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"No, no, no, no, No! Fuck!" George's fisted hands twitched, the urge to fall down on the darned keyboard near too important to fight. But George Russell was no brute. George Russell had a well put together reputation he'd worked hard to build and now worked twice as hard to upkeep. A bloody unreliable keyboard with a personal vendetta against him wasn't about to become the cause of his downfall.
No matter how tempting it was.
Thus, with shakily unclenched fingers, George carefully typed a growingly familiar number on his desk phone.
"IT department, Alex speaking, how may I help you?"
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! No!
Just his luck, wasn't it? Of course even in despair, life's unjust hands had to reach out only to wrap around his throat to choke him harder under water. Of. Fucking. Course.
"Hey, Alex, it's George, the third floor accountant… again."
George tried to ignore the small jump in his heart rate at the compressed sound of Alex's airy breath; the angelic sound lighting every last nerve ending in his body despite sounding like it was forcefed through a microwave. He really needed to get his Alex-itis checked out… or an IT crash course.
Alex's voice came through still as staticky, but soft as ever, "computer acting up again?"
"I think it hates me. Or I'm cursed." George sighed, unconsciously wrapping the phone's cord around his finger as his elbows cemented themselves onto the too-shiny wood of his desk, "I seriously was only opening a new spreadsheet and the computer just… gave up. I don't know what to even do anymore."
"I'm sure it's nothing, stop stressing out, okay? I'll be over in a few."
George checked his reflection in the glass door of his office. George then proceeded to wince at himself for doing so. He just couldn't help it. Not that he was self-centered or vain or anything along the lines. Well, not excessively so. George Russell enjoyed being presentable, a habit that required him to keep tabs on his appearance. He really wasn't doing it for himself - not that the sight he was greeted with in the mirror displeased him - he only was looking out for the public. It was a virtuous act if anything.
Or at least it was. Things rarely were typical with Alex Albon in the equation.
George knew to some degree that he was hopeless with technology. It'd taken him a good six months to manage to call someone without accidentally putting his phone in German whilst searching for the right spots to click on. Which could have been fine! Many people live fully fulfilling lives without ever once touching a single piece of technology.
Unfortunately for him, George had taken on accounting. And despite having an odd raised eyebrow every now and then when admitting to it ('Really? I wouldn't have thought so, you look more… lawyer-ish' 'Ah, so like an assistant?' 'Ah yeah, I see you, going for the ladies at the source') (the last comment of which still managed to make George wake up in cold sweat at night, seriously, what the fuck?), George liked his job. He enjoyed seeing every last piece of information, inventory, profit appear the second he clicked on a few cells. He loved feeling important and relied on for just about anything. He adored getting to speak with so many people of different backgrounds, functions, purposes. It enriched his job, and it got him up and out of bed everyday.
But no matter how proficient George Russell had become with a spreadsheet, he had never become any more procificent with the very thing allowing him to access those spreadsheets. Despite being a freak in the sheets as some may call him, George Russell never managed to reconcile with the streets (also known as PCs).
Which is where the very source of George's personal torment entered stage left.
Not being able to see eye to eye with a computer was okay. It was actually not too uncommon in a firm with an average age above what could be considered midlife. George partly applied to this firm knowing they had a more than proficient IT department.
What wasn't mentioned during his interview was that the IT department's very new handyman was the most drop dead gorgeous, kindest man to have ever graced God's green Earth.
George had been acquainted with Alexander Albon early enough in his career. After an impressive five week streak with no notable computer problem, George had clocked in one day only to notice the lack of light emanating from his computer. No amount of shaking his mouse, turning on his monitor, or turning on the computer itself gave him a single image, a single pixel. George still remembered the nauseating rise of anxiety in the pits of his stomach as his hand punched in a number he'd memorised on his first day, apprehending such a problem.
"IT department, Daniel speaking, what's up?"
George remembered being caught off guard by the laid back demeanour of the man, hardly registering the Australian accent as words flew from his mouth like water through a pierced dam.
