Work Text:
Allan woke up late one night. He groaned with a start, gradually coming to the recognition that he was lying flat on a cold, hard surface.
The red critter reached over to his nightstand to get his phone so he could use its flashlight. Miscalculating how long the metal platform he slept on was, he felt a sinking feeling in his chest— in his body— as he fell and hit squarely against the floor.
“FUCK!” He cussed, his pointed mouth scrunched up against the ground. His head went numb for a few seconds, but soon registered the pain on the left side of his cranium. It stung. It stung really bad.
The admin got up, rubbing the side of his head, now feeling more sluggish than he usually did in the mornings. He growled in bubbling anger and murmured something along the lines of ‘stupid piece of shit’.
Allan settled for groping the walls in hopes of finding the light switch, which he fortunately did. His muscles were weak, and now his eyes were even weaker under the blaring rays of artificial sunlight. After some time to let his eyes adjust, he noted that he was in the break room. The red critter had slept on top of one of the shelves.
Well, what should he do now since he was at his workplace? Check the stock? Sure. Allan rummaged through the papers and made sure they were supplied with multiple ratios, sizes, and colors. He then checked the printers and made a note on his phone to order some ink.
-And of course, there were the accursed paper clips.
He, unlike many other people, had a knack for patterns— for memory— to label everything accordingly in his mind even when every item in the list looked the exact same.
No nines.
Allan shivered and took a deep breath at the mere idea. He thought about all the nice things in the world— Cheese. Work. Good thoughts. Right mind.
And so he began to count.
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1, 2, 3, 4… 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8”
“1–“
One. Seventy-three. An odd number. That can’t be right.
Allan tried to console himself. Two odd numbers makes an even, right?
That still doesn’t change the fact there is 73 paperclips and not 74. Where is the last one? Did he lose it again?
He hurriedly lifted the box to look under it— then he placed it back and scanned the shelves.
Maybe there’s a spare paper clip in the drawers. Shaky four-fingered hands rummaged through all the drawers but alas, he couldn’t find a single one.
It’s fine.
…
It’s not fine.
Allan recounted the paperclips, looked under tables, chairs, through cracks in the wall, and even went behind the walls in an attempt to find a single paperclip.
“Where did all the fahcking paper clips go?”
Wait, he could just get one from Mr. Boss’s ‘secret’ documents.
Eh, he’d rather be freaking out for the next few hours than hurt his boss’s feelings. Besides, his boss hid them really well.
But the prowess of Allan’s finding skills certainly outbeat his boss’s hiding skills…
Mmmm, no. Nevermind. Yeah, no.
To compensate for his makeshift sin; not finding the final paperclip, Allan sat down on the floor of the break room and stared off into the wall. For two hours.
—————————
Allan had been a lot better half-way through college. Instead of pulling all-nighters opening and closing the same door, going to the bathroom four times over the span of 10 minutes, endlessly flicking a light switch, and passive-aggressively reciting “good night”’s to himself, he only tucked himself into bed twice and closed his eyes.
He was now 26 and thought he got better.
He genuinely thought he got better.
But he’ll never be free from this curse that plagues him.
“I thought I was better
I thought I was better
I thought I was better
I thought I was better
I thought I was better
I thought I was better
I thought I was better.”
His thoughts stumbled over the other and he realized he forgot whether he said it 7 times or 8 times. Or god forbid 9 times.
Allan rehearsed his lines over again. Over and over again. Until he got just the right number.
His brain was buzzing afterwards, but he felt relieved.
He was free. He didn’t have to indulge in this repetitive, twisted game anymore. For now.
…
“Hey, Al’,” he heard from the doorway.
The red critter recovered from his former surprise and was expecting for it to be either Charlie or Pim, since the words in his brain were so loud he could barely decipher who the voice belonged to. But it was his CEO, Mr. Boss. The only one who would be up this late at the workplace.
Allan’s Adam’s Apple— or more accurately his Allan’s Apple— bobbed as he tried to muster up his best ‘I was totally not panicking about paper clips for several hours’ voice.
“What’s up, boss?”
His voice cracked and he kinda sounded like shit. But his boss didn’t seem to take notice and just questioned him, his southern drawl very evident.
“-Now what the hell are you doing here this late? Tryna steal some of my secret documents?”
“No.” Allan explained, “I must’ve slept here overnight for some reason. Maybe I needed to do something this morning.”
To dig deep into his psyche yet again. Usually he remembers these things.
“I did tell you to get some documents read before 7:00 AM flat tomorrow— which is today, actually.”
“Ugh, right. I’ll get on that.” Allan turned away, but Mr. Boss stepped forward and stopped him.
“Heh, they’re just for the party today! I was joshin’— you don’t have to read them.” The CEO reassured his admin. Guilt carved itself onto the man’s weathered face, only then realizing the last time he talked to Allan was 11:00 PM, and he caught him at what was now 4:00 AM. At most, they both had only five hours of sleep. Wow. Mr. Boss should also be considering a nap.
The boss clasped his hands together. “Here, I’ll get you some pillows and you can get all cozy over on the couch in my office! I can move it to the hallway if you’d prefer your privacy, I get it.”
“It’s fine. Thank you,” Allan muttered.
