Chapter Text
It's the same dream. It’s a vague dream, but Grian knows it’s the same as the night before.
He’s in the middle of the woods, surrounded by other people. They circle around a bonfire, glancing and glaring at each other over the bounding flames. At one point he starts talking, but he can’t understand anything that comes out of his own mouth. It comes out all garbled and slurred together, like he’s underwater
The strangers then disperse, heading into the wilderness or pausing to chat with one another.
Grian runs off as well, and the world blurs
He gets the rest in bits and pieces.
Tonight, Grian sits on a white llama as they stroll through a waning treeline and brush. He stares down at the bright red sleeves of his sweater. The shade and feel is familiar. He's worn the thing in every dream he’s had for a month. In his hand is an iron sword, its gleam dull in the moonlight. It’s heavy against his lap, the handle a little too thick for his hands, but even so, he can’t bring himself to put it away. Something tells him to keep it, to not let his guard down. He reaches out to pet the white llama he currently rides on, which is decorated with weavings that strike him as Italian from the colors.
He’s not even sure if Italy even exists in this world. From the looks of it, there's no sign of civilization for miles. But, surprisingly, he’s not too concerned with that.
Instead his focus is on the man in front of him, leading the llama.
All he can see is the man’s back, muscle barely concealed by a brown poncho. What he can see of his skin is riddled with jagged scars, the light tissue a contrast against his tanned skin. They’re everywhere, from his back to his arms and hands. Grian’s first instinct is to think he's being kidnapped, however his subconscious brushes the threat off quite quickly. He quite doesn't know why.
His eyes fall to the stranger’s hand, gentle around the rope despite their size and rugged appearance.
The image of poppies and lilacs comes to mind.
It takes him an eternity to realize that the man’s talking to him.
“We have to make the business accessible, so I’m thinking we use Pizza and basically go door to door selling the sand. It’s pretty much flawless.” The stranger’s voice is thick like honey, deeper than Grian’s, and his accent reminds him of a few of his coworkers. Despite his raised hackles, he feels calmed by it.
“What do you think, G?”
The stranger turns his head around to look at Grian. His hair matches the dark brown poncho (or the other way around– he supposes) and it’s equal parts unruly and styled so that it frames his face. The man is quite handsome, in all ways a man in his dreams could be. His features are strong, but they don’t lose any of their roundness, despite the deep scar running from his jaw and running across his nose bridge. He’s smiling, so bright it’s nearly blinding, but Grian can’t bring himself to look away.
As soon as their eyes meet, emerald on onyx, Grian feels as though he’s a thousand miles away.
“G?”
The man’s voice, so clear in his ears a second ago, is now muffled like a veil was cast over him. The distance only grows, and a cold numbness washes over him. He feels like a ghost in his own body.
The man’s lips move again, but the sound is lost in the static that hums loudly in his ears. Everything is going blurry, and the man’s face distorts, like a TV that’s losing signal.
It’s like he’s being flushed from his own mind, pulled away by a rushing river. He wants to respond, he wants to see this play out, he wants to know who this man is.
He tries to hold on, but he’s washed away in the current, and he’s on a desert cliff overlooking the vast flat of sand.
Sweat sticks to his skin, a glistening sheen in the light of a dying sun. His body is heavy with exhaustion. His chest heaves, sucking in air like a dying man. His chest hurts, and so does his face, feet, legs, and knuckles. In the corner of his eye is a wall of cacti, arced slightly and spotted with dark red. He collapses, knees dug into the sand. A sharp pain runs through his hands, making him wince. He looks down at them, taking in the battered, prickled, and bloodied sight of his knuckles and palms.
Then, he sees the body lying on the sand, pale and still.
Suddenly, he’s more lucid than ever.
He knows this scene, more familiar than his red sweater or the heat of the desert sun. It’s the same every time.
He crawls forwards a little, and he sees the stranger from before. But, instead of warm tanned skin, it’s cold and grayish. He reaches a hand out, brushing the stray strands of hair out of his face. The man’s expression is so peaceful, like sleeping beauty. For a moment, Grian’s convinced that’s all he’s doing. Sleeping soundly on the hot sand.
The man is dead though, and a chorus in the back of his mind reminds him.
He’s the last one standing. He’s the winner. He’s won. He always wins.
