Chapter Text
it’s a friday evening nearing the edge of [protag’s] shift — well, he hopes it’s almost over, at least, because checking the clock is no good and he’s long since abandoned faith in his watch. the day’s been a constant race back and forth, up and down from floor to floor with documents with ink that hasn’t even had time to dry and fluorescents that burn his eyes. [protag] wants to wince at the stabbing ache in his back or how sharply his neck cracks when he nods to some faceless higher-up requesting yet another file but he’s forced to smile and start for the elevator instead. the hellish metal box really is the bane of his existence and seeing it puts a pit in his stomach, but he’s too tired to use the stairs like he usually would, especially if he needs to go four floors up. he’s alone in the elevator, at least. it’s a small mercy at the end of his excruciating shift.
his eyes shut for a second just before the elevator snaps into place and slides its doors open, just before anything can happen, brain ready for a bullet just in case it ever comes—
no muzzle of a gun meets [protag’s] gaze like it did that first day and he is now instead face to face with [coworker], backlit by fluorescents like a particularly malevolent cherub, plumes of exhaled smoke yet to fully fade where they had curled around his lips. [coworker’s] seemingly leaving the several higher-ups grouped together next to the wall, presumably “overseeing” the floor, but [protag] quickly assumes that’s not the case when he catches the metallic flash of a lighter and lit cigarette in one of their hands.
“newbie!”
he drawls, his smile slightly crooked with the pleasant surprise of running into the other. [protag] wishes he could’ve been met with the gun instead. unfortunately, there’s nobody else in the elevator (rare occurrence, almost comedic timing) to entertain [coworker’s] stream of thoughtless chatter as he enters the elevator, putting out the stub of his cigarette against the wall and squinting at the array of buttons. before [protag] can really say or do anything, his friend(???) is pressing the button to the roof and slinging an arm around his shoulders. [protag] stumbles a little, loafers scuffing against the carpet - he’s leaning an annoying amount of weight on him.
“say, you look worn out! how about a smoke break with me?”
“actually, i need to get a report from—“
“c’mon, it won’t take long! if whoever it is is unhappy with it, i’ll say it’s on me.”
it’s an informal command posed as a question — there’s not much one can do to wriggle out of the obligation to a superior, and anyways, [coworker’s] grown to be a little more tolerable. maybe a little company won’t hurt — it’s been a long day. fifteen minutes, and he’ll retreat back to his cubicle. but,
“. . .”
“weren’t you smoking when you came into the elevator already?”
[coworker] glances to the side, a little sheepish at being caught out like that, but it’s not nearly enough to stop his bravado (or his pestering of the intern).
“yeah, whatever— ‘m upholding company policy, no smoking inside the building, right?”
“. . sure.”
“wouldn’t have thought you’d notice anyways! you look half-dead. more than you already do, anyways. .”
[coworker] snickers to himself and elbows [protag] in his side. he’s given no time to retort, with [protag’s] tiredness weighing his brain and body down and [coworker’s] energy hard to catch up to even on a good day — [protag] almost falls flat on his face for the second time in two minutes as the elevator doors rattle open and he’s pulled out onto the rooftop.
“ah—!”
the sight of the concrete floor swings too close to [protag’s] face for comfort once [coworker] lets go of his arm and he catches his footing best as he can. [coworker], ever the self important character, pays no mind to how he has basically almost flung his colleague (and probably the only one in the building that tolerates him) to the ground and has already started towards the railing, calling back to [protag] with a laugh-
“maybe you need that smoke break more than i do!”
[protag’s] not rising to that weak attempt to annoy him. he drags his heels till he settles next to [coworker], both arms braced against the railing. he avoids looking down at the distant ground below and opts to look at the sky instead, black after the autumn’s early sunset and oddly starless.
“afraid of heights again?”
[coworker] jabs, light-hearted, putting a concerning amount of faith in the rickety, rusted metal railing he basically leans over to have his face on the same level as [protag’s]. the frames of [protag’s] glasses slide down his nose a little as his head snaps down to make eye contact where he had previously been craning his neck, obviously trying to avoid accepting how high up they are.
“i never stopped being afraid. . ?”
