just be friends, and you can't bring yourself to ruin what you currently have with Hobie so you'll keep talking to him. But if it's heading in the direction towards what you think it's going, you have to rein it in before you end up in the streets. Or worse, back in your parents house. It's just a well meaning crush anyway.
The cameras zoomed in on your face has a front row seat to your internal dilemma through your micro expressions that Hobie isn't privy to.
“I’ll see, I–I have to check first, it's the holidays after all.”
“Yeah, ‘course, love. No pressure.” Hobie beams, as if the prospect of your maybe was just as good as a yes.
“Do I have to bring a gift?” You joke, poking his stomach that you immediately regret after feeling the lean muscle underneath. If HR was here, you'd be in trouble.
Chuckling, Hobie shakes his head, trying to ignore the calling of his name from the other side of the bar. “Nah, but I won't say no to a present from you though.”
You snort, nodding awkwardly as your bout of bravery wavers away into the sounds of the bar. “Okay.”
“Hobie! Bruv!” James yells for him so loudly that half of the dancefloor looks towards the source.
Hobie groans, head falling down to his clavicle before turning towards him and flipping the bird. “Right, ‘m comin’” You smile as he cranes his head back to you. “C’mon then, they're an impatient lot.” He tugs you by your sleeve, but you stay in place.
You look between the waiting group then to Hobie. “I need to get cleaned up first, it's starting to get sticky.”
“Right, I forgot, go ahead I'll wait for you outside.” He lets your sleeve go, hands placed back inside his pockets as he gestures towards the bathroom right next to the stage.
“Oh no, it's fine. Go to them, I'll survive being alone for a few minutes.”
“You sure?” You nod as his face flickers with concern. “D’you have the handkerchief I gave you?”
“Yeah,” you take the said hanky out of your pocket. “Here, thanks again.”
“Keep it, love.” He laughs as the backdrop of dancing and wild lights frame around him.
“Shit, right, sorry, I need to wash it first.” Shoving the cloth down, you internally curse yourself.
“Nah, I meant that you should keep it.” Hobie starts walking backwards casually as the yelling of his name gets louder and louder that he's sure that they're gonna kick his band and the Mary Janes out of the pub.
“Wait, are you sure?” You ask him again just to be sure that he truly meant that he's giving it to you, but his figure is already retreating away with a smirk on his lips.
Watching him and the band together with your roommate and mutual friends brings a smile to your face. Even the smell of alcohol clinging to your front and your botched attempt at trying to act cool in front of your handsome co-worker couldn't ruin your night. Now all you have to do is clean yourself up and prepare your social battery for all the talking you're about to do. Going out of your shell might not be so bad after all.
Until you notice the sneaky cameras that is.
—
After much scrubbing and awkwardly drying your blouse under the bathroom’s hand dryer, you come out of it like a new woman who only faintly smells like booze.
The bar is still alive and in full swing just as you left it. An unfamiliar band plays on stage, hyping up the dancers. Spotlights flicker in and out to the beat, multicoloured lights illuminating your way towards the bar.
As you walk by a table, you notice the camera crew still inconspicuously (or trying to be) recording you.
“Really? Do you guys have nothing better to do?” You give up and decide to just ignore them from now on.
Dodging bodies and trays of drinks, you finally make it to the bar where your friends are. The place has gotten rowdier and nosier as more patrons filter through the doors. You smile as the bar is busier than ever, serving more people than when you left it. You look over to where you last saw them, only to find that strangers are now occupying the seats.
“Oh.” Your heart plummets down to your stomach, but you go on, roaming around the whole bar and doing laps to look at every table and every seat to find them. After going around the whole place three times, you end up back at the bar with a worried frown.
With the documentary crew still following you, you refuse to ask them for help when you've decided to ignore them.
“What's your poison?” The bartender asks you above the booming house music.
“Uh,” your hands involuntarily shakes. “Have you seen a red head with the band that played here?”
“That's not a drink order.” He says with a heavy tone.
“Please?”
You ask nicely, and his tough guy persona crumbles with a sigh. “Impossible to not notice them with a whole ass crew following right behind them.” He rolls his eyes, he's even annoyed at the cameras. “They went out for a smoke, but that was a long time ago. Paid their tab though.”
Relief washes over you as your stiff shoulders sag. “Thank you.” Quickly going outside, the cold hits your face like a train. “F–Fuck.”
It wasn't this cold when you got here, the freezing breeze nips at your cheeks, blowing at your lashes harshly and making you squint. The overcast sky greets you as you look up, grey clouds floating above. It looks like it's about to rain.
You hug your jacket tighter around yourself as you step fully outside into the street. Your jeans don't help much in protecting you from the cold, and your borrowed leather jacket feels like a denim jacket in a blizzard. At least it's not raining or worse, snowing. Your heeled boots would make you slip and crack your skull if there's sleet on the concrete.
“O–Okay.” You make your way towards an alleyway next to the bar where you surmise where people smoke. As you go around the building, you see a few people there but none of them have familiar faces. “Shit.” Your teeth start to chatter as you turn back around only to find the camera pointing right at you. You still refuse to even acknowledge them when you return towards the bar doors.
“Sorry, we're full.” The bouncer bars you from entering with a muscular arm stopping you. There's now a line around the building that you just notice through your slight panic.
“What?”
“We're full, sorry.”
“You just interchanged the words.” You huff, brows knitted together in worry. “Please, it's cold out here.”
“Go someplace else, kid.” He says gruffly, shooing you away before shutting the door right on your face. “There's a line, wait like the others.”
“What the fuck?” You've had enough and you grab your phone from your pocket. As you click it open, the screen doesn't wake and you're met with a black screen with your reflection staring back at you. You keep pressing the screen in hopes that it'll open, but to no avail. “F–Fuck.” You shiver in place, remembering that you forgot to charge it this morning.
The producer taps your shoulder and tries to hand you her phone.
“No, thank you.” With a frown, you put your foot down, shove your phone back in your pocket and continue walking towards the direction of the bus stop or what you think is where the nearest bus stop is.
“Other direction—” the man behind the camera says and you huff and turn the other way with your hands shoved in your pockets.
Your heels click against the pavement, body shivering as you feel like a walking popsicle. The sadness hasn't reached you yet, not when your fury keeps you warm. How could they just up and leave you like that? How could they even forget you? A whole ass person, and their friend? Especially MJ, whom you share a half of a locket with.
As you stop your marching, the camera pauses right with you as they stay further back. Your lip wobbles, sniffing and hands feeling numb. They forgot you, just when you finally feel like you're seen. Hobie forgot you.
Chest aching, and with a sob threatening to claw up and escape, you bite your lip that you almost draw blood. The fists hidden inside your pockets shakes, nails digging into your palms harshly and leaving crescent shapes on your skin. The producer pleads with you to ride in their van so you don't have to tread the cold but you insist with a glare and continue to ignore them.
“Y–You should go.” Your teeth clack against each other, while the soles of your feet now feel numb. The October weather isn't agreeing with you right now. “I can go on my o–own.”
“You'll freeze, and it looks like it's going to rain.” The cameraman says with frustration, “we can call you a cab.”
“I’m close to the stop, you don't—” you chase your breath. “You don't have to.” But you're starting to feel that walking to the bus stop might not have been the best idea. Maybe if you just admit defeat to the crew you'll be warm and cozy at home in no time.
You're so cold that you don't notice the car following right behind you.
“Let's at least go someplace—”
“Y/N?” A familiar voice calls out.
You stop, face lighting up with hope, only to find the source of the voice as someone you never thought you'd see outside of work. “Harry?”
He parks his car, leaning over the empty passenger seat to look at your shaking form. “What're you doing out here? You'll freeze to death.” He glances at the crew following right behind you. “Christ, they got you too, huh?” With a roll of the window on the backseat, he shows another set of camera and crew sitting behind him. “O’Hara's new memorandum is bullshit by the way.”
You could only shiver in place, not having enough warmth left to ask what he's talking about.
“Shit, you'll get frostbite. Get in.” Harry opens the door for you, and you shake your head. “I don't want to be responsible for Layla’s favourite dying on my watch. Please.”
“I–I can just go to the bus stop.” Your lips feel like icicles. And it's not even snowing.
“That's miles away from here.” His voice is laced with genuine concern.
“I don't— don't want to intrude.” There's clouds of smoke billowing out of your lips now that the cold has picked up. Maybe it's about to snow. “And I don't know you, you might be a murderer or something.”
Harry laughs, the least you expect from someone as straight faced as him. “There's literally cameras following us.”
“That's— that's still a no on the murderer part t–though.”
“If you don't get in and I let you stay out there then I'll definitely be a murderer.” His nose scrunches up, smiling at you. “And I really don't want to get fired.”
You look straight towards the cameras, before you could refuse again, raindrops drip down from the sky and towards the tip of your nose. That decides it for you. With a few steps, you enter Harry's car. The warm seats immediately make you melt into the leather chair. You put on your seatbelt and close the door to let the warmth stay as you sigh in your seat.
“You get in too.” Harry tells the camera crew that was following you to get in after you. “It'll be a tight squeeze but I'm sure you'll make do.”
You don't even realize that the car is now moving when you feel your tired and cold bones melting into the seat and your heavy lidded eyes overtake you.
“Hey don't fall asleep or you might not wake up.” Harry nudges your shoulder.
That has you immediately opening your eyes. “What?”
“You might have hypothermia.”
You scoff, “I don't have hypothermia.”
“Sure,” Harry smiles. “Show me your fingers, they might be purple.”
“I'm not showing you my fingers, Harry.” You hide your frozen hands inside your coat.
“You weren't saying that when you cut your hand with the stapler.” He says with a lilt, camera lenses moving in on his expression and your embarrassed ones. “Seriously, we should give you safety staplers instead.”
“You had the first aid kit!” You nervously laugh as he mirrors your smile, remembering how gentle he was while dabbing antiseptic to your ‘grievous’ wound. “I had to show you.”
“And thanks to my medical skills you still have your hand.” He jokes, emerald eyes shining in the rearview mirror.
“I already said thank you for the band-aid, Harry.” You roll your eyes, sniffing as you can finally feel your toes. “Are safety staplers even a thing?”
He makes a face, shrugging as he waits for the stoplight to turn green. “I dunno, maybe. So where am I dropping you?”
“So you're not going to ask?” You awkwardly shift in your seat.
“No, it's none of my business. Unless you're in trouble or hurt. Are you either of those?” He says with concern, eyes flicking over to your shivering form.
“No.”
“Then it's not my business to ask. So where to, ice princess?”
You scoff at the nickname, the sound akin to a flustered giggle. “Just the nearest bus stop is fine.”
“We passed that a long time ago, newbie. You're clearly not from around here.” The car idles in place, engine whirring in your ears.
“I'm not. And fine, just don't tell anyone else where I live—” you suddenly remember the cameras behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you narrow your eyes at them. “I want my street to be blurred out.”
The producer sighs but nods in agreement. Harry snickers with amusement.
“If you're not from here, where are you from exactly?”
“I'm not doing the whole…” you gesture around you, “...thing with you.”
“You don't like me very much, do you?” Harry raises a brow, briefly glancing at you. He doesn't sound hurt from your words, just genuine curiosity.
“I like you enough, you're my co-worker and I literally just met you. Would you tell someone you just met your life story?” You can definitely see Harry being a friend and not just a co-worker in the future, but you're still getting used to this life and making friends seems harder now that you're older. He's friendly to you at work and he once walked you to the bus stop and waited for you to get on when you both had to work late. He's kind at least, a good criteria to have as a friend.
“I do actually, that's how first dates usually go.”