Yet it never feels like winning. Instead, his prize is the feeling of someone’s hand shoved right between his ribs, catching onto his heart and threatening to shatter it with the tiniest more force.
Then he feels something run down his cheeks, and the veil is back, pushing him to the back of his own mind. He steels himself in preparation for the static to wish him away, but it doesn’t come this time. Instead, he’s left to face the gnawing feeling of both emptiness and anguish in his chest. Grian watches in full agonizing clarity as his body moves closer, dragging him onto his lap, and cradling the man’s head in arms.
The tears run down his face, too fast for him to really register. His lungs stutter, burning, unable to get enough air between his choked sobs. His hands tremble as they hold onto the man, tugging him closer to him. It’s like he’s trying to absorb the last of the dead man’s warmth. Like it’s second nature to pull that man this close.
Something lands on the sand next to him, and he whips his head towards it like an animal. Even though he knows. His blood goes cold, and his expression drops. Suddenly, the despair and pain is nothing compared to unadulterated fear that rushes through him. All his muscles in his face freeze, stiff like a single twitch will get him killed. His grip tightens on the stranger in his arms. He doesn’t even know who the figure is that lands by him, but the desperation supplies him with a few things.
They can’t take him. Grian can’t leave him. He needs to protect him. He needs to protect Sc–
-
Grian shoots up, gasping for air, like someone had placed their hands around his neck for ages. Cold sweat runs down his forehead, and he raises his hand to feel the clammy skin.
Everytime, he thinks bitterly.
His hand hovers over his cheeks, wet but not uncomfortably sticky like sweat would have it. It takes another teardrop to run down his face for him to realize that he’s crying, that he’s been crying.
He’s crying over a dead man in his dreams. Someone that doesn’t exist, and never will.
“This is so stupid.” Grian mumbles, wiping the tears quickly, feeling a bad day beginning to brew.
His mind suddenly goes to his phone, ominously still where it sits on the nightstand. It’s barely visible in the darkness of his room. Not a good sign. He reaches over to tap it, squinting against the blinding artificial white light that radiates from it.
5:47 AM
Fuck.
-
Grian rubs the remaining of sleep from his eyes, flipping the blanket off him. He had tried his best to keep his disgusting sweat from hitting his linens, but in the mid summer heat of a metropolis like the Capital, that’s kinda hard to do. He groans, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.
He knows he can’t go back to sleep, partially because of the dream, partially he finds falling back asleep after being prematurely woken a nightmare in it of itself. He might as well start getting ready for work.
This is around the time he’s supposed to anyway, but always Grian finds that the dastardly groans of his coworkers every time he shows up late to the morning meeting like music to his ears. This time, though, perhaps he’ll surprise his colleagues with his early arrival, and maybe Bdubs will think about deleting that email to X.
He grabs his phone, and moves through the dark of his room to the door. It’s brighter in the living room of his apartment, and he squints through the morning light, So, it’s not as early as he thought it was. It would probably be this bright in his room if he hadn’t installed those blackout curtains Mumbo had been constantly recommending to him (mostly out of desperation to get Grian to stop complaining about being woken up early).
He makes his way to the bathroom, flicking on the light. The bulb hums to life, and Grian gets a look at himself in the mirror. There’s circles starting to form beneath his eyes, the consequence of his late nights at his computer and the recurring and scarily lucid dreams.
His hair is sticking up in numerous directions, disheveled from his pillow and maybe a bit of tossing and turning. The light brown looks nearly blonde in the bright fluorescent light, and his fair skin nears ghostly pale. The comparison leaves him a little nauseous, after what happened in his dream, so he abandons the mirror, deciding he’d rather shower first, and perhaps avoid all reflections of himself today.
He goes about the rest of his routine, heading back to his room. He chooses a baby blue sweater, slipping it over his neatly buttoned dress shirt, pretending like he didn’t glance at the vivid red one lying in the clean hamper.
He opens his curtains, finally allowing the light to reach his room. This is perhaps the best part of waking up early. Being able to stand in the sunlight for a little bit, staring down at the occasional passerby. A voice in the back of his head laments on how low his apartment is despite the complex being a couple of stories higher than average. The ones on the higher floors were out of his budget, though, despite having such a cushy job at Hermit Crafted.
He takes a quick glance at the time before turning, quickly stopping to grab his work bag, and then heading out.
