mckayla + cyrek : december 20, noon @ las vegas sun
@nxnbinarydracvla
most of the time, mckayla loved the fact that their desk was near the center of the bullpen. they could see anything and everything, like the way reynolds couldn’t go five seconds without stretching, or the way some of the journalists would go crazy any time an ice cream truck so much as passed the office. people were interesting, and mac was there to document all of it. her lucky yellow notebook sat on her desk, ready and waiting for any observations that they made. today, however, mac wasn’t excited about the placement of her desk. catching a glimpse of the front entrance, the hair on their arms stood up straight. they could place that hair anywhere, and a shiver goes down their spine, but they try to brush it off.
“fuck.” mckayla muttered under their breath, as she watched him enter the building. part of her wanted to sink into the floor before the two of them made eye contact. but then, their eyes met. they wanted to avert their eyes, wanted anything except for him to leave so they could have some moment of respite. but he didn’t leave. her chest rose and fell in a quick rhythm, and mac had to steady herself. once he was nearby her desk, she cleared her throat and spoke up, trying to hide any shake that might be present in her voice. “cyrek. always a pleasure seeing you here,” god, they could be a shitty liar at times, but they hoped today wasn’t one of them. “why, exactly, are you here?”
