Work Text:
Edward Nashton is sitting in the office breakroom, right next to the big fake philodendron, reading a beat up second hand copy of capitalist realism. He looks adorable. Hair freshly washed, glasses smudgy, shirt crinkled. You just started working at KTMJ as a temp a few weeks ago - at first you thought the entire half year period you'd be working here would be awful. Everyone seemed to be self serving, douchey, except for a few of the lower level accountants. Everyone managing was a jackass - especially chase. You fucking hated that guy. He seemed to sniff out the fact that you were queer almost immediately and he would make comments just annoying enough to piss you off while keeping his plausible deniability "he was just being sensitive" excuse intact if anyone asked. No one would, anyways. You have a feeling he's someone's son.
After your hellish first few days, you'd seen edward. You'd been doing a coffee run, checking to make sure no one wanted anything, and he'd caught your eye. So concentrated on what he was working on he didnt even seem to hear you.
You haven't exactly spoken to him yet, you like to get an idea of who a person is before you start a conversation with them - you don't exactly have trouble pulling, and you arent subtle. Things move fast. After a week of asking around and trying not to raise suspicion with too much edward talk, you've come to the conclusion you'll probably get along with the guy. "He's weird" "Gives me the creeps" "He's totally a recluse". You would be too if you worked here. The only reason you're speaking to any of them is him.
When you walk over to the table he's at, he looks up at you already glaring daggers. You hold up a hand, waving and pointing to your lunch box.
"Hey, do you mind if I sit? I promise I wont bother you too much."
He looks nervous now, like you're about to start teasing him or something. His eyes are a deep green and his face is round, pale, marked by deep eye bags.
He nods and goes back to his book. You pull out a caprisun and start sipping on it.
"I love mark fisher. I read the ghosts of my life in highschool and it was the only thing I could think about for like two years."
He looks up. Round eyes trained on you like you're a bomb about to go off.
"You - you uh, read?"
You smile, nose scrunched up, and stifle a laugh.
"You must really have low expectations for your coworkers. Can most people that work here read, or is it just you and I?"
He sighs. Mumbling something that sounds like "you know what I meant" and puts the barrier back up between you two. You quickly wipe the smile off your face.
"Uh - sorry. Im sorry. I didn't mean to sound like I was trying to make fun of you or anything - teasing is a bad habit of mine. Sorry. I like a little bit of everything - my favorite genre is horror but I read a lot of philosophy, political stuff, history. What about you?"
He takes a quick glance at you. His glasses are perfectly clear, yours are smudged. It's like you're looking at him through water. He leans closer, leaning on his hands as he bends over the table to get closer to you.
Suddenly you're painfully aware of the fact that there's no one else in this breakroom. When he speaks its low and angry, a whisper. He's smiling.
"I might be a little dense sometimes, but im not stupid."
His words are crisp, and they sting. He calmly pulls back, grabs his things, and leaves. You sit in stunned silence and wonder what you did wrong.
You don't see him around as much after that. You don't really see anyone else that much either - clearly you fumbled it and now all you go to work to do is work. Not ask about him (or wonder what he looks like in pajama bottoms, or think about making pasta in his apartment with just your boxers on). After a week of near complete social withdrawl at work, its the weekend. Four days off for memorial day and you cringe at the thought of spending it in your apartment, alone.
Fortunately, gotham never sleeps and neither do your friends. You open discord, send a few texts, and by the end of the day you're planning to meet some of your friends at the iceberg. Everyone knows its kind of a shady place, but it's not that much to get in if you maintain eye contact with the bouncer for long enough and they play good music. Your friends are all people you've either known since you were in your twenties, or people you've met at shows. Fortunately you still enjoy clubbing in your thirties - even if you dont go out at every available opportunity now. Saturday evening rolls around and you pack a bag, slip a skirt that barely covers anything and some boots on, then you walk outside and find your cab waiting.
The music shakes the entire warehouse, the entire place reeks of weed and clove cigarettes. Your friends are already waiting by the door, talking and laughing, passing a joint around.
"Whats up dude? How've you been?"
Jax, best friend since you were 16, hugs you tight with one hand and you smile.
"Not too bad - I need to get out of the house more, though."
He nods and sucks on the rolled up piece of paper between his fingers.
"Goddamn right dude - I haven't seen you in like a month."