-
He waits for the train, rocking back and forth on his feet. He doesn’t know why he feels so antsy, maybe it’s the foreign crowd of the early morning riders or maybe the fact he doesn’t have the adrenaline rush to make it within the company’s ten minute grace period.
Actually, there’s one of his co-workers that usually takes the morning train.
Grian looks around for Cub, the head of the Hermit Crafted IT department. He ran into Cub the last time his dreams woke him up too early for his liking. They’re not particularly close or anything, but compared to his normal silent rides on a near empty car, he appreciates the company of a colleague.
The stout man is usually fifteen minutes early to everything, choosing to take the train thirty minutes earlier than he needs to in order to make his scheduled time, and according to the neon scrolling sign, the train’s going to be there in five.
Grian sends the poor man a silent prayer, however it’s good to see that tardiness reaches everyone one day.
He looks at his phone, giving in to the urge to play tetris to pass the time, but the train shows up fairly quickly after, like it could sense his boredom.
He steps on with the rest of the early morning crew, which consists mostly of tired salarymen and others on their daily commute. About a week ago, he would see students and their soulless bodies on their way for morning classes. Though since the break started, they’ve all basically disappeared, allowing Grian to snatch a seat nearly every time.
Unfortunately, it’s more crowded than he expected, and he’s forced to stand. The disappointment sinks in, adding to the pile of things that have gone wrong today. He finds a nice place to stand that’s in front of the window staring out at the platform. All he wants is for the train to already leave so he can quickly occupy his mind with work things– a wish he thought never in a million years he would have.
The doors shut, and the train stalls for a few seconds before leaving the station. However, in that down time, he catches a glimpse of a familiar face.
In the few seconds, he watches as Cub pokes his head up from the stairs. He moves further up, gripping onto the railing and turning back. It looks like he's… Yelling at someone? Out of his four years of knowing Cub, he’s never seen the man raise his voice at anyone, with him choosing passive aggression as his weapon of displeasure.
Grian thinks he makes eye contact with Cub from the other side of the glass and awkwardly tries to duck his head. Thankfully, the train starts to pull out of the station, and for a second Grian thinks to kiss the ground the conductor walks on.
He watches as Cub's face goes from anger to resignation, and can basically hear him sighing. He takes off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Grian feels a bit of pity for the poor guy.
Another guy shoots up from behind Cub, taller and with brown hair tied into a short messy ponytail. The guy tries to scramble towards the platform, but Cub grabs his arm, keeping him still.
The guy is new, and Grian has never seen him show up for the train at this time. Hell, he’s never even seen Cub talk to the man. He doesn’t think too much of it as the train starts to pick up speed. Grian watches remorsefully as the train leaves both Cub and his friend(?) behind.
But then the man looks towards the train car, and Grian catches a glimpse of the pitiful look in those puppy dog emerald eyes.
(He sees those green eyes half opened. Unseeing, unfocused.)
(“Why do you keep doing this to me?”)
What was that?
Suddenly, His heart is racing and his vision begins to fray around the edges. There’s a ringing sound that drowns out the mechanical whirring of the train. He brings a hand to his forehead, trying to soothe the ache behind his skull. This is not like his normal migraines, the ones he gets after staring at his laptop for too long, or getting flashbanged by a new lightbulb.
No, it's like the static from his dreams.
It’s not trying to pull him away like it usually does. He feels secure in his own mind; it just feels like he’s been thrown to the back of it.
He tilts his head to rest against the cold metal pole, letting out a shaky breath.
This is going to be a long day.
-
“Gods, you look a bit shit don’t you?”
“And you look as beautiful as ever, Tim.”
Grian leans against the counter, looking down at Jimmy at his desk. It’s an interesting angle, as Grian never sees the top of Jimmy’s head when the blonde man is standing. Jimmy opens his mouth like he wants to say something more, probably to continue the topic, but Grian doesn’t know if he can handle even thinking about what’s been happening.
So, he masterfully switches the topic.
“You’re going bald.”
“Excuse me?!”
Grian laughs, reaching right in front of Jimmy’s offended expression and snatching up a cup of coffee from Jimmy’s desk. He takes a sip of it, smirking as he does. It quickly twists once he realizes he's picked up Joel’s order.
“Eugh. Why does Joel drink salted caramel? Why on earth would you want your coffee to be salty?” He puts the cup back down on the counter, leaning his cheek against the wooden top. Another thing to the pile.