[coworker] doesn’t respond to his logic being flawed yet again, just laughing as he pulls out his cigarette box where it had been stored away in his pocket. it’s obviously the expensive kind, the cardboard a glossy burgundy colour that dimly catches the light spilling up from the streets as the lid is popped open, a single cigarette carefully plucked from its contents and put between his teeth. only one, this time. the newbie’s “trying to quit”, or something silly like that.
“well, you’re here with me anyw—“
[coworker] cuts himself off. [protag] gives him a sideways glance - [coworker] shutting up, especially of his own accord, is always a noticeable occurrence. [coworker’s] expression shifts into an annoyed frown as he pats his torso, clearly looking for his beloved lighter, but no sooner can [protag] ask him about it that [coworker] leans in with a lopsided grin that puts [protag] on edge.
“hey. light it for me?”
[protag] blanks. his brows furrow and he leans back with an expression of irritated confusion. this reaction only amuses [coworker] further and he pitches forward to keep the much too short distance between their faces constant.
“why?”
the cigarette between his teeth combined with the awfully familiar smug expression feels like a dare more than anything. a challenge from one man to another, or a divine test of [protag’s] patience.
“you’re the one with the lighter, aren’t you?”
shit.
“. . right.”
[protag] hesitates, only half a second (but clearly half a second too long) and [coworker] leans in even closer, close enough that [protag] can basically taste the smoke of his previous cigarette and something sweeter beneath it. he fishes for the lighter with the reluctance of someone caught in a lie before finally producing it, the cold metal lying flat in the middle of his palm. [protag’s] lack of enthusiasm and the flush of embarrassment creeping from neck to cheek clearly brings such a self-satisfied joy to his colleague that he’s half-tempted to jerk his shoulder and fling the lighter straight off the building. he doesn’t, though, and yields. the lighter snaps open with a click that’s deafening against the thick silence settled between them.
[protag’s] thumb presses down, a tall, thin flame sparks to life. he has the thought of moving his hand closer to [coworker’s] face, just to light the cigarette, but his hand’s too shaky and won’t move as much as he’d want it to do so. [coworker] relishes in the thousandth laugh at [protag’s] expense today, reaching out to brace a hand against [protag’s] wrist, pulling just a bit to get the light closer.
“hold still, newbie,”
finally, finally the damn cigarette lights and [protag] allows himself the luxury of putting his cold fingertips to [coworker’s] forehead to push his face away. the embers glow red as [coworker] takes a long drag and exhales, content. there’s barely even a breeze to blow away the blue coils of smoke that hang in the air, coming unpleasantly close to [protag’s] face when [coworker] turns to face him head-on, pushing his shoulder playfully.
“see, not so hard to help a dear friend, right?”
“yeah, right.”
[protag] scoffs and rolls his eyes, stepping back to allow himself a moment to steady his reddened face and quickened pulse. he’s just a little embarrassed, really. just prone to nervousness, nothing more. [coworker] looks away, pretends not to notice to give him at least a moment of repose - hey, even he noticed those unforgivable rings around the other man’s eyes. he’ll give the poor guy a break for once. and, admittedly, watching the newbie get so flustered is an amazing form of entertainment.
[coworker] taps ash over the railing and flicks a glance at protag. he hums, seemingly thinking (a rare event, if his reputation is to be believed). he finally decides his words and pulls his mouth into a grin.
“If you fall asleep on me up here, I’m shoving you down the stairs. no dying on company time, and much less near me—“
[coworker] sobers up a bit.
“don’t tell me you’re stuck with that stack of reports on floor six?”
[protag] doesn’t answer fast enough. his lips press into a thin line.
“—shit, you are, aren’t you?”
[protag] smiles for the first time that day and even forces out a tired little laugh, slumping with his head resting on one hand. his eyes don’t meet the pale grey of [coworker’s]. he watches [protag] for a second, and his smile falters at the edges. he leans towards his friend’s crumpled form, embers flying from the cigarette where it’s loosely pinched between two fingers.
“thought so.”
a huff of smoke, [coworker’s] chest tightening in what might be indignation on [protag’s] behalf.
“i’ll bet they dumped it on you because you don’t complain.”
somehow, [protag’s] shoulders sag even more.
“it’s just— part of the job.”
“see, that’s what they want you to think,”[coworker] scoffs and rolls his eyes. “how many hours have you done this week?”