“Well, this isn't a date so.” You say, immediately regretting being rude. “I—”
“You never know. Maybe next time it'll be one.” Harry says it so casually that it has you gawping at him for a second before looking back at the road. In the corner of your eye, you see him clenching his teeth, probably cringing and regretting his comment. The car starts again, and the silence hovers above you. “Address then? Unless you want me to keep driving around blindly.”
You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. From embarrassment? Maybe. But definitely not from an uncomfortable feeling. You can't deny that his brown locks and green eyes aren't pretty. Well, not Hobie pretty, but still, handsome enough that has you flicking your eyes at his side profile. Hobie seems to hate the guy, but you still don't know why he could hate him when he's decent and seems to be nice enough to you. Perhaps there's something going on between them. A tiff or even something more? The thought provokes you as you hatch a plan to know the reason why Hobie glares at the man during meetings and when he's doing his rounds. Meanwhile Harry isn't phased by it, not ignoring him per se, indifferent more like.
As the camera crew stops filming due to the lull in conversation, you guide Harry to your place. Would it hurt to give your saviour a cup of tea before he heads in his way?
—
“Shit!” Hobie honks the van’s horn loudly, the camera behind him shakes from the sudden stop. “C’mon pick up the bloody phone!” Your caller ID blinks out as the call drops after a few rings. “Damn it.” He shakes his head at the traffic while the rain is finally rolling to a stop, now a slight drizzle.
Being the designated driver for tonight did not give him any favours. At least he saw you in all your glory without the haze of alcohol in his veins. But with him being the only sober one in the group, he had to drive everyone else to James' lest something unsavoury happens to them.
The scene shifts to back at the bar, the bass hitting him right in the chest as he glances at the bathroom door to check in on you from time to time. Hobie catches the cameras doing the same thing, filming the door and Hobie's face as he waits and sighs in his seat while everyone else were having shots and laughing.
“Fuck off.” He mouths, flipping the bird at the cameras. It's blurred but still recognizable thanks to the crappy blur. The other half of the crew are nowhere to be seen, maybe out for a smoke break.
A shrill gasp can be heard, and the camera hones in on MJ, who's bouncing on her feet.
“We should all go!”
That doesn't bode well in Hobie's ears as he tries to pry Yuri's twelfth shot from her hands. “Go where?”
“To James'!” James himself slurs, raising his glass as everyone else is cheering for him.
The thing with bands drinking together is that within fifteen to twenty minutes the drinking could put a sailor to shame. But with Hobie's band and MJ's band combined together, it only took ten minutes for them to get the bartender's signature disappointed shake of his head.
“Wait—!” Before Hobie could voice out his protest for you, who's still missing out on the fun, the rest are already drunkenly putting on their jackets as James wobbles on his feet and closes the tab. He sees that James definitely overpaid as the rest head out. With the van keys dangling in between Ned’s not-so-sober fingers, he groans and briefly glances at the door in hopes to see you coming out. Still no you though.
“Shit.” He panics, grabbing a napkin on the counter and plucking a pen from the bar that he had to go over the counter in an awkward way to fetch it. He side-eyes the camera on him, grimacing that they captured the scene in 4k. With a hasty scrawl of explanation of where they went, he writes that he'll come back for you. After a quick look, he calls the bartender. “Oi, mate,” the man shifts his gaze at the note with a bored gaze. “Can you give this to someone for me?”
“Depends, what's in it for me?”
“‘m with the group that just tipped you a fifty, bruv.”
He rolls his eyes and opens his palm begrudgingly. “Fine.”
“Thanks, she's wearin’ a leather jacket and is probably followed by a camera crew, yeah?” Hobie hurries, walking backwards until the man nods. The docu crew follows behind him, adding to his annoyance.
He only hopes that the bartender gave you the message, he'd hate it if you thought that they abandoned you. Well, the rest did, even your own roomate did, but not him as he races down the street to get to the same pub.
Finding a parking spot was a horror show, with desperation, he parks the car next to another on the street, turning on the hazard lights. The car door slams, not missing another minute of leaving you alone. The crew had to quickly run after him, camera shaking in place as they sprint after him.
There's a long line outside the bar that wasn't there before, and now he knows why they got the time slot in the hip bar.
Hobie heaves, a dried leaf crunches under his boots as he calls for the bouncer. “Mate, can you let me in, ‘m jus’ gonna pick up a friend.”
“I've heard that before, dude, no chance in hell.” He gets barred by the security guard with a burly hand on his chest.
Hobie curses internally as a car honks for him to get the van off the street. “Listen, ‘m just gonna do a quick run around to see if she's there. C’mon, bruv, she's alone in there.” He gestures towards the door, voice rising an octave as he worries about you.
“Well, shouldn't have left her all alone in there then.”
He can't even argue with that when he did exactly that. The car honks again, looking over his shoulder to see a few more cars lining up to get around the van. “Fuck.” At least this makes compelling TV as the crew doesn't even move to help him.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he races off towards the sides of the place, looking around the building for you, hoping that you're waiting outside. But hopefully not with the freezing cold nipping at his cheeks. To his dismay and increasing worry, he only finds unfamiliar faces.
His hands reach to the back of his neck, anxiety crawling up his spine. Patting his pockets, he feels for his phone until he realizes that he left it inside the van. Leaves crunches underfoot as he makes his way towards it, grumbling, shoulders hunched with a whole film crew following behind.
“Wait!” The bouncer's gruff voice calls him back. “Did your friend have a camera guy with her too?”
Hobie immediately runs to him. “You've seen her?”
“Yeah, she left an hour ago, man. Probably grabbed a cab or walked.”
“Walked?” He says, eyes widening. The first words flying over his head. “Which direction?”
“I don't fucking know, I closed the door behind her.”
“You—” Hobie points accusingly at the man but reins his frustration in, pinching the bridge of his nose. Instead of cursing the guy out after helping him, he returns back to the van with his brows furrowed deeply.
The crew doesn't look worried for you, not even a bit. Hobie knows that you have at least two people with you since the documentary crew split up, but he can't help but be concerned when he's the one who invited you and left you behind. You probably think of him as a bad friend.
“You're welcome!” The bouncer shakes his head, pushing a guy away from him when they try to sneak past him.
He fishes for his phone, dialing MJ’s number. The ringing sound has him clenching his teeth as he drives away.
—
It took a while to get coherent words from MJ as he tries to decipher the address she's giving on the phone. If the loud music booming from his speakers were any indication, the party's just getting started. Hobie doesn't care enough to listen to their drunken chanting of his name when he’s out here looking for you. He's thinking about giving them a wakeup call and telling them that they left you at the bar all alone. Especially to your roommate. But he has to find you safe and sound first.
“What if she's at the hospital?” The cameraman asks him, lenses roaming around the sticker filled van.
“You're not helpin’, Jericho.” Hobie huffs, not an ounce of humour in his tone.
“I'm just saying that she has two people with her, she's probably fine—”
“Shut it, we're ‘ere.” He parks the car right in front of the red bricked flat. The place is a classic house that was turned into an apartment sometime in the early 2000s. He can tell that it has three floors for each tenant and by how there's three mailboxes by the main door.
Hobie doesn't waste time in bracing the cold again to check on you. The camera follows behind, red light blinking as he resists the urge to punch its lights out.
Climbing the steps, he looks for the doorbell with yours or MJ’s name on it. Weirdly enough, he doesn't see either one. Jericho, the camera man taps his shoulder, using the camera to point towards the basement where stairs lead down to the side of the house.
He glances at the man then over to the steps as he grumbles a thanks. Making quick work of the stairs by climbing down two steps at the time, Jericho hurries along to catch up to him.
Hobie pauses in front of the window, chest heaving from the exercise and eyes staring through the glass. The lenses follow his line of sight, seeing his co-worker, Harry, sitting comfortably in the small sofa with you appearing from the side with a smile to hand him a steaming mug.
Hobie sighs in relief when he sees you, but with Harry in your flat, in your living room no less, has him turning around and climbing up the stairs.
The camera tries to follow him, but Hobie stops on the last step, back turned away from the camera. For a moment, he stands there, staying still.
With a clench of his fists, he runs back down to the landing, knocking on your door.
The camera captures Hobie's clenched jaw, and your surprised expression when you heard the sharp knock. You tell Harry to wait, and he smiles softly at you as you leave. Your footsteps hurry towards the door, cracking it open to see Hobie's strained smile.
“Hobie—! How— Hi?” You glance at the cameraman next to him, filming you two and not giving you two some privacy.
“Hi.” Hobie could only say as Harry leans on the armrest to look at who's at the door. He gives Harry an acknowledging nod, curt enough to be polite, not friendly though as his lips are stretched into a line as he stares coldly. “I went back to pick you up.”
“Oh.” You play with the string of your hoodie, “You guys kind of left so I–I just walked home. Harry saw me and drove me home though, so that's…good.”
Hobie winces, face deeply apologetic. “Fuck, ‘m sorry, everyone else were drinkin’ and they wanted to leave and I couldn't just let them drive off.” His eyes drift down to your fluffy indoor shoes, and he realises that it's the first time that he has seen you in comfy clothes, looking more relaxed unlike your office outfits and the borrowed clothing. You looked more relaxed with Harry.
“I understand, Hobie, I—” you glance behind you at Harry, who looks away immediately, sipping casually at his drink. “Can you move away for a bit?” You ask the cameraman. To your surprise, he actually walks up the stairs and gives you space. After a few moments, you gaze at Hobie as he looks like he's about to kneel down for your forgiveness. You go outside completely, shutting the door behind you. With an inhale, you reassure him. “It's really okay, Hobie, I took a long time in the bathroom—”
“It's not,” he curses himself for stopping you mid sentence. “Shit, sorry. It's jus’ it's not alright, we did leave you.”
Your eyes glissens in the moonlight that bounces off the wet pavement. “You did, and it— to be honest, it really hurt, Hobie.” You finally confess, unbeknownst to you, the mic picks up your broken tone, every word of it. “I thought you really wanted me there.” Jericho can practically hear your shattered heart from where he stands.
“I did.” He tries to reach for you but retracts his hand away. “I do, and I left a message to the bartender to tell you that I'll be back for you. I didn't mean to fuckin' leave you out there alone, love.”
You chuckle without humour. “The guy didn't say anything to me when I asked about you.”
“Fuck.” He rubs a hand over his tired face. “He must've forgotten. ‘m really sorry. I called a hundred bloody times. You didn't answer— and I don't blame you.”
“My phone ran out of battery, I'm sorry.” Hobie shakes his head subtly at your unnecessary apology. You give him a tight smile. “Well, apology accepted.”
Hobie sighs, brows knitted together, frown deeply set in place. He says your name softly, hand cupping at your wringing hands. “Are we really alright?”
You nod, staring at your joined hands before meeting with his eyes. “Yeah, don't worry, shit happens and you gotta have your priorities straight.”
You're my priority too. “Alright, good.” Is all he could say. “The next one I invite you to would be more fun, I promise.”
“Yeah,” you smile, exhaling out a cloud of smoke. “Sure, maybe.” Moving away your hand from his own, you clear your throat. “They're probably looking for you. Take care of MJ for me, she gets very kicky when she's drunk.”
Hobie chuckles, a genuine one. “Thanks for the tip. Will you be alright? Where's the camera crew?”
“I'll be fine, don't worry about me.” You nudge his bicep. “And they left a while ago, said something about us being too boring so they went out to go find you.”
“Harry?” He gestures towards the door with his chin.
“He's just about to leave, he saw my broken record player and asked to fix it for me. Don't be jealous.” You joke to help lighten the tension, hugging yourself as the cold goes through your hoodie.
“I'll try not to be.”
Heat rises to your cheeks despite the cold and your lingering sadness. “It's going to be hard, but I know you'll rise above the green monster.”