“Alright! Just let me know if you need anything from little ol’ me or if you’re still up for the offer!” His boss waved him off.
Allan held the human off quick right there, in case Mr. Boss was misinterpreting things.
“No, yeah, I would like to sleep on your couch. I-I do not care if it is in your office, it does not matter to me at all,” the critter said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, goodie! I’ll get everything ready for you, then.” The middle-aged held a thumbs up.
Allan almost jumped into a fight-or-flight response when he heard an extremely loud, high-pitched squeal.
“SLUMBER PARTY!!!”
The man before him coughed a few times after that strain on his voice, then cleared his throat and excused himself to prepare things.
Mr. Boss had coughed three times.
It annoyed Allan. It nagged him. It tore at his skin. It was crawling up from his flesh. He clenched his fists, trying to hold back from saying anything— but his mind was begging himself for relief.
“Mr. Boss, can you cough one more time?”
Although confusion became increasingly apparent on his face, Mr. Boss coughed one last time into his closed hand.
Allan needed this. “Thank you.”
Four times. A perfect even.
—————————
The boss’s couch was small and crimson. It certainly looked cushier than most other sofas. It was decorated with small fabric buttons and seemed to be vintage, for the most part. It was located to the left of the entrance of the room.
“The party’ll be at 7:00 AM, so you got pleeeenty of time to doze off until then.”
“Why did you have to make it so early, Mr. Boss?” Allan complained.
“It’s healthier to have fizzy drinks in the mornings, Allan!” Mr. Boss swatted his hand at the air, as if it were a universally known fact and reasonable excuse.
“Okay..”
Allan sat down on the couch.
Death. Crucification. Being stabbed. Wrong thoughts.
He got back up from the couch.
The middle-aged man noticed this and hoped there wasn’t a stain or thumb tack on the surface of Allan’s designated resting place. “Yo, you good Allan?”
“I am. What makes you think otherwise?”
Allan jerked his head towards the human like he would peck him.
Boss’s head tilted. “You seem a little on edge…?”
“Well, maybe because I am.” The critter crossed his arms defiantly, then his legs once he sat his arse back down on the cushions.
“I can still move the couch to the other room if you want!” Boss suggested.
“I have a lot of thoughts whirling around in my brain, Mr. Boss. None of it is related to you.”
“Well, it can be if you want it to,” Mr. Boss said like the understanding, lowkey paternal guy he was. It was hard to believe he would have one of these exact same heart-to-hearts with Jason, considering how his son barely even looked or acted like an 18-year-old. He’s never even spoken to anyone or communicated with anyone in any manner. Well, except for Boss, of course…. and once, even Allan. He started burping spontaneously and Allan figured that he was asking for milk— so he got him a bottle and put it in the microwave to warm it up.
Man, what if Allan told Mr. Boss about his condition? To get the weight off his chest? Why the hell not, he has nothing better to do.
“I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder.” The red critter admitted, over-pronouncing each syllable to make sure his boss heard it and remembered it the first time.
“I have O-C-D-uh.”
Allan didn’t know what to expect. Probably the usual, awkward response. Instead, a shrill voice nearly made him go deaf yet again.
“REALLY?!”
Much to the admin’s relief, the volume became more bearable afterwards. “I had the suspicion…”
A hot take. “You did?” Allan’s eyes widened, since Mr. Boss apparently felt very strongly about this. His distaste for the loud question was quickly replaced by disorientation— that’s the boss, for you.
“Yeah, that or you just really liked paper clips, cheese, and work. At least, I hoped that was the case. Anxiety sucks!”
The bossman listed oddly specific things that were also oddly true to why the admin was obsessed with those things. Counting paper clips was his ritual, cheese was his easer, and work quieted down his thoughts.
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“I do a lot of research on this stuff to make sure I give all my employees the best Smiling Friends™ experience!” He winked with a finger to his cheek. “I care about you, Allan. If you need anything, ask me! I’ve got weighted blankets, incense, fidget toys, tea, and plenty of other commodities! Utilize them, Allan.”
With that, he laid a crinkly hand on the tall critter’s shoulder— before taking it back to roll his fingers into a fist. Allan hesitantly fist-bumped him. He didn’t find any interest in the commodities though. Except for the weighted blanket, perhaps. And the tea. He already used the headphones beforehand, as it’s a known fact that his coworkers (and CEO) were really loud creatures.
“I could~ also make you breakfast on the burnt TV like I did yesterday. How’s about some eggs?”
How… considerate, Allan thought. The red one’s mouth curved up at that, oddly enough. His CEO is so unpredictable.
“Yes, that’d be good. Erm. I’m going to bed. Good night. Or good morning, I guess.”
“Man, knock yourself out! Literally. Good morning, Allan.” Mr. Boss giggled while he tucked himself into his reclining office chair.
“Sleep tight!”
Allan Red did the same and felt a warmth in his face, completely unrelated to the things and services the human provided him. The small feather-like membranes on Allan’s throat flared subconsciously. He coughed and smoothed them back down, dragging his grasper to the back of his neck to cradle it so his noggin wouldn’t roll down against the pillow.
The amount of coughs he heard today was five. An odd number.
Weirdly, he didn’t care. Five, on itself, is a nice number, he supposed. It is the most even, odd number— if that made any sense.
He slept for a good three hours.