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It had been 5 hours, 6 minutes, and 37 seconds since he left.
Colleague’s wide, hazel eyes fixated on the clock, knees rocking gently back and forth in a familiar, self-soothing rhythm. Months had passed since his escape from that mechanical prison, but the anxious habits—ones picked up during that eternal prison—clung to him like a stuck shed. He was a wreck. Eating, sleeping, even bathing had become a chore haunted by memories of that endless, suffocating space.
Antagonist was the only one who kept him grounded. He cooked meals, slipped him sleeping pills, even guided him through the most mundane tasks like showering and shaving. Despite everything that had happened between them in that elevator—the good and the bad—Colleague couldn’t help but feel indebted to him. Grateful, even.
They were partners. Was Antagonist his partner?
Pulling his knees tighter against his chest, he rocked harder, trying to answer that question. Of course, they were partners. Even when he was nothing more than a trembling mess, Antagonist had used his wits to not only save himself but to save him.
For the first time since the shorter man had left, Colleague tore his gaze from the clock. The endless ticking felt like it stretched time, bending it. His eyes flicked to his watch, still dead and unfixed—a fitting metaphor for his fractured sense of time. The passage of minutes and hours terrified him, the relentless march toward an inevitable end. Time itself had become a silent tormentor. It was no longer death that haunted him, but rather the constant, unstoppable ticking of time. The constant reminder that things with or without him continued to move forward.
Colleague feared time more than most. Days turned into months, months into years, years into... centuries, millennia. He feared every second of it, the slow erosion of everything familiar.
But without Antagonist, another, deeper fear began to gnaw at him, threatening to eclipse the relentless tick-tick-tick in his mind. The fear of absence. The fear that Antagonist would get trapped again, this time alone. Or worse, that he’d find someone new—a new friend, a new partner. Someone better.
The fear that Antagonist might cut his losses and never come back, that he’d grow tired of him... leave him for good. The thought wrapped itself around Colleague's heart like a vice. The fear of life without Antagonist, without his partner, was the one fear that even time itself couldn't compete with.
His gaze snapped back to the clock: 6 hours, 32 minutes, 14 seconds.
Work ended in eight hours, didn’t it? But there was a commute too, right? Colleague couldn’t remember the details of a "normal" life anymore. The memories of before had blurred, smudged like ink in the rain. All that remained were fragments, flashes of himself... and Antagonist.
In the beginning, when the elevator had failed, it was Antagonist who had seemed the most fearful, more than Colleague ever was. Colleague had tried to soothe them both with words, filling the silence with his voice, desperate to believe that someone would come, that the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed. Meanwhile, Antagonist had searched, examined, and worked at finding a way out. By the sixth day, his efforts paid off. Colleague remembered it clearly—Antagonist emerging from a vent, clutching a pair of scissors. A shiver had crawled down his spine then, something instinctive telling him to be still.
After that, Colleague became quieter. He wasn’t sure why, only that something had shifted.
Days passed without a word between them—28 days, to be exact. His watch had tracked the time, a grim reminder to the silence that grew between them.
By day 34, the quiet was unbearable. The blond had always been a talker, someone who used words to drown out the dark thoughts clawing at the edges of his mind. He hadn’t heard his own voice in nearly a month, and he could feel himself slipping, losing grip on the fragile thread that tethered him to sanity. The isolation was suffocating. So, on the 28th day, he broke the silence, his voice raspy, weak from disuse, but there.
That’s when it happened. He still felt the imprint of Antagonist’s fist against his cheek, heard the venom in his voice as he shouted, scissors in hand, threatening him with a silence far more permanent.
If you dare utter another, fucking word, you will speak no more. Never again.
And so, Colleague had stayed silent. He hadn’t spoken since.
Time marched forward. Days bled into months, and those months slowly warped into years. By year two, his watch had given up, the ticking silenced for good. Antagonist had been horrified, but Colleague—he had felt a quiet relief. There was no need to track the endless cycle of days anymore. He could pretend time didn’t exist, a small freedom in his otherwise suffocating world.
Ignorance was bliss. It spared him from the relentless countdown, the crushing weight of the hours.
