Chapter Text
He trudged through the snow on the sidewalk, the melting ice soaking through his white, hightop converse. Might it be unprofessional to wear converse as a secretary, he was aware, but he was in a rush.
George could feel the way his socks were beginning to squish uncomfortably against the soles of his feet. The cold wind nipped at his cheeks, prompting him to tighten the scarf around his neck and bury his nose into the soft fabric.
Footsteps sounded in a flurry around him, people desperate to reach their own destinations. He was shoved to the side at least two or three times before he made it to the front door of the towering building.
George pushed it open hurriedly, scurrying inside. He looked up from staring at his feet and watched everyone inside bustle around. Some with papers shoved under their arms, others standing with their arms crossed as they conversed with their coworkers and friends.
He was snapped out if his daze when a hand brushed his shoulder. George turned, greeted by his boss’ sharp gaze.
He felt his shoulders tense up and his lips pressed together in anticipation, waiting for the first sly comment to slip from Clay’s mouth.
“Good morning, Georgie”.
Not as bad as usual.
George let out a cold breath, tightening the steel grip he had on his bag, which was slung over his shoulder, “Good morning”, he replied steadily, watching his breath come out in small clouds.
Clay glanced down at the shorter man, his emerald eyes flickering down to the peculiar pair of shoes he had on, “Converse?”, he questioned.
The brunet shrugged, “I was late”, he answered shortly. He could feel the younger mans stare burn into the back of his bead as he quickened his pace.
George reached the elevator first, smashing his thumb against the button that would lead them to the eighth floor. He disregarded the way Clay intentionally knocked their shoulders together.
A scowl made its way onto his face when he heard Clay snicker behind him, “Georgie is crabby today”, he teased, using his index finger to poke him in the back.
George turned to glare at the taller man, “Maybe if you weren’t such a goddamn bother, i wouldn’t be in a bad mood”.
Clay shrugged, “I bet it’s not even my fault”, he said nonchalantly, “you’re probably just cold, like always”,
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open with a quiet screeching noise, one that made a shiver spike down Georges spine. The grin on Clay’s face went unnoticed.
“You’re so childish”, he muttered, turning down a long hallway. He made it to Clay’s office, turning to address his boss face to face.
Clay offered a toothy smile, “I like to think thats a good thing”, he remarked, flicking Georges forehead and gently placing his charcoal grey coat on the back of his chair.
George scowled at him, rubbing his forehead.
The younger of the two had his usual office attire on, a white, collared shirt, with a black vest over it and a dark green, dare he say emerald, colored tie to finish off the look.
George liked to call it “The Rich Guy” look.
His gaze lingered on the way Clay’s hands flexed when he adjusted his tie, but the moment vanished when a knock sounded just outside of the doorway.
Both of the mens gazes snapped to the doorway of the open office, where a younger individual leaned against the doorframe, smiling.
“Dream, George”, the boy addressed, his arms crossed over his chest.
Clay’s face relaxed when he spotted the man, a grin taking over his features at the nickname, “Nick”, he replied, “did you need something?”.
The man, Nick, just shrugged, “Just came to say good morning before I start my work. You know I hate sitting in that cubicle 10 hours a day”, he says.
George could definitely agree, except he was glad to have his own desk, even if it was across from Clays.
After a few long minutes, their conversation had finally come to an end and Nick had left in a hurry, claiming that he had late work to get in before the day started.
They were left to begin their own work.
-
There were moments throughout the day when Clay and George would finally leave their differences off to the side and become adults.
When George would force his brain to focus on signing the paperwork piled on his desk, and not focus on the way Clay’s eyebrows furrowed when he was annoyed and the way he stuck his tongue out every time he got frustrated.
When Clay would abandon the smart remarks towards the older man and only occasionally let his eyes flicker up from his own paperwork.
At one point both of them had looked up distractedly to look at the other and they’d made eye contact.
Clay’s eyes burned into his soul, a pen between his lips.
George’s pushed a piece of hair away from his eyes, his gaze flickering back down to the papers in front of him.
Maybe if he looked away Clay wouldn’t notice the way his cheeks had turned a brighter shade of pink.
But neither seemed to acknowledge the tension hanging in the air. Clay had already turned in his chair to stare out the window behind his desk, a perfect few of the city scape.
The silence was so loud that George thought he could hear his own heartbeat.
He stood up suddenly, announcing after clearing his throat, “I’m going to get a cup of tea, would you like one?” he asked, his voice higher than usual.
If Clay noticed he didn’t comment, only nodded with a small hum.
George hurried out of the room, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. He didn’t know why he was such a fucking mess.