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Despite what he said earlier, he is a little insecure. Which sucks. Because it’s Poppy. It’s… it’s Poppy. And that’s not a throwaway statement or some half-baked justification, that’s a realisation. No, actually, that’s a conclusion. It’s a conclusion he’s reached slowly over the years.
If he had to describe how he arrived at it, it would start with him reflecting on the characters he’s created for the game. They're all brilliant. Ian provides people an escape, a doorway to a world more magical and romantic than their own; the characters he designs serve that purpose, they’re made to be looked upon with awe and envy. The conclusion arrived with him realising that he doesn’t think he can ever come up with anyone half as fascinating as Poppy.
Anyway, back to the point at hand. He’s insecure. He literally handed her a napkin and told her to design their next game, he gave her her chance to outshine him and render him a has-been on a silver platter, of course he’s fucking insecure.
But he’s also never seen her look happier and he’d be lying if he said that that didn’t soothe the jealousy and general pettiness a little. More than a little, actually. But he’d also be lying if he said that it was enough to banish it.
He doesn’t tell her that. But it shows when they fight, he thinks. And they fight, obviously. They always do when they’re working. But it’s still normal. As in, the fights are just their normal bickering. Nothing like what they had after that fucking personality quiz.
Yeah no, that wasn’t good.
But they’re better. She still won’t tell him her greatest fear but she came back. She didn’t leave. And they’re so much better. He thinks that counts for something.
“For the last time, we’re not doing the naked gladiator fight.”
“No Pops, think about it. We’re trying to bring out the Greek vibes here —“
“Gladiators are Roman!”
“Huh. Well it’s the vibe that counts, okay?”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“I have… a vision.”
“Oh my God, not the bloody vision again.”
“I have a vision. Of a ring and a crowd thirsty for blood. And I see three lions, no more, no less. I see chariots on fire. And I see… naked gladiators.”
“Okay, first off, gladiators weren’t even naked —“
“But they are in the vision.”
“Um okay, Ian, I think you’ve been watching too much porn —“
“I am insulted. You’re not wrong. But I am insulted that you would even insinuate that that has anything to do with —“
And that’s how it goes. Usually. But it works. It usually does. Hera looks great. Well, no, the idea for Hera looks great. They haven’t actually gotten started on the game yet. The studio literally just picked it up. And they’re still working on getting a team. Well, kind of working. Okay, no, they’re not really working on getting the team yet. They’re arguing about gladiators in the game but they’ll get the team. Soon.
She spends a lot more time at his place.
For the game. Obviously.
She gets her own coffee mug and shoves it in Ian’s cupboard.
“I can’t drink when guys with weird ears stare at me from the cup!”
“Guys with weird — that’s Spock. That’s Spock! How have you not seen Star Trek.”
They start hiring a week later.
“Oh my God, David. Are you kidding me.”
David nervously grins. “Look. I wasn’t going to but… look, I’m just not ready, okay? I’m not ready to fly the nest!”
Poppy groans and puts her hood up.
“David, for the last time, we’re not your parents. There is no nest and there is no nest-flying here.”
“I know! But it was all really weird back in MQ and nobody felt the same, you know? So, like, we’re here.”
“I’m sorry, we?”
Ian looks up and sees Brad, Jo, CW, and a very disgruntled Carol. Poppy pulls her hood down to cover her face.
“What the fuck, David.”
“For the record, I do not want to be here,” yells Carol.
“Oh my God, that’s all of you. Wait, where are the testers?”
“College. But Dana’s still going to work part-time. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Wow. Well. Uh, Poppy?”
She makes an unintelligible noise and buries her face in her hands.
“Er, okay. Well. You’re all hired, I guess… again.”
Everything’s back to normal after that. Dana arrives the next day and won’t get off video-chat with Rachel. David’s neurotic. Brad’s a secretly-nice capitalist. CW’s cancellable. Jo’s mildly terrifying. And Carol is not a therapist, goddammit, this is Human Resources. Poppy and Ian bicker and change ideas every five seconds and give the art department a collective stress-induced seizure.
Normal.
Mostly. Poppy still can’t give speeches to save her life (normal) and so when they have to talk to some magazine about the new game, everyone begs Ian to do it (also normal).
But he doesn’t (not normal). It’s her game.
(Mostly her game. Mostly her game, whispers a jealous little voice in his head. He tells it to shut up.)
Anyway, Poppy talks to the magazine and it’s terrifying.
She laughs. Loudly. Maniacally, even. “Oh my God, have I told you about soda? I mean, of course, some soda brands are better, but really, any soda will do. So, if you’re having a productivity-lag, soda is the answer. Here’s why —“
“Is she having a mental breakdown?” hisses CW. “She is not sticking to the script I wrote her.”
“I don’t think that’s a mental breakdown. I think she’s possessed,” says Jo.
“Yeah, I agree with Jo, that’s definitely demonic possession,” says Rachel from the iPad Dana’s holding.