"Hey- uh hello, sorry, this is George Russell speaking. I'm an accountant on the third floor, office six, room three - I have my own little office, one of those on that part of the floor if you see it, sorry not important - uh my computer isn't turning on? I tried everything and it just isn't working can you please come check it out or something, I'm really sorry, I just really need it to work to get this spreadsheet done and over, some accounts need equilising and I thought I'd do it today but now the computer gave up and I just am getting slightly lost so… yeah. Please?"
A bout of silence. Soon followed by a boisterous laugh. George should feel offended in all honesty, no one enjoyed vulnerability to be met with humour. But Daniel's laugh sounded every bit purely amused, devoid of any and all condescension.
"No problemo, I'm sending Alex over, dude. He'll get you sorted but no stress dude, this stuff happens, you won't get killed over it or anything."
George heaved a small sigh of relief, heel still drumming against the floor hinting, "uh yeah, you're right - I think - I uh, I'll wait here for Alex, thank you again. Uh, yeah, thanks, bye."
So much for George's pristine reputation.
"Bye! And remember, don't sweat it."
Maybe if there had been one person he could leave the reputation behind him in front of, it would be Daniel. But there was no time to dwell on interpersonal ties to people he'd just met; a stray speck of dust all of a sudden glared at him from his otherwise clean keyboard, and George wasn't about to let a man touch his keyboard only to think of him as dirty.
Thus, George first came eye to eye with the definition of human perfection whilst frantically rubbing black plastic, interrupted by an akward cough.
One thing Daniel had failed to mention over the phone was the simple fact that 'Alex' was everything a man wouldn't even dare to dream of in fears of every other earthly pleasures becoming obsolete in the face of. Full pink lips pulled into an endearingly klutzy smile, putting adorably uneaven teeth on full display, the glistening white of them contrasting the dark tan imprinted onto slightly uneaven skin. Traces of a long battle with acne, a fight not entirely won as George could notice below the man's high cheekbones.
A dork. A pure posterchild of dorkiness.
George was so so fucked.
"Hey, Daniel sent me because your computer won't turn on," the man held out his hand before his eyes lit up, "oh, I'm Alex by the way. Sorry it's my first week and I always forget I'm meant to give my name so you don't think I'm some random bloke just barging in- fuck I'm not meant to say bloke here- shit not meant to- fuck! Swear… darn?"
The man winced at every one of his own curses, looking back at George with a raised eyebrow and a smile verging on painful. George decided to take him out of his misery and reach back for his hand, "no worries, Alex, I'm George, by the way."
Alex's hand was a comfortable weight in George's; everslightly clammy and a tad dry, but over all a lovely hand holding experience, "sorry again, lovely to meet you, George! Where is that evil little computer then?"
Needless to say George had to fight back a traiterous blush as Alex looked over his computer in order to find out it just… wasn't plugged in. George would have found it in him to appropraitely melt into a puddle of embarassment had it not been for the way Alex's finger danced over wires, the way his teeth would bite down on his bottom lip as he concentrated, and for the way he'd narrate every last thing he was searching for, setting something slightly sickening, entirely adoring and partly unhinged in him so off he felt like he could combust to levels rivaling London circa 1666.
And here he was, months later, still squimmish as a school girl as Alex barged into his office, bright, sunny, and lovely as always in order to save him from Tech-Tartarus, yet again.
"What seems to be the issue this time, dearest George?"
George was going to throttle him. Or make out with him. Or propose. He wasn't quite sure yet. Maybe all three. Dorks were a dangerous breed after all, "same as usual, tried to turn on - it's plugged it - and it gave up on me and quarterly reviews are tomorrow and I need to look over to check any spelling mistakes before I can go to sleep tonight so, yeah."
"No worries," Alex nodded curtly, already bending down by George's desk in order to assess the wires, "just checking any cable damage and how they're plugged, Daniel's new recruit is spending too much time giving him love eyes so I've already had to go over his work twice because Daniel was supervising him."
"Max?" George's eyes narrowed. Finding a weakness to harrass Max Verstappen could be precious to help him win at least one tech-department related battle in his life. He'd known the boy for too much of his life in his humble opinion, and it was important to keep one's arsenal full and packed.
"Yeah, he's pretty good when alone, or even with me, if a bit brash at times, but by God am I tired of seeing him undressing Daniel with his eyes like, come on."