“That's true, but I can't promise to wait outside just to check if he leaves with a body bag in the shape of you.”
You finally laugh, shaking your head at him. “A charmer *and a stalker, this is why you're my favourite co-worker.” You reach to poke him jokingly, but you put your hand away to his dismay. “Seriously, I'll be fine, I have pepper spray in my pocket to ease your worries.”
“Right.” He sees you grasp the doorknob, a clear sign that you're done with the conversation. “Aim for the eyes, yeah?”
“Taking note of that. Thanks.” With your laughter lingering, he stands there in front of your door a bit too long before he remembers to walk away.
Hobie is greeted by Jericho waiting for him near the top of steps. Great, the disaster of a night you two had are recorded in the annals of history.
—
“Here's mine,” Harry hands you back your phone after he typed his number in your contacts. “If you need any help, work related or not, don't hesitate to call me, okay?”
“Okay,” you say with a shy smile as you hand his own phone back. “Thank you again, Harry. I'll pay you back for the gas—”
“Don't, I'm just glad I ran into you. I would hate for you to turn into an icicle in the downpour.” He glances at his screen and laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sorry, the snowflake emoji right next to your name got me.”
“I have a sense of humour too, y’know.” You hug the coat tighter around you as small raindrops continue to drizzle down on you and Harry, painting him in fallen dew drops while the streetlight above shines down on the two of you. The camera crew in the corner under the tree ruins it though.
“It’s not a competition but mine’s better.” He gestures towards your phone with his chin, green eyes alight.
You take a peek at your contacts, finding that he has named himself ‘free uber’ in it. With a giggle, the sound echoing in the night, you look back at the smiling Harry. “Yeah, you're right, yours is better. I'll change it to your name by the way.”
He groans dramatically as he walks backwards towards his car. “C’mon, that took a lot of time for me to think of.” Unlocking his car, he enters and waves at you after putting on his seatbelt. “I'll see you back at the office, ice princess.”
“Ice princess, really?”
“You survived the cold, so I say it fits you.” Grinning, he starts the car.
You pat your head to wipe away the dew. Skin aflame despite the weather, you tuck the coat tighter around yourself. “Take care, Harry.”
“You too. Stay warm.” With one last smile, he rolls the windows up and drives away.
The smoke from the car's exhaust hasn't fully dispersed when the cameraman is already up in your face, asking for an interview.
You sigh, “fine, I'll do this quick. Today was… complicated. I was uncomfortable, then comfortable. Then left behind and then perfectly fine right after.” The blinking red light still flashes as the man behind the camera isn't satisfied by your answer. “I'm fine.” You say with emphasis. “Don't you have a family to go home to?”
Huffing, smoke puffing out of your cold lips, you walk back towards your apartment while you walk carefully on wet pavement. Leaving the camera and the crew behind as you shut the door closed. And yet, the microphone still picks up the quiet sobs from behind the old door.
—
You stare at the scruff of your work shoes, the scratches glaring right at you. Your leather heels are a direct contrast to the white tiled floors that try to mimic expensive marble. But the indents and subtle square lines around it indicates that it's just regular tiles. The office lobby is quiet this early in the morning, the security guard munches on his breakfast burrito as he watches the news on his tiny TV. And the place hums with electricity, lights too bright against your exhausted eyes.
MJ came home in the early morning of Sunday, you woke up to the smell of sick and the sound of her hurling her entire stomach down the toilet’s drain. You couldn't just leave her be when you're afraid that she'd choke on her own vomit. So you stayed up when you should be sleeping in just to watch over her. When afternoon came, you thought that you finally had time to relax or do some chores, but with a very hangover MJ clinging to you as apologies spilled from her lips— you had to stay to comfort and reassure her. Of course that came with making food, mixing in the regular concoction for a hangover cure, and everything else that she needed. If it was anyone else, you wouldn't do that much, but MJ has been your friend since middle school. And without her you'd literally be homeless, she's a good friend. But sometimes you just wish your only problem with her was pushing her away from her toxic ex like back in highschool.
Your exhaustion can be read on your face, and as the camera crew arrives, and their bright lights hit your tired skin, you feel more fatigued than ever. Sighing, you don't even acknowledge them while you wait for the elevator doors to open. Your index presses the button three more times impatiently. The annoying twinkling elevator music seems a lot better compared to the glare of the camera lenses.
“Hey, morning, ice princess.” Harry comes into view, giving you a brief smile while he holds onto a cup of coffee. “You okay?”
“Morning.” You almost scoffed at his well meaning question. “Yeah, couldn't sleep last night.”
“That sucks,” he says as he sips his drink. You stare heavily at the cup, wishing you should've stopped by the coffee shop near your place before heading to work instead of braving the sleepiness. “I should've gotten you one.” Harry notices, winching at his own actions. “I'll get you a cup next time. A cappuccino with an extra shot, right?”
Your heavy eyes widen briefly, the lights making your expression more prominent. “You don't have to, really— wait, you know my coffee order?”
He chuckles, cheeks a bit flushed. “Of course, we're desk neighbours, and you always order the same thing whenever Miles asks for our coffee order.”
“I'll keep it down next time then.” You chuckle.
“Not what I meant, but you do type a little too loudly.” He nudges you playfully.
“Type louder you say? Sure, Harry.” Your joke earns a laugh from the brunette.
The elevator pings and the doors open to reveal the empty space. The walls are covered in reflective glass, it seems that you can't hide from your exhausted face as you step inside. Not even concealer or a blush could hide it.
You're joined by Harry and the documentary crew. Harry stands beside you, back straight as he glances at you for a second. You miss the look he has, but the cameras don't as they stand in front of the doors, facing you and Harry in a perfect frame.
“Oi, hold the door!” The familiar voice has your sleep fogged mind waking up that no amount of coffee could.
Shit. You look like shit and you're staring a bit too much at Hobie, whose lithe hand is holding onto the door. He's back in his office appropriate attire, still no tie though but at least it's a button up that's perfectly ironed that Miguel himself wouldn't even bat an eye at.
He mirrors your expression as he pants by the doorway. The black coat he has on fits him well, really well as it cinches his waist, and the long length of it seems to make him look taller even though he doesn't need the added height.
The cameras has the full view of you, Hobie and a very curious Harry, who looks at you then over to Hobie.
“Good morning, Hobie.” You say, slightly in a higher pitch than you thought it would be.
“Mornin’, love.” His expression softens, but returns to the nonchalant and unbothered look when he glances at Harry beside you. “Osborne.”
The lenses shift from Hobie's strained greeting to Harry's tight lipped smile.
“Brown.” Harry says with a flat tone. “Your shoes are untied.”
Hobie doesn't even glance down at his feet to check. You do, and it is indeed untied. “It’s called fashion, Osborne.” He replies with the same tone as he pushes through the crew to stand on your other side. The cold still clings to his shoulders, and his lashes flutter as he gazes at you gently. “Have you had breakfast yet, love?”
You shake your head while you feel both of their warmths encapsulate you. Cageing you in between them. “Not yet, but I'll probably just grab something from the vending machine.”
“The sandwiches there are shite.” Hobie nudges you as the doors close. “How about I order us a bagel from the deli across the street?”
“I can get us a coffee.” Harry adds, or interrupts more like. Hobie raises his chin, chest puffing up as they stare at each other while you're acting like their barrier. “How's that sound?”
“Or that tea you fancy.” Hobie tilts his head, eyes boring into Harry's skull.
You stare at Hobie then over to Harry, you feel like a referee. You might not be good at reading cues, or feeling the vibes of the room, but you're not an idiot, there's definitely something going on with the two. Looking into the camera, you see yourself in the lenses as you clutch your work bag tightly, and you see the crew's subtle grins behind their equipment.
You have to answer them or else they'll start offering you more food and drinks.
“Thanks, but I have a lot of work to do today, so maybe next time.” It's best that you decline both, you don't want to start something that you have no idea will end. Especially if your job could be on the line. And yet, they still stare at you, waiting on who's the lucky winner. “For— for both offers. I had a big dinner last night, and coffee makes me jittery this early in the morning.” A big fat lie on both statements.
“Right, next time then.” Harry takes it in stride, smiling softly at you.
“Of course, love, you know where to find me.” Hobie does too as he tugs gently at your coat sleeve. You give them both a friendly smile, tamping down any embers that might be setting fire under them.
The three of you realize that neither of you have pressed a button.
The crew's producer takes initiative, and the three of you give her an apologetic yet embarrassed smile.
The elevator shifts slightly before it starts to move. The whirr of the cables cut through the thick tension in the air.
“So, what did you do this weekend?” Harry asks, seemingly a taunt at Hobie that you can't confirm.
“Nothing much, just did some laundry. Boring stuff.” You answer, staring at the numbers atop the doors as it goes further up. You were supposed to do laundry, but they wouldn't want you to talk about how you had to scrub the bathroom clean of vomit.
“Well, I had a show with my band. Meal prepped for this week and visited a friend.” Hobie glances at you briefly with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Harry's jaw clenches at Hobie's reply. “I thought you were askin’ me too.”
“Oh, I was.” Harry smiles at Hobie but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I also visited a friend, picked her up from walking in the cold.” Your face falls at the memory, you didn't expect to be used as something to taunt and provoke someone, but here you are— shoulders slumped and frowning deeply. “Thanks for the hot chocolate by the way—”
The doors ding open and you don't waste time in leaving the elevator with a downturned head as you look at the scruff of your shoes once again.
“Shit.” They both say, and again, the cameras capture their faces as the door closes on them, not giving the two enough time to get off.
The camera gets a glimpse of them trying to get out before the doors shut.
—
You stare at your computer screen like you want it to spontaneously combust right in front of you. The sounds of keyboards clacking and the whirr of the building’s vents has you more than irked, especially at what transpired this morning. The bullpen is quiet, the air smelling of carpet conditioner and printer ink that someone spilled a few hours ago. Your nose itches, tinnitus acting up as you heavily gaze on the excel and blinking lines.
The muscles in your fingers are stiff against the keyboard, face unreadable while the stress of work and you being caught in the crossfire has your eye twitching against the harsh lights. You have no idea what's going on between the two, but you know what happened in the elevator was unnecessarily uneasy for you. Awkward is an understatement.
Lunch has passed by, and you stayed at your desk throughout it without a single glance at the cafeteria in your peripheral. Opting to eat a pack of biscuit that was just intended for a snack. Your stomach keeps reminding you that you have missed breakfast and lunch. You can't wait for the day to be over.
The sound of the familiar clanking wheels of the mailcart doesn't even have you lifting up your head from your report. To the disappointment of Hobie and to Harry's glaring satisfaction.
You've seen Hobie and Gwen doing their rounds with the mailcart, Hobie gave you his usual smile when he handed you your package for the day. And Gwen came to apologize for what happened last weekend even though it was unnecessary. They were both met with your customer service smile and tone of voice. Partly because you're still frustrated at what happened, and because of the elevator when the two men used you as a way to get back at each other— for whatever they're dealing with. Whatever it is, you've decided to stay away from it. Or until you can't ignore Harry's guilty eyes, Hobie's strained face, and the trio's puppy dog expression whenever they pass by your side of the bullpen.
You really don't mean to be an ass to them, but the ridiculous amount of work you have and your tiredness, coupled up with your grumbling stomach, anyone would be behaving like you.
To you it's literal torture to ignore your friends the whole day, for the documentary crew— it makes good TV.
The sound of crinkling paper and the scent of spice has you looking up from your computer. You see the green wrapping of a sub teetering dangerously on top of the divider. The packaging almost bursting at the seams from the hearty sandwich.
