Chapter Text
Our story begins where it will eventually end: in a stuffy old room Chuck called an "office". It had no windows and hardly enough space for an uncomfortably small desk and chairs, but that suited him just fine. The room itself was fairly dry and far enough from any distractions that would pull him away from his paperwork.
Right, paperwork.
Chuck was so caught up in savoring this rare quiet that he nearly forgot why he was in here. He adjusted himself in his ancient chair and dipped his nose towards the stack of documents before him. The annual report had come in earlier that morning, and no matter how many times he read it over, the numbers weren't looking any better. But why? Aside from the occasional slow day, business was good. Even if video games weren't as popular as they were a few years ago, they had plenty of other things to offer.
See, it was really the denial that kept Chuck from shutting down completely. The encroaching dread could be kept at bay for a while with a white lie or two and a bit of willpower. As long as he himself was in denial, Chuck could keep up the facade for the customers and more importantly, his friends. They meant the world to him: a couple of misfits, the ones no place else wanted. They'd made a name for themselves, together. This place was just as much theirs as it was his.
They could never know. Never.
As the dread he was fighting earlier neared his defenses, someone knocked on the door. A pit formed in Chuck's stomach because he knew immediately who it was.
"It's open," he grumbled weakly, covering the annual report with some junk mail.
The door creaked open and Helen let herself in, leaning forward slightly over his desk.
"I was told to let you know they got our sound system sorted out."
"Really? That was quick," Chuck marveled halfheartedly. It took all his might to try and sound more than mildly impressed.
Thankfully, she was none the wiser.
"I know! We'll be ready for you when you're done in here," Helen chirped brightly, nodding towards the end for good measure.
"Gotcha. Oh, and Helen-"
"I already called the supplier about the missing dough mix. They're sending another load over tomorrow, all you have to do is sign," she chimed, putting a finger to his lips.
It was silly, really. That playful shushing motion lasted all too long for Chuck. Even though it was over in a couple seconds, he could already feel the start of a blush bubbling in his cheeks and ears. Normally he'd play it off with his signature snark, but it was already too late: he felt her silently take note of his flushed extremities.
All he could manage in his defeat was "Oh. Thanks."
"Anytime. Well, I guess I better let you get back to it. Don't be too long," Helen called behind her as she left.
Once he was absolutely sure she was out out earshot, Chuck let out a heavy sigh, letting his face sink into his hands.
It was with this motion that he inadvertently brushed a fingertip against his lips. Thoughts of their brief contact came pouring into his brain, washing away the looming worries and uncertainties for just a moment. He was simply too drained to fight the warmth that came back to his face with a vengeance. However, he knew he couldn't linger in the memory of that moment: there were shows to be had, business to attend to.
As he left the room, he gave a final glance to where the annual report was buried. Maybe he could keep it that way just a little while longer.