Chapter Text
Birds were outside, he couldn’t really see them as they were too high up, higher than any bird dared to be, so they looked like tiny specks in the trees. Still, you could see them fly, getting up in big groups as a kid ran towards them, transforming into a huge cloud. There wasn’t a lot to do, nor a lot to see. The sharp contrast between the livelihood of the outside and the collected corporate whites and grays of the meeting room making his head hurt. Aside from the big window looking out, everything else was robotic, lifeless. Big gray chairs being used by men wearing gray suits motioned to be facing a big gray table. Past the glass that separated the meeting room from the normal offices and hallways, everything was still gray, nothing but the existence of the glass creating a separation between there and here. Alfred shifted in his seat, his own gray suit crumpling up as he slowly sank deeper into his seat, his arms crossed over his chest. The papers in front of him were meaningless, pure white with dark black scribbles all over it, almost tempting him to make his own. He didn’t, however, he didn’t want to confirm what Arthur already believed. Remembering Arthur made him cough awkwardly, slowly getting up and fixing his suit, opting to instead sit up straight, leaning into the table, turning instead to look at him. Arthur Kirkland, proud founder of one of Britain's finest…Finest…God knows what his company does or is, if it imports or exports or, whatever. All Alfred knows is that it's Big and Important, and he was destined to get in on it.
“Alfred.” His eyes refocus and no one but him and Arthur are in the meeting room. He stands up from his place at the start of the table, organizing his papers and fixing his clothes. “We have to go.” Alfred gets up quickly, messily getting his papers, hurrying up to stand next to Arthur. It’s a bit of a laughable spectacle, Alfred is a mini Arthur in everything but height, towering over him by a good 5 inches. Arthur's hair has started to gray, his dark gray sides slowly revealing pure blonde hair at the stop, in contrast to Alfred's dark blonde hair. Short messy hair he still allowed Francis to cut, while Alfred had a 100 dollar haircut specifically done by telling his barber he wanted the “smart businessman” special. Green eyes and blue, skin covered in freckles, Alfred's a bit tanner due to being out in the sun more. Aside from that, it was like Alfred was still a little kid, out with his dad on ‘take your son to work’ day, absentmindedly walking through the hallways, gawking at everything and everyone, dreaming of one day taking his fathers place. “Alfred, hurry it up, we don’t have all day.”
Arthur's office was huge, it wasn’t like the stereotypical big CEO office, it was modern. The same trend of big windows surrounded by even more big windows the meeting room had. There was some stuff that made it feel lived in, however. Some wizard figures on his desk Alfred couldn’t help but smile at as he imagined other all powerful people sitting in front of, having their every movement examined by the dolls. A few English paraphernalia, more magical, wizardry stuff that ranged from out right cool vintage gadgets, to something you would give your niece after you heard she read Harry Potter. He motioned for Alfred to sit on the big black couch in the middle of the office, a more comfortable spot reserved only for familiar guests he didn’t have to intimidate into submission. “Why not your desk? How about you make me feel like I’m part of the company?”
“It’s less for you and more for me,” as he sat he let out a groan of discomfort, grabbing his back and he let himself fall into the couch. Arthur let his head fall back, closing his eyes, slowly breathing in. “Why do you do this Alfred?”
“Do what.”
“This. I mean. I thought you didn’t want the company. Wasn’t that a whole thing you did? Part of the whole rebellion phase?”
“Well you can’t expect a teen to have everything figured out-”
“Your exact wording was, ‘I would never work for you and your piece of shit company, go ask Matthew,’ and then you bashed my door in and took the earliest flight back to California.”
There’s an awkward laugh, “I know what I said, dad-”
“Oh don’t ‘dad’ me. I haven’t been your father in 6 years, I won’t start now simply because you want to play nepotism baby.”
“I know what I said, Mr Kirkland, and I deeply apologize,” Alfred grinds his teeth, “However, I thought that the decision to bring me on board was already done-”
“Not like you gave me a choice, would have been easier to shoot me right there and then, merciful even.”
“If you have already made the decision, I expect for you to be professional,” at this Arthur finally opens his eyes and slowly turns to look at Alfred, back still fully against the couch, in an uncomfortable position Alfred knew would mess him up later. “And for you to simply have either yourself or an assistant show me my office and what I am expected to do.”
“What do you think the meeting was about,” he stands up making his way to his desk, “Do you think I just wanted you to look pretty? To show everyone how, finally, there was confirmation that the next CEO would be due to blood? Like some sort of, fucking, monarchy?” He presses some buttons on his office phone and tells his assistant to call someone in.
Yet another awkward laugh, “You didn’t say anything about my role in the company, much less who I was, you had me in the corner-”
Three quick knocks at the glass door makes Alfred turn around, and be surprised the door didn’t shatter. Arthur let the man in who stands straight, making his dad resemble a kindergartner. “You called for me, sir?” Yet another surprise, despite the tall height–he couldn’t have been shorter than 6’0 feet tall–and broad, muscular build, which the dark blue suit forced you to acknowledge, he spoke in a soft, high pitched voice.