“At least it’s warm.” Jimmy supplies under his breath, tapping away at his computer. He doesn’t even look at Grian, which mildly annoys him because Jim doesn’t have to be here for another ten minutes.
Does everyone like getting to work before their shift starts?
“Cold coffee isn’t the worst thing in the world. It wakes me up even more because I expect it to be hot.” Grian tries to smile again, but it’s quickly cut off by a remnant of his headache from the train. The pain washes over him quickly, but Jimmy still frowns at Grian’s scrunched up expression.
“Speaking of hot coffee, you’ve been getting here earlier and earlier recently.” Jimmy says, the clacking dying as he speaks. “Have you finally come to your senses about showing up on time?”
“Speaking of hot, I’ve finally figured out why you’ve been showing up so early.” Grian pulls out his phone. He opens Instagram, scrolling through a list of accounts until he finds it. “Does it have something to do with a certain mechanical engineer who won the Innovator’s prize for his energy efficiency showcase, Mr. Tango–”
Jimmy shoots up from his chair, shoving his hand over Grian’s mouth. It catches Grian by surprise, and he has half the mind to lick it. But the other half is still fighting off the headache and static from earlier, so it’s clear which side wins.
“Shhhh! He works here too, you know!”
He doesn’t. The workshops are down the block, and Jimmy knows that well.
Grian moves Jimmy’s hand “I’m just saying, Tim. I was appalled when I saw you in his post. In his passenger seat no less.”
He flips his phone around, showing the offending post in question. Grian smirks at the way Jimmy’s flustered face turns a vivid red.
Jimmy pushes Grian’s phone away and babbles, clearly trying to think of something to say with his mouth instead of his head. He pauses for a second, and takes a deep breath.
“The bus has been shit for the past month because of… everything, and Tango just so happens to live close by and also happens to have a car.” Jimmy fiddles with his fingers, meaning this next part will be extra embarrassing. “So I just ask him to… Pick me up on his way to the workshop.”
Grian’s smirk turns near devilish. “So you’re mooching off of him-”
“It is not mooching, it's called carpooling you moron–!”
“Why hello hello tiny toy boy Tim, and– Grian? I thought I got here five minutes early.”
Joel strolls up to the desk, dressed in an ironed dress shirt and an obnoxiously green cat tie Lizzie had gifted him on Valentine's day. He checks his watch, and Grian’s eye twitches.
“Why is it so hard for everyone to believe I can be early?”
“Because it’s you, mate.” Joel says matter of factly before reaching down and snatching the remaining cup. “Let's see if you got my order right this time.”
He takes a sip, only for his face to scrunch up like he’s just sucked on a lemon.
“Dammit Tim! This is the third time!” Joel slams the cup down, all dramatic, and leans like he’s about to leap over the counter.
Jimmy’s hands fly out, flapping wildly as if that will deter a madman like Joel. “Hey, hey! We’re family now! Family!”
Jimmy’s screech of terror brings back memories, specifically of the time Joel did tackle Jimmy to the ground for spending too much time with Lizzie. This was before (and the reason) they found out Jimmy and Lizzie were cousins.
Still, even if they had known, both him and Joel were juniors, and in the deepest darkest depths of their architecture degree. The lack of sleep had driven Joel past the cusp of insanity, and Grian could feel himself close behind. Fortunately for their friend group and perhaps the rest of humanity, Lizzie had brought Joel back with her charms and agreed to the date Joel had been begging for since the year before.
Grian smiles. This is the kind of familiarity he needed.
“ I took your cup by accident, Joel,” Grian says, holding out the cup and sloshing the drink around, partly for emphasis and partly to get a bit to spill out. “Switch with me.”
“Woah Grian. I know you love me and all, but I am not trading spit with you. I am very happily married.” Joel gleams with all of the pomp of a fifteen year old who just got his first girlfriend.
Grian rolls his eyes, letting out a very audible sigh. He doesn’t need nor want that version of Joel again.
“Whatever. Enjoy my black coffee, you freak.”
He takes another sip of Joel’s sweet and salty monstrosity, wincing like he just took a mouthful of salt water. At least it has caffeine in it. Last time he took Jimmy’s drink and got a blast of a sickly vanilla sweet latte with no caffeine to compensate.
“What were you guys talking about before I got here?” Joel asks, tearing open a sugar packet he stole from Jimmy’s desk.