[protag’s] face twists with a momentary annoyance, because what would he know about being worked to the bone, but the question makes him pause before he can reply. he tries to count, but realises that the days and hours blend together.
“i lost count.”
[coworker’s] jaw clenches, just barely. he nudges [protag], shoulder knocking against his.
“at this rate, you’ll burn out completely by next week.”
a paper-thin laugh forces itself out of [protag’s] throat.
“it’s little late to be concerned about that.”
the attempt at a joke lands flat.
[coworker’s] expression softens into something that could maybe be called pity, whatever remains of his smile not reaching his eyes. he shuffles closer and nudges [protag] again, forcing him to look up and make the eye contact that [coworker] knows he’s been purposefully avoiding.
“hey—“
[coworker] swallows hard. he doesn’t know how to proceed with this. he’s a surface-level extrovert, an expert at small talk and charming every person in the room, but here he falters - what is he meant to say? putting a hand on [protag’s] shoulder is a good start to his attempt at comfort.
“. . talk to me. what’s going on with you?”
“i’m— it’s fine. i’ve just been. . working a lot. ‘s going to catch up to me eventually.”
[protag] isn’t the kind to open up, but he’s just so tired and the warmth where [coworker’s] palm meets the fabric of his suit is seeping into his skin and they’re alone, there’s no harm in admitting his exhaustion, he thinks.
“it’s just— this- this is adding up to being weeks on end of overtime, most of it unpaid, but it isn’t like i can say no or afford to take a day off— i can’t remember the last time i got a full night’s sleep, and no amount of work is ever enough. . i’m just— at the end of my tether here, and,”
the frayed twine that’s been holding the man together this far is dangerously close to snapping. [protag] gestures erratically as he speaks, his voice wavers under the weight of his frustration and upset, and really, god, if he could just get a break.
he tries to swallow it back down, pursing his lips as his vision grows blurry with a sheen of tears threatening to spill, he tries to raise a hand to wipe his eyes, turn away from this embarrassment and let himself catch up to his own mouth—
[coworker’s] hand on his shoulder tightens, pulling [protag] into a haphazard hug. it’s as much of a well-meaning gesture as it is messy - [coworker] doesn’t hesitate initiating the contact but the other clearly doesn’t expect it, shoulders tensing and glasses skewing uncomfortably where [protag’s] face presses into [coworker’s] shoulder. it’s a long moment until [protag] finds the sense in him to weakly reciprocate the hold on him.
[coworker] pats [protag’s] back with an uncharacteristic awkwardness, the hand gripping the back of his head tightening slightly around the blue-black curls. [protag] clutches at the fabric of [coworker’s] suit and a small voice in the back of his head screams to let go, you’re creasing it, you’ll regret this, but mostly he’s grateful for the support the hug gives him. a dam breaks, and already [protag] can feel the shame that’s to come but he can’t exactly stop his crying either, he’s so worn out.
“. . uh. hey, hey, you’re alright. it’s okay. you’re allowed to be tired, y’know.”
[coworker] is so clearly out of his depth and genuinely flustered that when [protag] pulls away a little to meet his eyes he can’t help it, breaking into a giddy crying laugh that [coworker] just has to mirror (but without the tears), gripping him a little tighter to pull him back in again, hardly even wincing at how his suit’s going to get wet or the shaky warm breath against his neck.
it’s a good while until [protag’s] breathing evens out and he has the courage to stop avoiding showing his face. he puts both palms on [coworker’s] shoulders to push away lightly and he quickly yanks them away once he realises how close they’re stood, shoving them in his pockets. the lighter’s still there, and now that [protag] seems more or less stable [coworker] allows himself to take a long, deep drag of his cigarette, clearly thinking what to do next. the softness in his expression drops and returns to his usual lazy half-smile until it pulls wider into a roguish grin.
“fuck the report. c’mon, let me buy you a drink for once.”
“—?!”
[protag] quickly accepts that he’s bound to a friendship of forever being cut off before he can reply - [coworker] doesn’t wait for his idea to be accepted or denied and is already flicking the stub of his cigarette off the roof and pulling him towards the elevator doors by the wrist. [protag] doesn’t pull his hand away even when the doors shut.