Arthur waved a lazy hand at Alfred's direction, sitting at his desk and pulling some papers out, “Ivan I know you must be awfully busy, but I need you to take Mr. Jones to his office, the empty one next to yours, and I need you to orient him.” Ivan opens his mouth, “I’ll divide your current work between your department and myself. I know how sudden this is, trust me I know, but I’m sure you know just who Mr. Jones is.” Alfred smiles barely noticing the blank stare Ivan gives him and the grimace Arthur makes, “So it’s of utter importance you don’t allow him to fuck up, and if he does fuck up to tell me immediately so I can send him back to California.”
“Should I let Toris know?”
“Yes, thank you, I’ll still send Eduard and him an email, just. Please, Ivan,” He rubs his forehead, not ending the sentence.
“Of course, Mr. Kirkland.” Ivan turns to look at Alfred and softly smiles at him, a chill going down Alfred's back as he does, “Please, follow me.”
Every hallway looks the same, there’s nothing separating them, no distinct feature of what department you are in, nothing. Just people sitting hunched over in tiny desks, or more important-er people sitting hunched over in big desks. He quickly gives up trying to locate himself, letting Ivan guide him to his office, only him and God knowing how to get there. Ivan hasn't spoken the whole walk, only once in which a neurotic brunette hurryingly came up to him and harshly whispered something. Only for Ivan to turn to look at Alfred, let out a giggle, and say a sentence to the brunette, who also turned to look at him and hurryingly left stumbling. He clear his throat, “You’re Ivan-”
“Ivan Braginsky,” He doesn’t turn to look at Alfred, quickly moving from hallway to hallway.
“I’m-”
“Alfred Jones, yes, I am aware.”
The third awkward laugh of the day, “I suppose you would be, I hope I’m not like. A celebrity or something-”
“Oh no, you are not. Arthur did not tell anyone but the heads of the departments you would come, and he did not allow us to tell others.” He finally stops and turns to look at Alfred, “Your father is not very fond of you,” he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and opens an empty office. “This is,” another giggle, “obviously your office, Francis had to talk Arthur into giving you one of the super fancy glass offices, he wanted you to be in the basement.” Alfred catches the keys and looks at them, a big yellow one with a few smaller silver ones. For the most part it's the same as Arthurs, except with less decorations, giving it a blank-slate look. “These are your passwords, for your email and login and stuff, make sure not to lose them,” there’s an underline of a Russian accent to him. Although it seems to be suppressed, causing a weird disconnection due to his usage of common, casual English with his stiff, heavy on the tongue accent. “I will give you sometime to set things up, if you need anything I am in the office right behind this one,” his smile never faded.
It took Alfred way too long to set everything up, almost 3 hours simply messing around with computer layouts, looking for cool stuff to fill his office with, and account set ups. He almost feared that Ivan would knock at his door with that smile of his, Arthur right next to him as he giggled while Alfred got yelled at. He never came in. Alfred could see him outside his office, moving from place to place with different people, always having that weirdly stiff but laid back attitude he had with Alfred. Not once had he looked into Alfreds office, nor made eye contact with him. Almost like he forgot Alfred was a thing. After 3, long but fun, hours he finally got up and felt that he could stand 2 or so hours of lecturing and training. A slow but satisfying end to his day. When he got to Ivan’s office, however, his eyes strained at the difference. Almost like being forced into the day after hiding out, the bright, natural greens and yellows and reds caused a headache to start to form. The cool, modern grays and whites were lost to an abundance of plants and flowers, hanging and covering the glass so it was almost impossible to truly see inside.
“Oh, are you done with everything,” Ivan made his way past Alfred opening his office, “Alright come in, I will just tell you the basics, I will also give you some meaningless paperwork to practice on, okay? I am a bit busy.” The inside was even brighter. Instead of the migraine inducing pure white lights, he had comfortable yellow ones. The plain black dressers were covered in different plants, some which fancily laid their leaves throughout, others that simply stood up straight. Unframed paintings taped to the glass, an attempt of conquering the unfriendly walls, of making a cold thing warm. On his desk there was a vase, hand painted with classical Russian designs, beautiful sunflowers growing out of it. The type that grows feet in height, somehow able to fit in the tiny vase, resembling those of Van Gogh's painting. Alfred stood in the hallway, transfixed on the sunflowers, the way they were arranged naturally, without symmetry, petals falling off beautifully around his desk and floor. It was so real, so true, so unlike the rest of the building, the cold, uninviting corporate world forgotten for the warm, welcoming garden. “Here you go,” Ivan pushed the packet of papers unto Alfred. “If you finish early leave it on my desk, if not just take it home, It will be your homework.”
“Is this protocol? It seems kinda elementary.”
Another giggle, an answer of itself, Alfred followed Ivan out of his office, going to his office while Ivan was dragged away somewhere by a tall blonde guy with glasses. He sat at his desk, simply seeing the white and black but not making out any letters, missing the warmth he had just felt. Remembering his ideas for his office making him laugh, how absurd it was, how materialistic he was. Every item he had on his card weighed heavily, all different hundreds and thousand dollar knickknacks he didn’t need and, in truth, didn’t want. Alfred slumped on his chair, lightly rocking himself while pouting. Trying to come up with a way to one up Ivan, maybe make this place nostalgic, bring in some trophies from times past, put those New York modernist cartoons lessons to use, redo this entire office to be retro, paint the windows themselves, make a mural of them. Alfred stayed like this for far too long, using paper he found in his drawers to come up with possible designs, possible ways to make this place so nauseatingly his Arthur would have a heart attack and Ivan would giggle at him. The soft, fuhuhuhu ringing in his ears.