Harry's green eyes peek over the wall, hand inching towards the sandwich as he places a bundle of napkins on it like he's about to steal a diamond from its laser protected case.
“Don't mind me, just delivering you lunch.”
“Harry,” you can't help the smile appearing on your lips. “What are you doing?”
“I hope you like cold cuts and cheese.” His voice is slightly muffled by the divider, eyebrows raised as his eyes smile. You blink at him, head tilted. “I noticed that you haven't had lunch yet, so I bought you a sandwich.”
“Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you.” You reach for the sub, standing up from the chair for the first time in hours. It has the shape of you indented on the plush seat. You meet with Harry's eyes, lighting up as he gazes at you. “How much do I owe you, Harry?”
His head leans back, like he's taken aback by your statement. “One penny.”
“I have to pay you back, y’know.” You glance to your left, finding that the camera has you and Harry in its sights.
“Says who?”
“I do.” You chuckle at his feigned innocence.
“How about you pay it forward next time? Just not to me.” His index taps at the top of the divider as he smiles sweetly at you.
“Fine, but I still owe you for the gas—”
“Sorry, busy busy busy.” He sits back down, hands dramatically typing randomly on his keyboard.
“Harry.”
He picks up the silent phone, “Hello, Harry Osborne here, yes, absolutely.” His eyes look up to you with a subtle smile, placing his index right on his lips, shushing you, and then pointing at the phone's receiver.
With a roll of your eyes, you return to your seat, hands immediately unwrapping the sandwich.
The camera zooms out and moves over to the doorway where Hobie stands there with a brown paper bag while looking in the direction of your desk.
His eyes flick over to the camera, jaw tightening and eyes hardening as he stares right into the lenses. “What of it?” Tossing the paper bag into the trash, he walks away only to immediately double back and fish it out and grumble back towards the mailroom with a huff.
—
The clock finally ticks to five, and you release a sigh of relief the second you send the very last report you needed to finish for today. Without sparing another second wallowing in your seat, you stand up and collect your things.
“Hey, Y/N.” Pavitr’s voice makes you look towards the side, where the trio and an unfamiliar face joins them. His hands are on top of Gwen and Miles’ shoulders, pushing them towards you. “We just want to say sorry about what happened.”
“That's okay, Pav, I already forgave them. And again, it's not really their fault.” You chuckle nervously at the small crowd gathering around you.
“But I haven't.” He says sternly, pushing Gwen and Miles towards you further. “Apologize to Y/N.”
“I already did, Pav—” Gwen squeaks out but Pav nudges her. “Okay, I'm sorry. I feel like shit that the band left you. And since the band isn't here, we're apologizing for them. That was a shitty thing to do.”
“It's really okay—”
“I'm sorry too.” Miles interrupts, frowning deeply, brows knitted together out of guilt. He looks like he's going through it, and probably doesn't need the coaxing from Pavitr. “I heard you had to walk out in the rain.”
“Apology accepted, for both of you— you really don't need to. Hobie and I already talked about it and it's fine.” You hold your hands out to them in a way to calm, and Gwen guiltily takes your hand briefly. “I'm fine, you guys weren't even there.”
“Still, we feel guilty and responsible for it.” Miles mumbles out and Gwen nods along. “If we were there, we would have reminded them.”
“It doesn't seem fine.” The unfamiliar co-worker adds beside Pav. “I'd be livid. I'm Gayatri by the way.” She holds out her hand in greeting, smiling gently at you.
“Hi, it's nice to finally meet you.” You take her hand and shake it, mirroring her smile. “I've heard a lot about you through Pavitr.”
“And I heard a lot about you, through Hobie mostly.” She shrugs with a chuckle. Pav gives her a look, and she takes his hands off of the two and intertwines her fingers with his own. “Anyway, you're cool, because obviously I'd be livid.”
“Oh, I was, for a bit. But it's really alright, alcohol was the real culprit.” It's a half truth, you're still bummed about it, but you'll get over it eventually. For now, you just want to lie down on your bed and sleep.
As you gather your things, the interns still seem to doubt you. You're about to put on your coat but Miguel's voice rings out into the bullpen.
“Meeting now.”
“Now?” Lyla’s head pops out from the doorway, already halfway out of the office.
“Yes, now.” With every footstep from Miguel, the almost hidden groans of your co-workers echo around the office. Including yours.
“I have homework, man.” Miles stomps over to the conference room, while Gwen verbally protests by loudly putting on her backpack with all the charms clinking on it.
“This is why I got a B in advanced chem.” Pavitr grumbles but follows the two, he looks over to his girlfriend when she doesn't follow. With a simple look, he continues to cross the distance and waits by the doorway for Gayatri as she pokes at your bag.
“Are you really okay?” Her eyes are soft, you can feel that her concern for you is genuine. She has that air around you that helps you feel at ease with just a look. “I was going off in our group chat after I learned about it. Ned, Yuri and James have a week until they apologize to you or I'll give them shit during band practice.”
“Yeah, I'm over it.” A half lie. “And they barely know me, it's really okay.” Another lie. It wouldn't hurt for them to apologize. Is it mean for you to want them to apologize?
“Yeah, that's why they need to say sorry because they barely know you.” You open your mouth but she immediately shuts you down. “And don't say that it's fine, or okay. That was horrible, you were alone at a shady bar during happy hour. If the cameras weren't there… I don't know, I think you and your roommate need to talk. I wouldn't forget a friend like that, even if booze was involved.”
You blink at her, nodding in agreement. “I think you're right. I can see why Pav loves you so much. You lay it on thick.”
She pats your arm, chuckling. “I'm always right.”
“I’ll talk to her when I get home.” You sigh, fists tightening as you enter the conference room.
“Well, if you need anything, I'm always in accounting.” She taps your back as Pavitr wraps an arm over her shoulder, letting you inside first as they follow behind.
“She likes to take strays, don't mind her.” Hobie suddenly sidles up to you, hands tucked inside his pockets as he whispers to you. “I blame the saviour complex.”
Gayatri heard his comment as she whacks him over the head. “Shut it, Hobie.”
He holds onto the back of his head, chuckling while Pavitr laughs along. “‘m jus’ sayin'”
“Are you calling me a stray, Hobie?” Your words make him falter, stammering out but no coherent words come out. It was a joke on your end, but you can't hide the amusement from his reaction.
“Now you've done it.” Pav smacks Hobie's chest while Gayatri pulls you away from the punk and towards the seats in the back of the room.
“I didn't mean it that way.” Hobie's voice is a tone higher, wincing at his previous words. “I jus’ meant—”
A loud clearing of throat takes his attention, and Miguel sends him a glare as a warning. Hobie huffs, surprisingly not saying any rhetoric as he sits down wordlessly beside you with the rest of the interns on your right.
“It was a joke by the way.” You whisper to him, side glancing at Miguel, who stands at the helm of the room.
Hobie pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hide his smile. “You got me there, love.”
“Seriously, we're okay, Hobie. I hate that we're being awkward now.”
“I missed you at lunch today. I thought, y’know...” He shrugs, whispering back to you as more people filter inside the room. The cameras stand by the sidelines, bright lights and lenses roaming around the different faces. You're just glad you're not the only one they're focusing on right now.
“I had a ton of work so I couldn't join the lunch club today. Sorry for making you feel horrid.” You say genuinely, hoping to put a close on what happened last weekend. As much as you disdain what happened, you can't lose a friend because of it.
Hobie turns his head towards you, smiling fondly as his hand pat the back of yours. “You can never make me feel horrid, love.”
Your heart leaps in your chest from the close proximity. “We'll s–see. I mean, we're still new friends.”
“I hope we never get to see it then. You might break my tiny heart.”
“Your heart is far from tiny, Hobie Brown.” You nudge him with your shoulder, smiling as you return your attention towards Miguel, who's looking more tired than ever. “So far I've seen nothing but kindness from you.”
“Fuckin' hell.” He mutters under his breath, eyes refraining from looking into your own. “Go easy on me.” He holds onto his chest, head thumping on the wall.
You chuckle at his dramatics. “What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, Harry slides on the seat in front of you. “Hey, princess.” He says with the same demeanor he sported when he picked you from the curb.
“Hi, Harry.” You smile back at him as he side glances Hobie. He turns his back from you, still smiling.
“Princess?” Hobie says with an irked and disgusted tone. The interns turn to him, all sharing the same look that you're not privy to.
“It’s better than newbie, I guess. It's just a nickname.”
“...Sure.” Hobie eyes the lunch club, then over to the cameras with the same uneasy look.
“So, is everyone finally here?” Miguel gruffly days from the front. “I know you all want to go home, but today has been too busy to sneak this meeting in. So Jess and I will make this quick—”
“Holy shit, you two are dating!” Peter says from his seat, gasping in surprise.
“What, ew, no. I'm married, Parker.” Jessica shows her ring, rolling her eyes at Peter. “You knew that. You were at my wedding, idiot.”
“Right, I forgot.” He chuckles, scratching his head. Meanwhile Miguel is mouthing the word ‘ew’ with a questioning look.
“Anyway, Jess is here to talk to you about the company holiday party.” Miguel side steps and gives Jessica the floor.
“As always, I'm the unfortunate soul who has to organise it.” She sighs, “For the new employees, we always have a little party before the holiday break starts. There's gonna be a secret Santa, we'll pick names tomorrow since it's already late. And it'll be a potluck so I'll be assigning what you need to bring to prevent people from just bringing drinks.” She looks towards Lyla.
“That was one time! And everyone was well hydrated!” Lyla defends herself while Peter shakes his head. Jess calls out names and what they would bring.
Hobie snickers next to you, and you whisper to him. “What did you bring that year?”
“Punch.” He says with a chuckle. “There was a line in the loo the whole bloody time.”
“That's a terrible party.”
“We were all starvin’, in the end Miguel got us a dozen pizzas or else people would riot. Which ‘m not opposed to.”
“I would join in, honestly.” You tap his hand, and he returns the gesture with another tap on your pinky. Jessica calls your name, and you almost jump in your seat. “Y–Yes?”
“Do you mind bringing in some holiday cookies or cupcakes?”
“Oh, I don't mind. Are sugar cookies alright?” You unconsciously play with the frayed edges of your sleeve.
“Fine by me, just no nuts, Miguel's allergic.” Jessica continues to call out names and food while reading her list. “Hobie and Harry— H and H, can you two bring some drinks in?”
The two glance at each other pointedly. “Sure.” They both say with clenched teeth.
“Good,” she nods and closes her notes. “Oh and Y/N,” your heart stops. “Can you help me with the decorations on the day?”
“Yeah, of course.” You nod enthusiastically, relieved that it wasn't a reprimand, making Hobie beam at you.
Unbeknownst to you, Gwen looks behind the rest and over to you just to give Hobie a teasing gaze. The cameras capture it all perfectly while Jess gives the floor back to Miguel.
“Right, thanks Jessica.” Everyone begins to stand up even before Miguel could even end his sentence. “We're not done yet,” he points at Hobie, and at first you thought he was pointing at you, making your eyes widen. “You wanted to say something quick, Hobie?”
The room groans in disappointment as they sit back down with a resounding squeak from the chairs.
“Right, the lot of you want to go home, I'll make this quick.” He stays standing up, casually speaking to the whole room with nonchalance that passes off as confidence. “There's a few of you ‘ere who haven't signed yet with the union. As your rep, I have to make sure that you all know that we exist.” His eyes glance over to Lyla, and everyone follows his line of sight.
“Don't look at me! I'm a union girlie but the big man says I can't explicitly say it.” She accusingly points at Miguel, and everyone turns to him.
“Not me, the other big man.” He sighs tiredly.
The scene shifts to him giving an interview near the elevators. “I’m vice president of the union. Everyone keeps forgetting that.” He says with disdain.