Grian smirks, and Jimmy, to his horror, notices the look right away. They speak at the same time
“Tim’s big fat crush on Tango–”
“Hey, well look at the time! You guys should head up if you don’t want to be late to your morning briefing. Ahaha!”
To Grian’s displeasure, Jimmy’s voice overtakes his.
Grian throws Jimmy a look, and Jimmy glares back. Joel looks between the two of them, taking in the exchange before looking at his watch.
“Jim’s right, Grian, we gotta head up for the meeting.”
Grian lets out a groan, slinking against the counter like all his strings have been cut. “Don’t wanna.”
There’s something about heading to his well paying job at a prestigious company doing the thing he very much enjoys that reminds him how much he’d rather be back asleep in his bed.
“Don’t wanna.” Joel mocks, his voice going three octaves higher and his accent being horribly accentuated. “Come on, you’re never here for the agenda or the news. It’s about time you figure out what’s going on around here.”
“Oh, I can figure out what’s going on here just fine. Right Jim?” Grian waves his phone around.
“I’m going to report to HR.”
“And with your track record, they’re definitely going to fire you. Now come on.”
Joel leaves no room for any argument, grabbing the shorter man by the collar of his shirt and dragging him to the elevator.
“Tim! Tim save me!” Grian squawks, but puts up essentially no fight against Joel. If he did, Joel would most likely throw Grian’s skinny body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Still, he dramatically reaches out towards Jimmy with the slight hope he could buy some time. “Be the hero of justice you were always meant to be!”
Jimmy simply responds with his middle finger.
-
The elevator ropes whir as they rise up. Grian takes to looking out of the window, watching the cityscape get smaller as they move further up the Hermit Crafted. office buildings. He feels hum run through his body as they get higher and higher, the voice in the back of his mind elated to be this high in the air. In the reflection, he can see Joel staring at his phone, smiling like an idiot.
“So, what happened at the last meeting?” He asks.
Joel looks up, seeming to have fallen back to earth. “Oh, nothing much. Something about a big project lined up for the ruined areas.”
“So we’re the lucky ones in charge of reconstruction then?”
“Probably, I wasn’t paying too much attention.” Joel looks back at his phone, typing out a reply to whatever Lizzie probably said. “Makes sense though. I mean, remember that model I made that survived twenty-three tons plus the professor’s weight.”
Grian scoffs. “Like I can remember what happened seven years ago.”
He is right though. If Joel put all of his three brain cells into it, he could build the house equivalent of a black box. Grian could too. They were the best architects out there. The best of the best the country could offer.
“Was there anything else?”
Joel’s thumbs pause as he thinks. “Oh, yeah. There was something. Though, I’m not sure if–”
The elevator bell dings, cutting Joel off. The door opens, and on the other side stands Gem. Her arms are crossed. Despite her stature, the piercing look on her face makes Joel and Grian jump back.
“Gem! How good to see you.” Grian laughs nervously, “Are you waiting for something or-”
“Where’s Pearl, Grian.”
Grian pauses for a second, registering his sister’s name and then the question. “Why would I know where Pearl is?”
“Because you share the same blood.”
“I don’t think that's how that works-”
“Shut up, Joel.” She snaps, and Joel shuts his mouth.
Grian hums, thinking about the last time he’s talked to Pearl.
“Oh, wait– hold on.”
Grian pulls out his phone, scrolling through his messages until he finds Pearl’s contact, marked by a picture their parents took when Pearl was ten years old in her Halloween costume. That year she couldn’t decide between being little red riding hood and the big bad wolf, so she went out and walked around their neighborhood in wolf ears and a hooded red cape. It wouldn't have been anything special if she wasn’t making the ugliest face Grian’s ever seen, eyes half closed up and mouth agape against the onslaught of the bright flash hitting her.
He scrolls to the message Pearl sent him that weekend.
“She says Tilly had bitten her and now she’s dying from Rabies and to tell you her final goodbyes-”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay.” He resigns. “It’s not rabies but she is pretty sick and wanted me to tell you. You’re welcome”
Gem’s eyes narrow, which is mildly terrifying with her brows furrowed and those chilling blue eyes.
In what feels like an eternity, Gem sighs, uncrossing her arms and running a hand through her orange curls. “Whatever.”