The corner of George's mouth tilted upwards, "so the good ol' Verstappen does have a kryptonite after all. Thank you very much for that information, Alexander."
"You know," Alex looked up at him, "I think we've seen each other enough to forgo my full name by now, call me Alex, please."
"But where's the fun in that?"
George may have worked tirelessly for a pristine reputation, but he was not above well timed petulance. And if his pout had Alex's eyes trailing on his lips for a second too long, George wasn't to register it. George wasn't to be affected. It wasn't like he was in love with Alex or anything, he was very much above such mistakes thank you very much. Alex had wrapped him in from day one, and George had quickly learnt falling fast wasn't always a blessing. On the contrary, it was more of a curse than anything. A curse announcing tears, endless 3 am existential crises, and a loss of self he really could not bear to deal with anytime soon. Not today.
Alex's head whipped around, focusing back on the cables with his phone's flashlight, "if tomorrow's the quarterly examination, that means a three day week-end, doesn't it?"
Change of topic. Interesting.
"Yeah, I still don't quite get why but they're not paying us any less so, I won't complain."
Alex scoffed, the sound muffled and strained behind the desk, "do you have any plans? Other than launtering prettily in your humble abode, of course, sire."
"Shut up," yup. George was definitely blushing like a school girl. Why did his heart have to decide to perceive Alex as his Earth and Heaven? "I don't launter prettily in my humble abode. And no, I wanted to go out but my friends already had a bender planned and I'm not about to mingle with coked up finance bros."
"Aren't you technically a finance bro?"
"If you take a very loose definition. There are levels of finance bro-ing, unfortunately I am nowhere near 'bro' enough to qualify by standardised norms."
Alex stood up, dusting his thighs as his knees cracked, "which norms?"
"ISO 69001."
"You're ridiculous," Alex's beaming smile betrayed him. George wanted more than anything to run his thumb over his pale lower lip. Or he didn't. He mustn't.
"Takes one to know one. But yeah, no big plans for me, I'd love a trip to the bar, but the club is too much. And I don't want to cough up fifty-six quid for it, you know?"
Alex's eyes bulged out their sockets, "fifty-six? Where are you clubbing?"
"Listen," George really didn't want to justify his terribly influencable spending habits, "my friend, Lando, has a tendency to forget we don't in fact live in Monaco amongst the elite."
A roll of eyes, followed by a back turned and a careful study of the monitor's wiring, "that's still extortion. I could make you have so much more fun for a fraction of that. Tell you what, I'll pick you up tomorrow, seven, get your pretty panties ready, Georgie, I'm showing you what this town has to offer."
Bile piled up in the back of George's throat, heart stopping, vision blurring, breath stunted.
No, no, no, no, No! Fuck!
This was bad. More than bad. This was terrible. He needed to run, he needed to hide, to get away from this situation as quickly as possible. Every nerve ending in George's body urged him to fling his office's door open and bolt, to leg it as far as his legs would take him and then a little further.
But his feet remained rooted in place. George's fingers refused to even move a millimeter. A shaky exhale escaped his mouth, his vision narrowing on a growingly conserned Alex Albon facing back at him, heart finding an unusually soothed rhythm to beat to again. George swallowed, lips pulling into a tentative smile. He felt like a stranger in his own body, instinct saying one thing, subconscious forcing another.
Fresh oxygen hit his lungs again. In. Out. Maybe running wasn't always the right answer. Maybe sometimes all there was left to do was listen to your guts, no matter the tricks it'd played in a far away past. Maybe it was okay to not admit it, but deep down George knew better than denying it.
"That sounds lovely. Seven was it?"
Alex's eyebrows unfurled, worry soon replaced by timid eyes and a growingly hopeful smile, "don't forget your pretty panties, okay?"
An airy laugh, bile replaced by comfortable warmth, "I'll get the prettiest for you, Sir Albon."
"Then it's sorted. By the way, your HDMI cable was basically unplugged, everything should be back to normal now. See you later, Georgie!"
At least outloud, he wouldn't admit it just yet, but with eyes trailing on Alex's form walking down the corridor, away from George's office, only to stop near the end before juming up and down and fist bumping the air, something in George's brain dared settle to an agreement with his heart. Maybe George was just a little bit in love.