The clip comes back to the conference room in the present with everyone listening in on Hobie.
“—the new hires are ‘encouraged’—” he almost rolls his eyes at the company friendly word. “to join the union so you have protection jus’ like the rest of us, yeah?” Hobie clasps your shoulder, smiling at you. “That's it, the lot of you go home.” With Hobie's closing remarks, people leave their seats without another grumble.
“Wait— I haven't said anything yet—!” Miguel tries to say something but everyone leaves the conference room.
Hobie turns to you, hand cupping your elbow as he helps you off your seat. “That includes you, princess.” He says the nickname with a slight scoff.
“I didn't know you're our union rep.” You say as he guides you out of the room. “That's really cool.”
“I did it for the birds.” He walks backwards towards the mailroom to probably grab his things and to quickly rejoin you in the elevator.
“The birds?” You chortle out
Hobie bites his lip, hands placed inside his pockets as his back hits the wall. “The ladies.”
“Ah.” You nod with an amused smile. “Of course, that usually makes us all weak in the knees.”
“Right?” With a smirk, he turns back around to prevent himself from smacking to another wall or worse, a window.
“I thought it'll never end.” Harry appears next to you, already in his coat and messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, thanks for the sandwich again.” You smile as he shrugs.
“Just like I said, no problem. You need to remember to eat sometimes or you'll get sick. We can't afford to lose our best quality assurance agent, hm?” He nudges you, palm lingering on your bicep for a second longer.
“I'll remember next time, don't worry.” You give him a wobbly smile.
“D’you need a ride home?” He glances at the elevators. “I heard it's gonna rain again.”
You shake your head with a polite smile. “No need, I'll be fine. Thank you though.”
“Sure, take care.” With a grin and another pat on your shoulder, he leaves.
“Y–You too!” You call back, and he turns to you, giving you a two finger salute while walking away.
“Boo!”
“Fuck!” You shriek, hand on your chest while Lyla snorts next to you.
“Sorry, I didn't know you were such a scaredy cat.” She tilts her head playfully. “Anyway, how are you doing so far?”
“Uh, good.” You swallow down your thumping heart. “Workload is tough but I'll survive.”
She hums, nodding along. “Yeah, good. Also what do I hear about you and…” she pauses, looking around the near empty office, and you think she's gonna say Hobie as you bite down your anxiety. “Harry.”
“H–Harry?”
“Yeah, I heard from the interns that he gave you a ride home from the bar? Sounds serious and definitely something that the HR should know.” Lyla fist bumps your shoulder awkwardly. “Y’know, just in case there's a conflict with your relationship with him and work.” You try to get a word in but she continues. “I'm not against it, oh no not me, and he's kinda cute so good on you. I'm just warning you that you two need to tell me and sign a little something, something. Nothing major, just a contract telling us that your relationship won't hinder you from doing work and we're not liable for any heartbreak that could occur—” she grabs your elbow like she's already reassuring you for the inevitable. “— not like there would be any heartbreak in your future with him.” She chuckles a bit nervously.
“We're not together.” You say matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” she blows a raspberry. “Right, well, mystery solved!” With a pat on your arm, she leaves you be. “Have a good night!”
You huff, going back to your desk to retrieve your things and go towards the elevators only to find Hobie waiting there for you.
“Thought I lost you to the ghost janitor.” He smiles, leaning against the doors as he smirks at you.
You sigh while your hands grow clammy. “I'm not scared of that anymore— watch out!”
The elevator doors suddenly open and he falls right through it with a groan.
“‘m alright!”
—
A baseball hat is shoved right on top of your keyboard while you work on a spreadsheet. Your watery eyes gawk at the slips of paper all folded inside the hat. The scene reminds you of secret santas and white elephant parties back in school.
“It's not gonna pick itself.” Jessica leans against the table, neat brows raised up in question.
“Right, sorry, you just caught me off guard.” You chuckle nervously, intimidated by your boss as you dip your hand inside the hat. Feeling for a random one, you fish it out of the hat. You don't read it just yet.
“I see you're working hard.” She smiles, nodding at your screen. “Good job on the Metropolis report by the way, keep it up.”
A sigh escapes you as your eyes twinkle at Jessica. “T–Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“‘Course, just don't work too hard, you're making the rest of us look bad.” With a chuckle and a shake of the hat, she leaves. “Oh, wait.” Turning back around, you pause from unfolding the slip of paper. “Don't forget, we have a maximum price for the gift.”
“Okay, thanks for the reminder.” You awkwardly wave her off as her heels clack on the floor.
“Hey,” Harry whispers, eyes peeking over the cubicle dividers as he knocks rhymically, one that you're familiar with but can't quite put your finger on. “Who’d you get?”
“I don't think we're supposed to say.” You whisper back with an amused smile.
“I didn't take you for a rule follower, princess.” He smiles, now standing up to look at you fully. “Please?”
You shake your head with a quiet chuckle. “No.”
He sucks in his teeth, but his smile stays. “You're no fun.”
“I haven't even read it yet.” With a playful roll of your eyes, you unfurl the paper, expression suddenly falling flat as you read the big printed letters— Hobie Brown. “Oh.”
“Is that ‘oh’ good or not? Shit, did you get Miguel?”
His voice falls on deaf ears as you feel your nerves rushing in, blood filling your ears like you're about to skydive. It seems that Hobie has had that effect on you recently. With an exhale, you pocket the slip of paper inside your blazer pocket.
“I think it's the former.” You smile up at Harry, looking curiously at you. “I'm not gonna tell you my secret Santa, Harry.”
He dramatically deflates to show you his disappointment as you grin at him. “Fine, well I'm not going to show you mine.”
“I don't even want to know yours.”
“Ouch, okay, mean.” He holds his chest like he's been shot through the heart. “Oh, yeah, good on you with that report. You even got Jessica's approval.” With a thumbs up, he slowly slinks back to his seat.
“Thanks, Harry.” Your words waver as you take the paper from your pocket and read it again as if you hallucinated the name on it.
The familiar whirr of the camera lenses enter your space, zooming in on the print. You immediately turn towards it, glaring and frowning. “Really? Even that?”
Jericho the cameraman nods, giving you an apologetic tight lipped smile. You're starting to really hate cameras right now. If it didn't cost you your job, you would've yanked the microphone in your shirt already. But you've got a bigger problem— what to give Hobie that he will surely like.
I have no specific ideas but just the hunger for more coworker Mac being down bad for reader (my greed and gluttony sickness me /j) could even be boss or secretary Mac
-💻
OKOKOK Last one before I lock in for real this time.
I went a bit overboard. I missed co-worker Mac
Word count: 1181
The day starts off ordinary enough.
Emails, meetings, the usual dull hum of productivity. Except it’s not ordinary, not really, because every time you look up from your desk, Mac is already watching you. They’re subtle about it, at least, they think they are, which you find charming. Adjusting their glasses as if they’d just been glancing your way, fiddling with their pen when their gaze lingers too long. But you catch them. Every. Single. Time.
And each time, you grin.
By mid-morning, the tension is humming like static. You walk into the break room to find a cup of coffee from your favorite cafe already waiting on the counter, your name scribbled across the lid. You glance around, suspicious, until Mac breezes in, pretending they don’t notice you holding it.
“You didn’t,” you say, eyebrow raised.
Mac shrugs, leaning against the counter like they didn’t go out of their way for you. “Maybe I had a buy-one-get-one deal. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Uh-huh.” You sip, humming at the taste, perfect, exactly the way you like it. You smirk at them over the rim. “If this is your attempt at bribery, I’m not cheap.”
They grin, a flash of teeth. “Who said I was bribing you? Maybe I just like watching you pretend you’re not impressed.”
The air between you sharpens, crackling with something unsaid. You break the gaze first, chuckling as you brush past them. But when your shoulder brushes theirs, the faint hitch of their breath makes you grin wider.
By lunchtime, the little games escalate. You’re buried in work when something slides across your desk. A snack from the vending machine, your favorite one. No note. Just placed there while Mac pretends to be deeply focused on their monitor.
“Thanks, secret admirer,” you murmur loudly enough for them to hear.
Their fingers freeze on the keyboard, then resume typing. “Could be from anyone.”
You pop the snack open, enjoying the faint pink at their ears. “Mm. Anyone who knows my favorite snack deserves a reward, don’t you think?” You tease. “Wonder who it could be.”
That gets them to glance up, caught, their mouth opening and then closing like a fish out of water.
By the afternoon meeting, it’s unbearable. You’re sitting across the table, and every time you speak, Mac’s eyes flick to your mouth. Every time they adjust their collar, your gaze drops to their hands. You pass notes on sticky pads during a dull presentation. Just doodles, teasing words like ‘focus’ or 'nerd' followed by their scrawled reply, ‘No, you. ’
It’s absolutely setting you both on fire.
The tension follows you through the rest of the day. A brush of their hand when you pass files. Their knee bumping yours under the conference table. Their smirk when you bite back a laugh at one of their quiet, cutting comments.
By the time the office empties, it feels like the walls themselves are vibrating with it. Everyone else has gone home. Just you and them left, still typing, still pretending to work.
You finally break the silence, leaning against their desk with a sly smile. “You know you’ve been staring at me all day, right?”
Mac looks up, lips quirking. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”
Your arms are crossed, pretending to watch the blinking cursor on your monitor. Really, you’re watching them. The loosened tie, the tired tension still strung through their shoulders.
“You realize you’re terrible at pretending you’re busy,” you say finally, breaking the silence.
Mac doesn’t look up from the screen. “And you realize you’re terrible at pretending you’re not staring.”
That gets your mouth quirking. “So you have noticed.”
Their fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving. Then they glance up, eyes catching yours, holding. “I always notice.”
The air sharpens. One beat, two.
You should leave. But neither of you moves.
Instead, you lean closer, palms braced on the desk. “If you’re going to say something, Mac, say it.”
They inhale, shaky but steady enough to make your pulse stutter. “If I say it, I won’t be able to take it back.”
You tilt your head. “Then don’t take it back.”
Their mouth is on yours before you can breathe. The kiss is hot, teeth clashing, lips bruising, hands grabbing whatever they can reach. You fist your fingers in their shirt, pulling them closer until your chest is flush to theirs.
They groan into your mouth, hands sliding to your hips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
You nip their lower lip, smirking against it. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought I’d ruin it,” they rasp, tugging you higher onto the desk, pressing between your thighs. “Guess I don’t care anymore.”
Your laugh breaks into a gasp when their hips grind against yours, cock already hard through their slacks, sliding against the heat of you. The friction has both of you groaning, clutching at each other like you can’t get enough.
Clothes scatter fast, jackets, shirts, ties, buttons popped open without care. Mac mouths along your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
“God, you’re—” They cut themselves off with a moan when your hand slips into their pants, stroking hard and deliberately. Their head drops to your shoulder. “Are we really doing this?”
You murmur, biting their jaw. “Get inside me.”
They fumble their pants down, your underwear shoved aside in haste, and then they’re pushing in with one long, slow thrust that has both of you gasping, clinging.
“Fuck—” Mac’s voice cracks, their forehead pressed to yours as they bottom out, trembling with restraint. “You feel—.”
You rake your nails down their back, tugging them closer.
It’s hard at first, frantic, their hips slamming against yours with every thrust. You meet them just as rough, legs hooked around their waist, grinding back until the desk rattles beneath you. The office fills with the sharp slap of skin, your gasps and groans tangled together, shameless.
“You’re loud,” you tease breathlessly, even as you clutch them tighter.
They smirk, kissing you hard between thrusts.