The tension instantly dissipates, and it’s only when Joel takes a deep breath does Grian realize he’s been holding his as well. Gem turns around to head down the hallway and Grian and Joel follow close behind. Grian glances up at Joel, sharing a look of both fear and confusion.
“Why do you need Pearl anyway?” Grian asks, slightly fearful of the response he’ll receive.
“She was supposed to go do some site visits for my project.”
“Well, can’t you go alone? I mean I check my sites alone all the time.” Grian shrugs, pushing himself forward to match the ginger’s pace.
“That’s because you never show up to the meetings.” Gem swings her fist, narrowly missing Grian who ducks at the last second. “Bdubs implemented a new buddy system rule because of all the crazy stuff happening.”
“What?”
“Yeah, apparently a few people’s projects have been cancelled because there have been mycelium sightings.”
“No way, it’s already in the city?”
Gem shakes her head. “Not really. Most of the projects were out of the city. But, Pearl found out she couldn't continue with her one project in that suburb on the outskirts because they found the tiniest hints of mycelium.”
Grian's veins turn to ice, concern bubbling in his chest. “That’s the one she visited last week.”
Gem keeps looking straight ahead, but Grian doesn't miss how her lips curl. She’s feeling the same thing as Grian.
“Yep.” is all she says.
His mind starts to rush. Pearl never told him she was in contact with spores?! He just assumed it was the mid summer flu, or maybe allergies from walking Tilly in that stupid park with those stupid blooming trees. Spore sickness is a whole other issue completely, seeing the state of the world. He’s reminded of those clips on the news, of children and grown men alike coughing out their lungs, unable to move from inhaling the spore dust from the mycelium. There’s a heavy lump in the bottom of his stomach. He feels sick.
They finally reach the meeting room and are unsurprised to see they are the last ones there. Most of their coworkers are already there, chatting or reviewing blueprints. He catches Stress’ curious eye through the window and offers an awkward wave.
Gem heads in first with Grian on her heels. He stops to hold the door open for Joel. They head to their respective seats, with Grian’s being in the very middle of the long table.
Bdubs stands in front of the projector screen at the head of the table. He looks up from his laptop when Grian settles in his seat.
“G, it's nice of you to join us today.” He has the tone of a father seeing his child join them for dinner for the first time in weeks, surprise with the slightest undertones of disappointment. It’s a little off putting, but better than the usual rage and scolding he gets from not showing up at all.
“My pleasure.” Is all he says, and he can see Joel roll his eyes out of the corner of own.
Bdubs chuckles, his big bug eyes narrowing in mirth. He taps a few things on his keyboard before setting his laptop down, addressing the crowd with his signature wide goofy smile.
“Okay guys, thank you for coming today, even though the meetings are mandatory.”
Grian pretends he didn’t feel everyone glance over at him.
“There’s just one few things I want to cover before we get into major things. Ahem.” Bdubs clears his throat. “We’re getting a new employee!”
Everyone glances at each other at the announcement. Even Gem seems surprised, a new sight as she never really reacts to anything during the meeting. Probably having something to do with her making the presentations.
Grian can’t judge too harshly, as his reaction is essentially the same. A new hire? In the middle of summer too? It’s been two years since they’ve had a new employee. Not very long sure, but getting a job at Hermit Crafted Incorporated is not an easy feat. They get interns sure, yet the chance of getting hired from the internship program is quite low too.
Grian turns to face Joel, who is grinning happily. He doesn't blame him. With a new hire, Joel will finally be further up that seniority ladder.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together and welcome– drumroll please Joel.”
On cue, Joel starts drumming at the wooden table with his hands, making drum noise as he does. Bdubs gestures to the door and everyone’s eyes follow, the anticipation thick in the air.
A moment passes, and then another, and eventually everyone starts to look at each other, suspense switching to confusion.
“The guy I would be introducing if he were here right now.”
The architects let out a collective groan. They all want to catch a glimpse of the new guy, whether that be out of interest or some ulterior motive. Grian wants to belong to the first category, however the appeal of ‘sharing’ his projects and lightening his load calls to him.
Joel makes an offensive high pitch noise. “Why would you make me do all that if he’s not even here yet?! Now my hands hurt.”
Bdubs stammers, “Well- I mean- he should be here now. Maybe he got lost because he’s not from the city?”
Grian sighs, the expectation and excitement pulled from his body after Bdubs antics. He slumps back in his chair, throwing a glance at his phone hidden beneath the table and out of view. He looks at his and Pearl’s messages, half the mind to send her something, but then Bdubs starts up again.