“Shut up guys. She’s fine! She’s totally fine,” says Ian.
“Chips!” yells Poppy. “Chips are also severely underrated when it comes to boosting brain-activity.”
“Still think she’s fine?” asks Brad.
Ian winces. “Yeah no. She’s gone. She’s totally gone. This is what insanity incarnate would sound like if it had an Australian accent.”
Two days later, they’re sitting on the floor of Ian’s hall, eating ice-cream and looking at Poppy’s published interview in the magazine.
“What did you guys let me say?” asks Poppy, horrified.
“I mean. We would’ve stopped you. But you were kind of on a roll.”
“I’m never gonna hear the end of this,” she moans, burying her head in the couch.
Ian snickers and turns the page. “No, you’re not.”
“I hate life.”
“Your ice-cream’s melting.”
She sits up and resumes eating, staring mournfully at the floor. “I’m never talking to interviewers again.”
“You’ll kinda have to.”
“No. I’m just not going to.”
“Would you rather I do it?”
“Fuck off.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m just going to use a teleprompter.”
“Poppy, no. Remember what happened with the cue cards? A teleprompter is so much worse. You’re practically blind.”
“Shut up, I have glasses.”
“I somehow don’t think they’re strong enough. You literally walked into a building yesterday.”
“That’s because you wouldn’t stop talking!”
“So you walked into a building to get me to stop?”
“Maybe I did! That’s how annoying you are —“
Months pass. The game is… it’s great. It’s fucking great. Ian loves it. He hates that he didn’t come up with all of it. But he loves it. It’s absolutely brilliant. And honestly, that matters so much more.
“Hey, remember that time I had a sex dream about you?”
Ian chokes on his coffee.
“Why… are you bringing that up,” he finally manages.
“No, it’s because I had like a super similar one about that dude in Montreal last night? Like, the guy we met last week?”
“Ah.” Ian tries not to feel too disappointed. “Okay. That’s… that’s super weird, why are you telling me this.”
“It’s just funny!”
“Do you think I care about your sex-life, Poppy.”
“What, no, it’s just funny —“
“Do you want me to care about your sex-life, Poppy.”
She scowls and throws a cushion at him. “Fuck off. You’re an asshole.”
He grins and leans back, propping the cushion behind his head. She goes back to staring at her laptop screen, with what looks like a faint blush on her cheeks. Ian dismisses it. It’s just the laptop-light.
More months pass. The game’s out.
Everyone loves it.
“It’s great. It’s just brilliant,” says Thomas something-or-the-other, shaking Poppy’s hand.
“Honestly. I think this might be one of the most brilliant games on the market. Maybe even the most brilliant,” says some woman whose name Ian should probably remember.
“Aw, you’re just saying that!” Poppy laughs, pushing her glasses up, her dimples in full force.
“Hey Ian. Ian, there’s some fucking reporter out here. I told them this event doesn’t do reporters but he's here. Ian, you gotta help —“
“Poppy Li, the game is an absolute masterpiece.”
“Ian. Ian, the reporter’s not fucking listening.”
“Stunning. People can’t stop talking about it —“
“Ian Grimm! Please, just give us one comment. You took a backseat on this project, why —“
“Hey, hey asshole, the only person who’s gonna be taking a backseat here’s you, get the fuck out —“
It’s too much.
Ian all but runs outside.
He sits on a bench in an abandoned patch of garden, pulls his legs up, and buries his head in between them. He doesn’t want to be here. He was doing great. And now he isn’t. He thought he was over this. He was supposed to be over this. He doesn’t want to be here.
“Ian?”
He looks up. “Hey Pops.”
“What’re you doing out here?”
“Just. Sitting.”
She huffs. “You’re jealous, aren’t you.”
“What the fuck, no.”
“Yeah. Yeah you are. Everything’s not about you for once and you can’t fucking handle it.”
Ian sighs. Poppy’s… she’s clever and bright and she knows it, she’ll stand in the middle of a room and tell everyone what she wants. She doesn’t give up. Not with anyone. Not with him. She doesn’t take his bullshit. She always pushes back. He loves that.
And it’s also not what he wants or needs right now.
“Fuck off, Poppy,.”
“I’m not fucking off, you always do this! I don’t have to feel guilty about something great in my life just because you can’t —“
“Did I say you have to feel guilty? Did I? I really don’t want to do this right now, okay? If you’re here looking for a fight, just go.”
Silence.
This is all too familiar.
She sits down next to him.
“You didn’t say I have to feel guilty,” she says quietly.
He doesn’t say anything.
“But I do.”
He looks up.
“It’s still our game, Ian.”
“Sorry?”
“Hera. It’s our game. Just like Mythic Quest was. Everyone keeps shaking my hand and taking my picture and it feels… it feels wrong. Because it’s ours. Because we’re a team. And I try to tell them that. But… sometimes, it takes a lot out of me to tell them that. Because some small part of me hates that it’s ours”
He blinks.