The pace falters, grows messier, not because they’re losing control, but because you both are. Hands everywhere, lips biting, tongues tangling, neither of you willing to let the other win. Every moan is answered with one of your own, every sharp thrust matched by your roll of hips, until it’s not clear who’s leading anymore.
The heat builds fast, overwhelming. Your body clenches tight around them, dragging a whiny moan from their throat.
They thrust harder, hips snapping, your nails digging crescents into their back. The tension breaks in a rush, you coming with a cry that echoes through the empty office, they spilling inside you seconds later with a pitchy moan of your name.
The room falls quiet except for your uneven breaths and the hum of the lights above. Mac slumps against you, sweat-slick, hair sticking to their forehead, still buried deep inside you.
“Think HR would approve of this?” you murmur, smirking against their temple.
Mac laughs, breathless, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “They don’t need to know.”
requested by anon: “Hi! Can I request a Hoshi scenario where you’re a 94 liner noona and he likes you but he feels insecure because he thought you like Seungcheol or Jeonghan but you’re only interested in him? Thanks :)”
a/n: i kind of made it into an au, so i’m not sure if this is what you’re asking for, but i hope you like it anyway :-)
≫ words; 2229
≫ genre; fluff
≫ au; modern office!au (does this make sense)
≫ pairing; co-worker!soonyoung x fem!reader
↳ in which he misses you a bit too much when the company moves into its new office, and his seat is too far from yours.
He felt something churn in his stomach when he saw you smiling and laughing with Jeonghan.
Again.
It was unavoidable, though; Jeonghan was seated right next to you, while poor Soonyoung was stuck halfway across the room.
Being far from you had its advantages; for example, he was able to have a perfect view of you without making it too obvious that he was staring. It also meant that he was seated near the pantry, which made things much easier for him whenever he was in dire need of a cup of coffee.
At this point, however, the advantages paled in comparison to the glaring amount of disadvantages present.
One of them being unable to talk to you. Another being, well, Jeonghan.
It’s not like Soonyoung hated Jeonghan or anything; in fact, Soonyoung respected the guy. It was just that the usually overly-giggly man had developed a not-so-tiny crush on you, who happened to be older than him. If the age barrier had you out of his reach before, now you were even further away. Both physically and figuratively.
Where did all the happiness from being next to the pantry go?
“Stop glaring at Jeonghan already.” An amused voice sounded behind him, making the frustrated man jump. He rolled his eyes at his taller co-worker leaning against the wall, slowly sipping his cup of coffee.
“Shut up, Wonwoo.” He groaned, stretching his arms above his head as he leaned further into the office chair.
“You’ve only been apart from her for like, three days,” Wonwoo snorted into his mug, throwing a lazy glance to where you and Jeonghan were still chatting. “Aren’t you happy that you’re next to the pantry?”
Soonyoung continued to glare at the handsome man who was known as the office’s angel. Not that he acted like one. His birthday just happened to be the forth of October. “Yes, I am happy that I’m next to the pantry. What I’m not happy about,” He took a dramatic pause, wheeling his chair so that he was facing Wonwoo again. “is the fact that I’m unable to talk to her, while Jeonghan can.”
“Dude, just confess to her already.” Soonyoung’s office neighbour, Seokmin, peeked out from the partition.
Soonyoung spluttered at Seokmin’s comment. “No.”
Seokmin raised an eyebrow, exasperated. “Why not?”
Wonwoo let out a huge sigh, taking another sip of his coffee.
“Because,” The pink-haired male gushed, his frustration evident from his voice. “Just look at the way she talks to him. She probably likes him, not me. Plus, she’s older than me. By two years.”
The other two men snickered. Soonyoung glared at the both of them.
“You won’t know for sure if you don’t ask,” Wonwoo proceeded to take yet another sip, only to realise his coffee was finished. “Besides, you and Y/N are pretty close, no?”
“Stop being such an over-thinking teenager and just tell her.” Seokmin added, giving up on reasoning with his love-struck friend. It had only been three days since they’d moved into their new office, but Soonyoung was already getting antsy, and it was affecting the colleagues around him, too.
The said man was about to reply when he caught someone leaving the CEO’s room from nearby. Instantly, he turned back to his desktop, continuing with whatever it was he was doing. Wonwoo fled back to his desk, and Seokmin’s head disappeared from above the partition. From the corner of his eye, he noticed you returning to your seat, breaking off the conversation with Jeonghan.
Was it the age gap? Was it because he was younger? Was that why you seemed so out of reach?
Soonyoung’s mind refused to stray away from the topic of you. Normally, that would have been okay, but this time, his mind was dead set on finding a long list of reasons as to why you were more interested in Yoon Jeonghan that you were in him. It made him overly-anxious and annoyingly insecure.
He sighed, finding it extremely difficult to concentrate on his work. Looking up, his eyes drifted to where you were seated. His heart nearly stopped when his eyes caught yours.
He tore his gaze away, missing the blush that crept to your cheeks.
I mean, she is a 94-liner. Sooyoung’s mind continued reeling. And it would make more sense for her to like Jeonghan because he’s only a year younger.
Great. She probably just sees me as her younger brother or something.
He wanted to tear his obnoxiously bright hair out of his scalp; he truly did. Why, of all people, did he have to fall for you?
It reminded him of the story of Jihoon’s first love. A noona.
Soonyoung frowned, blinking at his computer. He was never going to get any work done at this rate.
A soft ping from his phone snapped him out of his anxiety-filled thoughts. Pursing his lips in annoyance, he proceeded to swipe the notification away before realising what it was and who’d sent it.
Y/N L/N:
soonyoung!!
He gulped, shooting a glance in your direction. Your head didn’t lift from the desk; you pursed your lips in concentration as you resumed your furious typing on the computer, probably in a rush to meet deadlines.
kwon soonyoung:
??
Y/N L/N:
do you mind giving me a ride home
it’s fine if you can’t
kwon soonyoung:
why? don’t you have a car?
Y/N L/N:
my friend borrowed it for some road trip
kwon soonyoung:
oh
Y/N L/N:
sorry it’s just you’re the only one who lives in the same area as i do :-(
it’s really fine if you can’t
kwon soonyoung:
it’s ok i don’t mind giving you a ride
why would i say no haha
Y/N L/N:
you just saved my lazy & broke ass from taking public transport thank you
kwon soonyoung:
sometimes i wonder if you’re really older than me…
Y/N L/N:
shh
Soonyoung felt his frown fade away as he put his phone back into the corner of his table, his mind resting for a bit. He looked up in your direction once again, meeting your tired eyes with his hopeful ones.
Then you shot him a thumbs up. He grinned in response, earning a silent chuckle from you.
“Soonyoung, are you done yet?” You approached his desk, adjusting the straps of your handbag. Soonyoung raised his head at the sound of your voice, his stomach doing flips.
It’s just a drive home, Soonyoung. Don’t get your hopes up.
“I just need to finish this email. I’ll be done in five,” his fingers flew across the keyboard, eager to hurry up and go home. The office was more or less empty, except for a few co-workers who were still trying to finish what remaining work they had left.
Nodding, you made your way to Seokmin’s table, throwing yourself onto the chair. Your eyelids were heavy, and you couldn’t be more grateful to Soonyoung for saving you from the likely possibility that you’d fall asleep on the bus and miss your stop.
The said man padded over to where you were sitting, tapping you on the shoulder just as your eyelids were about to shut. He gestured for you to come with him.
The walk to the carpark was silent, the air filled with awkwardness that wasn’t there before. Soonyoung tried to calm his racing heart; constantly telling himself again and again that it was just a car ride, just a ten minute journey home, and that nothing would happen.
No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn’t extinguish the small glimmer of hope he felt.
Pulling out the car keys from his back pocket, he unlocked the car. You slid into the passenger’s seat, fastening your seatbelt as Soonyoung did the same. The engine whirred to life, and he stepped on the accelerator.
“You know where I live, right?” You asked teasingly, throwing him a side glance.
Soonyoung let out an amused chuckle. “This isn’t the first time I’m sending you home.”
You didn’t reply, knots forming in your stomach.
Silence.
You cleared your throat, looking out the window. “You don’t seem too happy lately.” You didn’t fail to notice how he’d been smiling a lot less, how his face seemed to take on a more serious expression more often.
He broke out into laughter, one that would have been contagious, if not for the obvious fact that it was forced. “What are you talking about? I’m perfectly happy! You’re just overthinking.”
“Is it because of work?” you questioned softly.
Soonyoung thought about it for awhile, his hands still on the steering wheel. “Not really.”
“Then? What is it?”
He turned to face you just as the car approached a red light, his neon pink hair messy and tangled. You felt the sudden urge to reach out and straighten the strands for him as your eyes locked with his.
He pursed his lips into a straight line, turning back to the roads when the light flashed green. “Do you…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. Trying to ignore the way his stomach kept doing flips, he continued. “Do you like Jeonghan or something?”
Your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as you shook your head. “Why would I?”
His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he took a left turn. “You’ve been talking to him a lot lately.”
“That doesn’t mean I like him.”
Soonyoung continued to argue. “But you keep laughing and smiling with him.”
“Is there a rule that says I can’t laugh with my friends?” He was being ridiculous, and you made it evident in your tone and words.
He pressed his lips tighter together. His knuckles went white from gripping the steering wheel too hard.
“Seriously, what’s gotten into you?”
He didn’t reply, a tense silence washing over the two of you.
It was at the next red light where he finally spoke. “Seokmin was right about me being an overthinking teenager.” He let out a bitter laugh. He was more than glad that his anxieties had been proven to be untrue.
“I miss sitting next to you.” Soonyoung confessed, heat creeping up his cheeks. “You’re older than me and I probably don’t have a shot so I have absolutely zero idea as to why I’m about to say this but,” he paused, stepping on the accelerator again. “I’ve — crap, this is hard.”
You were looking right at him, your eyes burning holes into his skull as his heart beat wildly in his chest, his tongue twisting, refusing to let him continue. He didn’t want to look at you. He didn’t want to look at you and know for sure that he wouldn’t have a chance. He didn’t want to see that stupid look of pity on your face.
“I’ve liked you for quite some time now.”
There was an awkward pause that made his heart sink. Regret started coursing through his blood, his face burning red. He could envision your friendship flushed into the toilet bowl, already lost in the pipes.
“Soonyoung, pull over.” You voice came out as a whisper, and he did as he was told, mentally preparing himself for rejection.
The car was nicely aligned with the curb when you unbuckled your seatbelt with a soft click, making it easier for you to face him.
“Look at me,” you said softly, reaching out to place your fingers over his wrist. When he finally found the courage to look at you, he felt his body relax, his hands dropping from the steering wheel.
Your fingers never left his wrist as you opened your mouth to continue. “It doesn’t really matter than I’m older, you know.” The tips of your ears were pink, and Soonyoung seemed to notice. He let himself smile.
Suddenly, he felt relief spread throughout his chest as he pried your fingers off his wrist, choosing to intertwine them with his. “Is that supposed to be your way of saying you like me back?” He let out a laugh — his usual, genuine, contagious laugh. You felt your lips tug into a smile.
You nodded, and he laughed even harder. You found yourself laughing along with him, your hand clasped in his.
“I can’t believe you thought I liked Jeonghan,” you said through a fit of giggles. “You don’t seem like the type to get jealous easily.”
“I was not jealous!” Soonyoung exclaimed, his laughter coming to a halt as his lips formed a pout. You snorted and broke into another fit of laughter at his reaction, earning a smack on the arm.
“Ow! Is that how you treat your noona?” You whined, and he chuckled.
“No, this is how I treat my girlfriend.” He pulled you into a bear hug, laughing at the sight of your red ears. “You really don’t mind that I’m younger?”