“Well, that was the special surprise to start off the meeting. What a bummer.” He hisses the last part, tapping his laptop’s mouse a couple of times. The presentation’s starting slide comes to life on the projector. “Now, let’s get into policy and project updates, shall we?”
-
“Cleooooooo!”
Cleo stands above him, clicking at the modeling program a few times. The screen has been frozen for the past twenty minutes. As the time ticks by, Grian can feel his brain get weighed down and overfilled by all the shit that has happened so far.
“I don’t know what to say.” She shrugs, curly red hair falling over her shoulder. “It’s definitely crashed.”
Grian yells in pure agony. He pushes his face into his hands, a halfhearted attempt to muffle his scream. It doesn’t really work, as he can feel Gem’s sharp glare from her desk. He lifts his face, staring at his half made model, and his fingers dig into his cheeks.
“I’ve been working on this for four hours!” He’s reached the anger stage of architect failure. “Four! And now I have to do it all again?”
“Yeah probably.” Cleo says, unsympathetically harsh. “Sorry man, I wish I could help.”
She walks away, and Grian’s head makes a loud thud where it hits his desk.
“Hey Grian, when you’re done throwing a tantrum about your project, me and Jimmy are going to Martyn’s for lunch.” Joel turns the corner, leaning against the edge of his desk with his arms crossed.
“I’m gonna feed you a knuckle sandwich if you say anything about my project.” He gets up, and despite his words, he’s wobbling slightly from the anguish and maybe a little bit from the sleep deprivation.
“Actually, I’ve been wanting a sandwich.” He follows Joel mindlessly, like a zombie. “I need to ask where Martyn gets his special sauce from and then Lizzie can put him out of–”
Grian registers that Joel’s stopped walking and runs right into his back, shocking him right back awake.
“At least warn me before you make an unexpected stop.” He scolds, running a hand through his hair. “We’re right in front of the elevator, why did you stop?”
“I think the new hire finally made it.” Joel points over to the break room.
Oh, that's right. Grian completely forgot about the new hire. His mind had been completely occupied by how he has to redo around four hours of work and probably pull an all-nighter again and probably wake up too early to another stupid dream.
He peeks over Joel’s shoulder, curious to finally see the guy, but is met with the sight of their coworkers crowding one of the round tables in the kitchen area. He can see False, Stress, and the tips of Bdubs’ dark hair, but ultimately can’t see the man through the mob.
“Should we go over?”
Joel hums, thinking. “I think it might be better to do that when we come back. We let’s go, Jim’s gonna yell at us for keeping him waiting.”
As he says that, some of the architects leave, creating a gap in the crowd. Grian squints, trying to see if it’s enough to get a good glimpse at this special mid-year hire.
And to his pleasure, it is.
The man’s smiling, laughing at something that Grian’s too far to hear. He has chestnut brown hair that parts in the middle and tanned skin with a few scars, which certainly gives Grian an… impression. The ruggedness is soothed by those softer features, though, not too soft to be considered babyish, but enough to make him seem pleasant. He stops laughing, his eyes opening and Grian–
Oh.
His face drops.
Grian knows him. That hair, that face, those scars. He knows from the train station, from his dreams, from the corners of his soul.
He knows those emerald eyes all too well.
Static fills his brain, and he feels all grainy. He feels his breath get stuck in his throat. The world turns into muffled sounds and fuzzy shapes. All he can see is him– clear as day.
(Warm touches, cold skin. A heart was given to him in its entirety, belongs to him and he holds it close to his own. A heart that’s gone still. He can see the life leave those eyes. Flashes of every time he’s seen the life leave those eyes. Flashes of every emotion he’s seen run past those green surfaces.)
He lets go of Joel, pushing past him in a desperate run to the bathroom. Joel shouts something, but he can’t make out any of his words past the buzz in his ear. He pushes through the floor, heading down the hall. The bathroom is somewhere in this direction, down a hall he’s been down a hundred times, but everything feels like he’s underwater. His limbs are getting harder to move against the current and the dread churns in the pits of his stomach.
He leans against the wall, breathless despite his heaving chest. Those eyes won’t leave his mind, and each time is like a knife being twisted in the space between his ribs. Each time, the knot tightens in his stomach.
He’s definitely going to be sick.