Claire, a girl you met when you were seeing some really shitty metalcore band playing in someone's garage, chimes in.
"Didn't you get moved somewhere new? It's like - like a fucking accounting thing right?"
You let out an exasperated groan and try your best to act like your anger about work is sort of funny. You try your best not to mention edward. Soon you're all inside, dancing, high, smiling and KTMJ seems distant. Somewhere you worked in college. Everywhere you look there's people dressed in leather and black silk dresses, the lights are red and they blur the crowd together. After a few more hours of drinking and dancing, you realize its one in the morning and you have no idea where your friends are. You feel sick. The mens bathroom stinks like piss, and as your urge to throw up worsens you decide to go for the alleyway instead of trying to find a clean stall.
The air is cold on the back of your neck, you push open the exit door and silently thank god there's not many smokers out here. Bile splatters onto the ground in front of you as you brace yourself against the wall of the club with a hand. You steady yourself and slump against the wall, slowly making your way towards the front of the building and pulling your phone out to call a cab and text your friends, asking where they are. You rifle through your bag, assuming its shifted to the bottom - nested under the layer of lip gloss tubes, lighters, and loose cigarettes. After three minutes of looking you're forced to admit that you definitely set it down somewhere in the club. You let out a slurred whine and stomp your heel against the ground, looking up at the sky. If you can't text anyone, you might as well fucking walk home and call them on discord from your laptop. Getting into a cab drunk is a scarier proposition than just risking the 15 minute walk home. You try not to stumble as you walk down the street, walking fast. The sound of the thumping music coming from the club fades to nothing as you get closer to your apartment. The silence is anxiety inducing, you hear people talk as you walk by bars, pass tents set up on the sidewalk. It seems like you can feel eyes burning into your back.
You try to ignore it. That gets harder as you hear your stalkers steps get out of time with yours, slower, and you see a mans reflection in windows behind you. He probably thinks you're drunker than you are - that you're too fucked up to realize he's there. As you get closer to your building you realize you'll have to make a choice. Let him know where you live or confront him. You grip the peppper gel keychain on your sling bag and try to act normal as you turn into an alleyway, quickly ducking behind a garbage can. A moment later - you hear a perplexed "huh". Footfalls getting closer.
When you see the beige of khaki pants, you lung out from where you're hiding and wrap your arms around his legs. He yelps, almost screams, and falls to the ground hard. You put your full weight on top of the guy and position the pepper gel in front of his face getting ready to spray him, when you realize something.
You've seen him before. You're on top of edward. From work. His eyes are wide and scared, like you're the one thats been following him. Before you can say anything, he takes advantage of your hesitation and kicks you off him, wrestling you until he's the one on top. The gel gets knocked out of your hand and tears spring up in your eyes as you see it rolling into a puddle. You try to scream but edwards clammy hand covers your mouth before you can.
"Shut up - Shh Shhhh"
His face is almost giddy now. All traces of shock are gone. He's laughing - giggling - as he looks down at you. His mouth is opening and closing as he breaths, his chest heaves and it comes out in short bursts. You want to throw up again.
"Dont try and scream, no one is going to help you. Nod for me if you understand."
You nod. He slowly lifts his hand from your mouth.
"What are you doing, eddie?"
He sneers at you.
"I wanted to see what you did with your time. See where you went. Even thought I - I think you were messing with me - I know you were, I guess I was hoping you'd give me some sort of sign. To tell me you meant it."
You know where it comes from - someone unaware socially gets picked on for too long, they can never believe that everyone doesn't want to hurt them. They get mean. You try to make him believe you.
"I think you know I mean it."
Slowly, you push up off the ground and put your elbows under yourself. He lets you. Your faces are almost touching now. He looks like he's about to cry.
"People like you don't want people like me"
He whispers it. You kiss him so hard you can hear the frames on your glasses clack together. He tastes like cigarettes and candy bars - you run a finger through his too greasy hair and he groans. When you pull away your mouth is still wet with his spit - you want to pull his hair and tell him to fuck you, right here in this alleyway, as an apology for scaring you so badly. You dont. Instead you look at him and smile softly.
"You're so pretty - you know?"
He just stares at you like a lovestruck teenager and tells you not to mention seeing him tonight. Not to anyone. When he leaves you sitting on the wet ground, grinning at nothing, you realize you dont have his number.