“My greatest fear isn’t singing or whatever. I mean, that is a fear I have, I didn’t lie about that. But y’know… if you want to get personal about it or whatever, I’m scared… no, I’m a little terrified, actually, that I’m nothing without you.”
Just like he’d told her.
“And it’s. It’s a shitty fear to have, you know? Because… you’re my partner. And… you’re brilliant. And I want to be fair to you. And… and I care about you. A lot actually. Which is also mildly terrifying. And…” she trails off. Ian stares. She clears her throat and gets up.
“Anyway. Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — look, take as much time as you want, alright? I’m not offended. I’m… I understand. I’ll try and wrap this shit up so we can go.”
She leaves.
He stares at the grass.
They don’t talk for two days after that. Ian doesn’t go to work. David sends him 18 panicked texts before Ian blocks his number.
He hears a knock on his door on the third day. He opens it.
Poppy steps in.
“Look, Ian —“ she starts.
“I’m sorry.”
“I — what?”
“For what I said. Recently, yeah, but also. A year back, I mean. I didn’t. I didn’t realise —“
“That it hit a little close to home? It’s fine Ian, really. I was... an asshole too. Anyway, I said it’s fine.”
“Yeah, I know. But… it’s not true, you know. You’re not… nothing without me. And this game is your triumph, you deserve to feel great about it. You’re. You’re you, Pops. And I... it doesn’t matter whether or not I’m there, you know. Like, we’re a good team, don’t get me wrong. A great one. But... even if sometimes it takes help from others to realise our potential, the potential was still there in the first place, you know? You’re — “
“Ian, Ian, calm down. I know.”
“Oh. Okay. You know.”
“I… realistically, I mean, know that… what I have is still what I have. Fears just… don’t always listen to what your head tells you. I’m… I’m working on it. I will … work on it. Like I said, I haven't exactly... been great. I know you are. Working on it, I mean. You’ve been better… a lot better this past year, actually.”
Oh.
He clears his throat. “Right. Yeah. Just as long as....”
She smiles.
“D’you have any coffee?”
“What kind of man do you take me for?”
Later, they’re on the couch. Poppy has her legs on his lap and she’s scowling at Ian’s Star Trek mug on the coffee table.
“He’s staring into my soul.”
“He’s literally a cartoon Spock.”
“Those ears are unsettling.”
“That’s Vulcan racism.”
“I don’t care, get that mug away from me.”
Ian laughs and shoves it behind the couch. “There. Gone.”
“Good.” Poppy looks at her phone, humming softly.
“Hey, Pops?”
“What?”
“Did you… mean that stuff. About… caring about me?”
She looks up. That’s definitely a blush.
“Oh my God, why are you bringing that up. We had coffee! And now you’re making it weird —“
“I’m not making it weird! I just want to know! I mean, considering that we’ve been hanging out since your MIT grad days, I thought it was safe to assume that you didn’t completely hate me but —“
“Yes. You fucking moron. I care about you.”
“Oh.”
She goes back to looking at her phone, red. He looks at the coffee table. It looks unimpressed.
“Okay, but how did you mean that?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean. Do you care about me in a this-is-my-coworker-whom-i-wouldn't-leave-to-die way or in a this-is-a-good-friend-of-mine-i-would-sing-in-front-of way or in a —“
“Oh my fucking God.” She throws her phone down.
“Careful with that!” yelps Ian. “That carpet isn’t as soft as it looks —“
She kisses him. Hesitantly, at first. More confidently, once he kisses back.
“Clear?” she asks after she pulls away. Ian’s pretty sure his brain’s short-circuited. It’s fucking embarrassing.
“Yep. Yep. I’d say that’s… that’s pretty clear. Got it.”
She scowls and picks up her phone. “If this is broken, you’re paying for a new one.”
Ian goes back to work the next day.
“Oh my God, Ian! You’re not dead! Thank God. Poppy, Ian, listen, that new piece-of-shit streamer’s not fucking cooperating —“
“Handle it, David.”
“What the fuck, no, I can’t handle it, listen —“
“David. Kiddo. You got this.”
“I do not — wait, kiddo?”
“Yeah, don’t call him kiddo,” says Poppy.
“I thought it worked. Y’know, cause he’s always acting like we’re his parents —“
“That just makes it extra-weird.”
“No, that’s why it’s funny, see I’m doing it ironically.”
“It’s still weird. He has like a moustache. He’s David, it’s weird as fuck.”
“Guys, guys, the kiddo-discourse aside, this streamer is really — “
“Honestly, how is it weird? Pops, you take everything way too seriously.”
“I do not! It is objectively weird to call your coworker kiddo.”
“Not in this context — hey Carol! Carol! Human Resources question. Is it weird if I call David —“
“Carol, it is so weird, you don’t even want to hear this —“
Carol buries her face in her Starbucks and speed-walks away.
“Well. That was awkward.”
“Poppy. Ian. Seriously, listen to me —”
“Handle it, David!”
They walk to their office.