“Soonyoung, I’m literally hugging you right now,” you mumbled into his chest. He muttered an embarrassed oh as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Can we go home now? I’m really sleepy.”
He smiled before letting you go, making sure you were buckled before continuing the journey home; this time with one hand on the steering wheel while the other was holding yours — his anxieties rendered to nothing, his cheerful smile plastered back onto his face.
Ninety-four isn’t that far from ninety-six anyway.
Clara and the Doctor, co-workers, holiday party, secret crushes. What could possibly go wrong?
LOL, does anyone even remember this fic? It’s been ages! If you remember, yay, if not, have a whouffaldi secret crush holiday party au!
On AO3 here
The Doctor stood with his hand braced against the car door, watching Clara as she ran towards the building. He called her name but she ignored him as she shut the door with a resounding snap. He stood there for a few minutes, debating whether or not to go after her but decided it would only make matters worse. Sighing, he got back in the car and decided to drive home. The night was over for him, he had held high hopes for this evening but nothing seemed to go right.
Clara Oswald.
Rubbing his hand through his hair, the Doctor tried to figure out why this evening had turned out so wrong.
She had been kind to him on his first day, volunteering to show him around the office. He admired her friendly personality but could see that many of her peers had not taken her seriously. He noted her sharp wit and keen intelligence and made it a point to include her in discussions during staff meetings.
That she was also very young and beautiful never occurred to him.
At least, it shouldn’t have.
She would often try to include him in team lunches or group outings but he always declined. He had no interest getting to know his colleagues, save one. Clara was well liked by everyone, she seemed to know everyone’s name and never failed to ask after their children or spouses. It seemed that there may be one or two colleagues that liked her a bit more than others and he usually eyed them disdainfully as not worth her time.
He caught her once, attending a lecture of his at the University he taught at from time to time. She had ducked her head but he knew she was there and he could not explain the feeling in his chest. It had pleased him, that Clara took the time to attend his lecture. She had left before he could greet her, his disappointment hitting him harder than he had expected it to. He didn’t understand how she had managed to become so important to him but he found himself seeking her out in the office, carefully watching her when he was sure she wouldn’t notice. Her laugh was readily given and he loved to hear it, oftentimes finding that he wanted to smile simply as a result of her laughter. He was envious of the men that floated around her, the ease with which they could converse with her, flirt with her. It annoyed him that he couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to her so he retreated into himself, throwing on the persona of the standoffish Doctor. He would love to ask Clara about her children’s books, what she was working on, did she love a particular story. But someone like that was hard for a quiet, old man like him to know.
So all he had left was the company holiday party and that ended up being an abject disaster.
+
He watched her walk in, dress hidden by her coat but he thinks she is beautiful. His tie seems tighter and he wants to tear the blasted thing off and throw it in a bin. It’s when she hands her coat to the check and he sees her black dress that he knows he is outclassed and there is no way she will want to spend any time with him this evening.
He has to try.
He moves closer to her and is waiting when she turns away from the coat check. Her smile could light up a room. “Hello. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I usually don’t like these things but I thought it would do to make a quick showing, new guy and all. I won’t stay very long, make the rounds and say hello.” The lies roll off his tongue as he plays at a detachment he doesn’t feel.
He thinks she looks relieved when she comments that he will miss the dancing and he swears there is a lightheartedness about her. He is sure the disappointment on her face is a trick of the light. Before he can respond, Craig and Danny, two of Clara’s work paramours slide up next to her and he watches quietly as Craig places an arm around her waist. “Clara, save a dance for me, yeah?”
His eyes drift over to where Craig’s hand lies casually against Clara’s waist and he feels as if he could reach over and tear the younger man’s arm right off. He sighs inwardly and reminds himself that this is why he shouldn’t be here; this is the reason that she is out of his reach. It wouldn’t occur to him to invade her space so casually and perhaps she welcomed the younger man’s attention. He closes his eyes for a brief second, calling himself two thousand fools and realizes that, perhaps, the night is over him.
He should not have come tonight.
He watches Clara as she smiles at Danny who has taken it upon himself to drag Craig to the bar and when she looks back at him, he has made his mind up. So he is taken aback when she asks him to dine with him. He was not expecting the invitation and though it was the point of the whole evening, the point of why he was even here, he chose to decline her invitation.
Why ruin her evening as well?
He decides its best to leave it as is and go so he nods and chooses this moment to leave her, why drag out this awkwardness any longer?
++
He finds it more difficult to leave then he had originally planned. His boss has cornered him, forcing him into introductions with people he has no interest in nor have any inclination to talk to. After being roped into escorting his boss’s sister into dinner, his heart sinks as he realizes the impression this would give Clara, that he simply didn’t want her company.
Nothing could have been farther from the truth.
He does his best to watch Clara through the evening, watches as she converses with various co-workers and entertains their spouses. She has a knack for including everyone and it hits him harder that he had purposely chose to exclude himself from her circle. He watches as she dances and drinks her way through several hours and wishes he could bring himself to join her.
During dinner, he quietly listens to his dinner partner Susan, as she encourages him into conversation. She is a publisher who had befriended his boss’s wife, her conversation quiet and calming, a stark contrast to the lively conversations that Clara held. But his eyes continued to betray his distraction, sliding over to catch a glimpse of Clara whenever possible.
“She’s beautiful.”
Startled, he turns to face Susan and flushes. She’s watching him watch Clara and suddenly he wishes he had never come. He starts to make his apologies but she waves it away with a smile.
“Doctor, I get the feeling this is the last place you want to be tonight,” she nods her head in Clara’s general direction, “but maybe there is someone you wouldn’t mind talking to.”
“We’re co-workers, not even really in the same division.” His response is abrupt, he knows, but wants this line of conversation to end.
“Mmmmmhmmm.” Susan presses her lips together. “Tell you what, I am going to introduce myself to that gentleman over there and see if he is interested in buying me a drink.”
She stands, leaning close to the Doctor, “Maybe you could catch her while she is in-between dancing partners. Better hurry.”
She pats him on the back and moves across the room leaving the Doctor at the table. He sighs and rubs his hand across his eyes and decides it’s time to go. Making his way slowly towards the exit, he chances one last look at Clara and sees that Craig has claimed her for one more dance. His lips curl in annoyance but before he has a chance to slip out, he is pulled aside to meet one more person. It’s a few minutes before he can extract himself and a last glance tells him that Clara is nowhere to be found.
Sighing, he redeems his coat ticket and decides to slip out the side entrance. He can hear conversation as he makes his way around the side of the building and he is sure he can hear Clara’s voice. He can feel the annoyance creep back over him, this whole evening had been a waste. He could have spent it reading, he is completely sure that would have been entirely more enjoyable.
But then he would have missed Clara in that black dress.
He shook his head ruefully and was almost around the corner when he heard Clara yell. He walked in on Clara lying on the pavement, dress torn with Craig hunched over her.
“What the hell…?” He watches as Craig loosens his grip on Clara, rage settling over him at the sight of Clara on the ground. He puts his hands under her arms to lift her up, offering a steading arm for her to hold. She turns to face her rescuer and he watches as her face flushes.
This was just perfect.
“Are you all right?” He watches her as she looks at her bleeding elbow and feels the contempt for Craig wash through him.
“Yes. No. Damn!” She hasn’t looked up at him yet.
Craig was getting to his feet, “Clara’s fine with this so just mind your own business, Doc.”
“That’s enough! Get out of here.” His concern for Clara outweighed his desire to kill Craig.
Craig doesn’t take the hint, his voice growing petulant, “Clara, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought we were cool.”
“The why didn’t you stop,” she said, furiously, “when I asked you to?”
“One little kiss,” Craig whined. “Why can’t you be a sport, Clara? Didn’t think you would mind, you’re always smiling and flirting.”
Clara gasped in outrage but before she could say anything, the Doctor decides to break in, his voice betraying how angry he was, “Apparently, she does. Get out of here,” he added, “you pudding brain fool.”
Craig seemed about to argue but he turned and left them in courtyard, mumbling under his breath.
The Doctor couldn’t decide what part of this scenario he was angrier about. The way Craig had treated Clara or that Clara had put herself in a situation where someone like Craig could treat her so. He avoids her eyes while he wraps a handkerchief around her elbow and he if he tightens the knot a tad too tightly on her arm, no one mentions it in the silence that falls between them.
But he can’t help himself, his jealousy creeps into his voice and he is slightly ashamed.
“And he’s not the only fool. If you didn’t want his attentions, why bring him out here?” He regrets the words the minute they are out of his mouth but her response that she has known him for years takes him by surprise.
“You can’t be that naïve.” He feels the anger push the shame aside and keeps going, “Especially in view of the signals you were giving him.” And he really, really does not understand why he is still having this conversation.
She stills next to him and he finally turns to look at her properly. Her beautiful dress is torn and he can see that she has scrapped her knee where her tights tore. She looks a bit lost and suddenly he’s tired. So tired.
“I suppose it’s a party and all, and that’s what people do at a party.” It’s time to go home and call this disaster of an evening over. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, he knew he should have stayed home. He just knew it.
“You should just be more careful…in the future. You’re friendly and beaut-” he hesitated. Not saying that. “You’re very friendly and kind and people may get the wrong message.”
She’s angry and trying to calm herself, “Do you go around dispensing free advice to everyone or am I just special?”
Whoa. Who said anything about special? Does she think that he thinks that she’s special? No, no, no, no. No. She can’t think that. Does she? Is she okay with that? Maybe?
“No one thinks you’re special. I don’t think you’re special. Who says you’re special? It’s just sound advice.” That’s it, this was over. He was going to offer her a ride home and then crawl into a hole somewhere and lay down for a decade.
Before he could get the words out, she was turning and walking away. He called out to her asking her to wait but she insisted that she was fine, there were plenty of cabs. He closed his eyes for one second, why was she so stubborn, can’t she see that he just wants to help. He runs his hand over his face, the sooner they can leave the better.
“Why don’t you just accept my offer?”
“How do I know I’m not getting myself into something else?” she demanded. “Going home with a strange man?”
And it hurt.
That someone like her, someone he liked very much, could insinuate that he can do to her what Craig had earlier in the evening. He felt a wave of nausea and stared at her in dismay, “Do you really think you’re in any danger?”
He was done. “Come on, my car is parked on the other side of the building. We can go this way.”
He really had nothing more to say, disappointment curling through him mixed with hurt. He really was an old fool and this evening just proved it. Someone like Clara was too bright, too young, too smart to even be attracted to him, why try? He stayed silent on the drive home, listening to her directions but not engaging her in conversation.
What was there left to say?
Finally, finally, she indicated her flat and he pulled up. “Sure you’ll be okay?”
She nodded and was surprised when she told him that she would wash the handkerchief and return it. He had forgotten about it and it didn’t matter really, he just wanted her to be well. “You needn’t bother, just take care of yourself.”
Right. So…. he should let her out, it’s what gentleman do, yeah? He turns to open his door and starts at the gentle touch of her hand on his arm. He stares at the hand for a moment before staring at her. What now?
“Look, things didn’t quite turn out the way I thought it would tonight. I thought…I guess…I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know what I thought, to be honest. I like you and I just wanted to get to know you but you made it clear that you are not interested so I am just sorry. Sorry that you had to drive me home, sorry about taking up so much of your time.”
Wait.
Did she just say she wanted to get to know him? That she liked him?
Wait.
That he wasn’t interested in her?
He finds that he is at a loss for words and is struggling to process what she says. He watches as she pulls back, hand over her mouth to stop the runaway of words. He wants to grab her hand, keep her anchored right where she is so he can talk to her but his brain won’t co-operate. Won’t send the signals to grab her before it’s too late.
It's too late.
