Work Text:
It hasn’t really sunk in yet, Richie thinks. Sending in that video resume had been in a shot in the dark, an impulsive decision at three in the morning. But now he’s here in fucking Buzzfeed, being led on a tour like he’s a college freshman all over again.
He works at Buzzfeed. Not exactly the cream of the crop, but still something.
The office is exactly what Richie expected, modern and minimalist. Light hardwood floors stretch across the expanse of the three-floor building and there are small pods of plain, white desks. The warm, Los Angeles sun pours into every nook and cranny through floor-to-ceiling windows. But it has that quirky, fun personality that makes Buzzfeed, well, Buzzfeed. And of course the orientation guy, a literal picturesque Adonis humbly named Ben, makes sure to remind the small group of new employees of this.
“There’s a snack bar on every floor,” he explains as they cross a walkway. The sunlight accentuates Ben’s features in the best ways, highlighting his cheekbones and turning the dark brown of his hair and eyes into a chocolatey, warm brown. Richie feels himself starting to drool just looking at him.
“Of course we’re sensitive to different allergies and diets, so we have gluten-free, nut-free and vegan snacks!” Ben continues, punctuating it with a dazzling grin.
Richie raises a hand. Ben immediately catches it.
“Yeah, Richie?” he asks. He watches Richie with a gently furrowed brow, attentive. Richie notices that Ben even leans forward a little. It almost makes Richie reconsider the words about to leave his mouth.
“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Where can we find the nuts? Because I, personally, would love to know.”
It simmers for a moment. Richie adds a melodramatic wink at the end just for extra flair. Another beat passes, then nervous laughter ripples throughout the small group. Richie catches the redhead next to him snorting, and Ben’s smile grows a little more genuine. The fluttering, insistent anxiety against Richie’s ribcage settles a little.
“I mean, you could definitely go for some,” Ben replies breezily. “But there’s a good stack of paperwork to deal with afterwards.”
Richie shrugs. “The nut-busting would be worth it.”
Ben laughs again. "Anyway, let’s take a look at one of my favorite places here.”
A small group passes by as Ben leads the newcomers across the walkway. They give Richie and the cluster of newcomers a passing glance as they carry tripods and audio equipment on their shoulders. Richie realizes that they probably look ridiculous, waddling after Ben like a set of ducklings following their mom.
He definitely has mother duckling energy, Richie thinks.
The hallway Ben leads them down is lined with conference rooms, some empty and some filled with people sitting around a large table. Richie glances into one as they pass, sneaking a glimpse at random B-roll on a flat screen T.V.
And that’s when Richie sees him.
There’s about five people in the room, talking over their open laptops and coffee cups. In the chair farthest away from the glass window peering into the room is a guy roughly Richie’s age. Large, expressive brown eyes are focused on his laptop, thick brow charmingly furrowed. It takes up half of his blindingly gorgeous face. Richie feels his heart skip a beat.
The guy looks hilariously professional compared to the t-shirts and sneakers worn by roughly eighty-percent of the people in the whole office, hair slicked back and a navy, polka dot button-up neatly pressed. Richie notes the pink suspenders pooled around his waist as he leans back in the chair.
Richie doesn’t realize his mouth is open until two round eyes flicker up from the laptop screen. Their eyes lock and Richie finally knows what all the romance movies are talking about. It feels like the world collapses in on itself then rebuilds in a millisecond, and Richie is the only one who feels the earth sway underneath him.
It really only lasts a second, maybe even less than that. The guy doesn’t give him much more than that glance, and Richie doesn’t even know if he was looking at him. Richie is surrounded by four other people, maybe he was looking at the small crowd of random people, that’s totally natural, it was definitely peeking out through the corner of his eye―
Richie becomes painfully aware of the sweat sticking his shirt to his back. He wipes his clammy palms against his pant leg, and regrets wearing this stupid button-up with sunflowers.
He considers sneaking off to his car, where there are four other shirts in his backseat from Richie’s anxiety-induced, one-person fashion show this morning. The words begin to form on Richie’s tongue, the Hey, where’s the restroom? but they don’t make it out. The redhead next to Richie nudges his side and he’s forced back to reality.
“Take a fuckin’ picture,” she whispers, leaning up from where the top of her head barely meets Richie’s shoulder.
It takes a moment, but Richie tears his gaze away from the conference room. He’s met with a wickedly knowing grin and sparkling blue eyes. There’s no judgment in the expression, though, but rather amusement at Richie’s whole world being turned inside out.
“Are we looking at the same person?” Richie replies, quiet enough that Ben doesn’t notice. He’s animatedly discussing the process of booking a conference room, gesturing with his hands.
“I’d see his pink suspenders from the Moon,” the redhead teases without much heat.
Richie glances back at the guy. He’s still focused on his laptop, but taking a sip from his coffee cup. A strand of hair has escaped the oppressive hold of gel and sweeps across his forehead.
He sighs dreamily, channeling the energy from the most Austenian protagonist he can think of. “I know, isn’t it sexy?”
“Eh,” The redhead shrugs. “Not really my type. I’m more into the tall and broad types.”
Richie follows her line of sight to Ben. He looks back at her. Then back to Ben.
He points to himself. “Are you coming onto me, Ringwald?”
The redhead snorts again. “The moment I saw you I knew you were gay, Mister Funky Shirt. Seriously, where’d you even find that?”
“Um, excuse me, this is an exclusive from the Richie Tozier collection. Each shirt is carefully chosen based upon an extensive criteria.”
That earns him a crooked smile. And to Richie’s surprise, a hand extended towards him. “I’m Bev, by the way. Bev Marsh.”
Richie prays his hand isn’t so sweaty as he takes it. Bev’s grip is surprisingly firm. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
“It better,” Bev replies, then returns her attention to Ben.
Richie lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, all the tightness in his chest finally leaving him. The group keeps moving along. Richie peeks into the conference room, the pink suspenders guy in the middle of speaking.
Oh, Richie realizes. This is going to be a huge problem for me. Go figure.