Hazel eyes blinked slowly as they refocused on the clock. 7 hours, 20 minutes, 55 seconds. The time crawled, refusing to move at any reasonable pace.
Colleague remembered when the elevator door had finally opened. Both he and the ravenette had leaped to their feet, hearts pounding with a mixture of desperation and elation. The moment stretched into eternity as they found themselves staring at—
Themselves. Younger, untouched by this endless ride. Versions of who they were before the elevator claimed them.
It had been too much. The sight nearly shattered the larger man, the weight of it pressing down until he thought he might break then and there.
Then Antagonist, his partner, spoke to his own doppelgänger. "Room for two more?"
Two. Two. He meant him too. Antagonist was taking him with him, saving him from the hell they’d endured together. Despite everything, despite the fear that had crawled under his skin, Antagonist hadn’t abandoned him. Even when Colleague feared that the ravenette might have killed him on that 34th day... he hadn’t. And now, he was taking him out, saving him once again with that smooth, calculated wit.
They were partners now—partners in deception.
Other feelings began to stir in Colleague's chest. Among the constant fear, there was something else. Appreciation. Relief. Even... adoration. Love? Did he—
A distant sound interrupted his spiraling thoughts, the soft opening of a door. Colleague snapped his head toward it, muscles tensing, heart racing with anticipation. His behavior was similar to a puppy eagerly awaiting their owner. But no. The noise wasn’t from here. It was next door, faint and mocking.
Dejected, he checked the clock again: 7 hours, 39 minutes, 26 seconds. The minutes dragged slower than ever. He buried his head in his knees.
He missed him. Missed him. MissedhimMissedhimMissedhimMissedhim—
His partner. His partner.
His eyes darted back to the clock. 7 hours, 42 minutes, 10 seconds. Not even three minutes had passed. It was unbearable.
He missed him. Needed him.
If Antagonist returned, Colleague would do anything. He would cook without complaint. Sleep without nightmares. Bathe and shave every day. He would stay quiet. Never utter another word if that’s what it took.
The blond would do anything to ensure the shorter male never left him again. His partner. His savior. Colleague couldn’t live without him anymore—not after everything they had been through. The hours, the minutes, the seconds apart were torture. Where was he?
He glanced back at the clock—only it wasn’t there.
"Hey... Can you hear me?"
That voice. That voice.
Colleague whipped his head around, and there he was. Antagonist stood on the other side of the table, holding the clock, looking both confused and mildly disturbed.
“I left work a little early. Have you been waiting here since breakfast?”
Before the words even fully registered, Colleague launched himself from his seat, crossing the room in an instant. He wrapped his arms around Antagonist, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. He buried his face in the raven hair, breathing in the familiar scent, grounding himself in the feel of his partner’s presence.
Antagonist stiffened at first but eventually relaxed, his arms slowly wrapping around the larger man in an awkward pat on the back.
"Ha, guess you missed me…" he said with a strained laugh.
Colleague tightened his hold, feeling the shorter male shift uncomfortably beneath his grip.
"Okay, okay. I get it. Let me just—make dinner real quick."
“No…”
Antagonist pulled back, startled. “Did you—Did you just speak?"
Colleague stared at him, the silence between them thick and heavy.
“… I-I want to c-cook for y-you.”
Antagonist blinked, clearly taken aback. “What? Why?”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“… Because we’re p-partners. R-right?”
Colleague didn’t wait for a response. He shuffled toward the fridge, determined, despite his obvious inexperience. He needed to do this. He needed his partner to stay. To never leave again.
Behind him, Antagonist’s eyes followed, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he brought a hand to his chin, contemplating the word: Partners.
As the blond fumbled through the fridge, pulling out random ingredients with little idea of what to do next, a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to face Antagonist, who was now standing beside him.
"Why don’t we make spaghetti together? It’ll be easier with a partner."
Colleague’s eyes widened, his heart skipping. His face flushed a deep red, and he nodded furiously, unable to speak through the rush of emotions. Yes, yes, yes.
With newfound determination, he turned back to the fridge, rummaging through the contents and carefully reading every label with a renewed sense of purpose. Antagonist watched him, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Maybe he’d ask his boss about working from home in the near future.