By the time he reaches for her, he is holding onto air as she has spun around and let herself out.
He scrambles to follow her, “Clara. Clara, wait. Please. Just wait.”
The Doctor stood with his hand braced against the car door, watching Clara as she ran towards the building. He called her name but she ignored him as she shut the door with a resounding snap. He stood there for a few minutes, debating whether or not to go after her but decided it would only make matters worse. Sighing, he got back in the car and decided to drive home. The night was over for him, he had held high hopes for this evening but nothing seemed to go right.
Clara and the Doctor, co-workers, holiday party, secret crushes. What could possibly go wrong?
And done. I’m sorry you guys.
On AO3 here!
Clara groans as the sun filters through her bedroom window. Who was the idiot that forgot to close the curtains? She turns onto her side while pulling her blanket up over her head, praying that the room would stop spinning.
“I bring presents.” Amy says from the bedroom doorway. She waves a bottle of paracetamol in one hand; the other holding a mug of tea.
Why is everyone shouting?
“No one is shouting.” Amy places the bottle down on the bedside table and sits herself down on Clara’s bed.
Oh, out loud then.
Clara groans again, lifting the blanket away from her face. She brightens when she sees the tea and makes a “give me” motion with her free hand. Amy laughs and brings the mug over to Clara. “So? How was it?”
“We are not talking about last night. We are never going to mention last night again. I am currently waiting for my grave to open at my feet so I can hurl myself in. My cause of death will be listed as utter and complete mortification.”
Just thinking about last night makes her queasy all over again. How was she ever going to step foot in her office and face him again? Yup, she was going to have to quit.
“That bad?”
“Let’s see, I drank a wee bit too much, got mauled by Craig, was saved by the Doctor, who didn’t seem all that impressed with me, and yup, might have told him that I was really into him.”
“YOU WHAT? HE WHAT?” Amy shrieks, clapping a hand over her mouth at Clara’s wince. “No, no, no, back up. Wait. Back up. Back up. What the hell happened?”
Clara sits up a bit more and reaches for the bottle of paracetamol. She shakes out two tablets and takes them with a sip of her tea. “God, where to even begin? I am not sure I will be able to live through the story again, it was that tragic.”
“Nope, I need every single detail and you better not leave a single thing out.” Amy leans forward; this is going to be good.
With a sigh, Clara lays out everything that had happened from her encounter with the Doctor in the coat check to his “saving her” from Craig’s wandering hands. She tells Amy how the Doctor insisted on driving her home and how she just blurted out the things she had said. It got a bit hazy but she was pretty sure she can recall the look of horror on the Doctor’s face after she spoke.
Amy leans back as Clara buries her face in her free hand, the heat rising from her cheeks. God.
“Okay. Look, I don’t think it was horror-“
“It was!”
“It wasn’t horror, I am sure it was just surprise,” Amy repeats. “Look, you’ve said that the two of you haven’t had a chance to really talk so it was probably just surprise. From what you’ve said, he seems a bit of a loner so it could have just been shock. It would be the last thing he would expect to hear from you.”
“Yes, but now I can’t unsay it. It’s out there, the words just hanging over me and every time I see him I am going to be reminded of what a complete idiot I was. He’s going to be reminded of what a complete idiot I was.” Clara waves her hand in frustration, nearly tipping her mug over.
Amy grabs the mug from her and places it down. “So maybe instead of avoiding it, just face it head on. Go talk to him.”
“Avoiding sounds good, avoiding sounds real good. I think that’s the best plan.” Clara says, nodding her head. “I will just pretend like it never happened. Will just go to work and we’ll all pretend it never happened.”
Amy says, “So you’re not going to talk to him anymore, just gonna ignore him?”
Clara sighes, “I bet he is just going to ignore me anyway. I mean, it’s not as if we were friends. He is going to pretend nothing happened and then I won’t have to.”
Amy stands up, staring down at her friend. “Hey, I think this could be a good thing. You’ve liked him for a while and now he knows how you feel. This could be as good an excuse as any to talk to him. Talk to him about something more than the weather.”
Clara lays back down as Amy leaves, pulling the blanket over her head again.
Yeah, she was going to have to quit. No way was she stepping foot in that building ever again.
++
Clara spends the next day agonizing over what to do. Her gut is telling her that he will likely avoid her, going out of his way to make sure they minimize their contact. He is a noted scientist and professor, she a children’s book editor and what in the world makes her think that he will even want to be friends with her, never mind anything else. She convinces herself that she need not go out of her way to avoid the Doctor, he will do that for her.
So why does the thought of never speaking to him again fill her with so much sadness?
Monday morning arrives too quickly and it is a disaster; it starts to rain a few minutes before she arrives at her building, her tights are laddered and as she races to catch the lift, she slides on a puddle of water causing her to reach out and grab at the nearest body to keep herself upright.
Of course, it was the Doctor. Of course it was. Her humiliation is now complete.
She closes her eyes for a second before removing her hand away from his arm.
“Are you all right?” His voice expresses concern. He reaches his hand to grasp her elbow to help steady her but hesitates, hovering around her instead.
She watches the doors to the lift they missed close before turning to him. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t know it was going to rain today. Thanks for the catch.” She leans over and presses the button to recall the lift. A few times in case that makes it arrive faster.
“No problem.” He hesitates, “Did you have a nice weekend?”
Really? Small talk. Can’t he just let her wallow in her humilation in peace?
She opens her mouth to reply but before she can say anything, he turns to face her fully, leaning down close. “Can I…can you….coffee with me this afternoon?” He stumbles over the words and she watches a flush creep up his neck. “If… that’s ok?”
“Uh…” She knows she looks must look like a walking tragedy, eyes wide open but she can’t seem to get the words out. Before she can even gather another breath, the lift arrives, doors sliding open with a soft ping. He steps into the empty lift and calls back to her, “Never mind, sorry. Sorry.”
That catches her attention, “Wait, yes. Yes, Doctor.” She rushes the lift and manages to squeeze in next to him before the doors close. Looking up at him, she smiles, “Yes, I would like that very much.”
++
They had agreed to meet at the coffee shop two blocks down from their building. Clara understood that to mean that he was not interested in having the others in the office speculate why they would be leaving the building together. The day drags on, broken only by Craig approaching her late in the day. He mumbles his apologies about how he had behaved at the party; blaming the alcohol and his own idiocy, careful to avoid mentioning the Doctor. She accepts the apology for what it is but he was still a prat and she makes a mental note to tell Danny that she really doesn't want to hang with Craig in future.
Finally, she makes her escape and as she steps outside the building, she realizes it had stopped raining and the sun was desperately trying to peak through the clouds.
She decides to take that as a good sign.
The coffee shop was just ahead and Clara slows down, doubtful thoughts starting to creep in. What if he decides not to show? What is she misunderstood why he wanted to talk to her and simply was using this as an excuse to tell her he wasn’t interested? Ugh, what if he saw her as someone with a silly crush and was trying to let her down gently?
She hesitates on the doorstep of the shop, letting the wave of insecurity and embarrassment overwhelm her for a moment.
What if this was a huge mistake?
She almost decides to leave when she sees the Doctor sitting in the corner of the shop, eyes watching her steadily through the window. As if he knew her internal debate. Sighing, she pushes open the door and makes her way over to his table.
“I thought you were going to leave.”
She shrugs, “I almost did.” She nervously twists the rings on her left hand, watching him carefully. He asks if she wants anything to drink and she shakes her head. She issn’t really interested in drinks right now.
“Look, I am s-“
“About Saturd-“
They both start to speak at the same time. He smiles at her, gesturing for her to continue. Her heart gives a little flutter at the smile and she knows she is in deep.
“I just want to say, that I was really hopeful that I could get to know you at the party and I am sorry that it just did not end up working that way at all.” She continues before he can speak up, “I have really just enjoyed the conversations we have had at work and I thought….but when you said no to dinner and then stayed anyway…well, I guess I should have known then.”
He starts at her last sentence and leans back, running a hand over his face. “I really wasn’t going to stay, Clara. I want you to know that. I-I would have liked to…you know…stay. With you. At dinner.”
She smiles and he only stares at her, calm. She feels relaxed for the first time in days, maybe even weeks.
“I was worried about you,” he says. “I mean, I didn’t want you to think that I was so brusque with you after…after you fell because I thought you weren’t capable of taking care of yourself. I was just worried about you.”
She nods and busies herself with a paper napkin on the table, pulling at the ends lightly. He mirrors her gestures, nervously picking first at the black jumper he wears and then his fingers opening long and sweeping over the column of his throat; they move carefully against his skin and she leans closer without realizing it.
His hand drops then, curling his fingers into his palm. “I want to get to know you as well,” he tells her.
If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. She turns her gaze away and looks out towards the busy street, watching people pass by on their way to whatever is calling to them. She counts the minutes that the silence stretches between them.
“Why?” She fidgets and blushes. “I mean, we’re so different.”
She sighs, out loud and her hands pile into her lap. She rubs her thumbs around the rings on her fingers. She counts them once, twice, and then looks down as if to make sure they’re still there too. These little games – nuisances, as her grandmother used to call them – are old and friendly, too far from habits and too close to be anything else.
“Aren’t we?” She asks and doesn’t mean too. She’s blushing again when she looks up and takes a tiny peek at him, watching him carefully.
“We’re not so different, you and I.” His eyes widen as Clara leans even closer, trying to absorb every word. “We love books and in the conversations, I have heard you have with Danny, you seem to want to travel and it’s something I have also wanted to do. Also, theater; you mentioned once how much you love theater.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He’s quiet then, after. She’s briefly reminded of the party and everything that went wrong that evening and can feel the wave of embarrassment curl through her again. Will she ever stop remembering that evening with trepidation? But he is here, telling her, in his own quiet way, that he likes her as well.
And, she could go with that.
“Yeah, maybe we could go to a show some time together.”
He looks at her, genuinely concerned. As if the thought of them doing something together is a concept he is not entirely prepared for.
“Or,” she says quickly. “Not. It’s just that if you wanted to, together. We could and, well.”
He looks at her then, a soft smile curving around his mouth so she smiles back. He reaches his hand forward, hesitates before placing them softly over her hands. He wraps his fingers around hers, gently. The moment stretches between them, long and filled with the beginning of something.
“What?” she looks up at him then, and grabs his wrist gently, prying her fingers away from his. His hand pulls back but she pauses and takes his hand in hers. He doesn’t pull away.
“What?” she asks again.
His mouth opens slowly. It closes. There is this look that she catches from him that speaks to shyness and uncertainty. He leans towards her though, and around them, the shop slows to a murmur and she’s almost wistful, waiting for what’s next.
“Hold still,” he says, and quickly, as if to catch her. He leans closer but she’s confused, watching him.
“What?” A third time.
He says nothing more. It happens so slowly, catching her off guard as he lifts a hand and presses it softly against her cheek, and his fingers start to pull themselves into her hair. He tugs once and twice, and there’s something so utterly genuine about the gesture. It gets her to sigh too. Her lips part and he leans in, ever so carefully, and closes the last gap between them. Clara scarcely has a moment to pull in a breath before his lips touches hers. A whisper of a kiss. So soft and warm and fleeting but then his mouth touches hers again and her eyelids flutters close. They could have been anywhere in the world instead of a quiet coffee shop, that was how quickly the world receded away.
The Doctor’s lips press to hers for another heartbeat and the hand against her cheek trails lightly over the skin, sending shivers up and down her spine. She reaches out to clasp at his jumper, literally clutches at him, trying to hold him to her but he pulls back slowly and blinks at her.
“We can start with dinner, if you want?”
She smiled, breathless and so hopeful; they can work through all the details later but this is all she really wants. A chance to get to know the Doctor better.
