Work Text:
The yellow fluorescent lights are buzzing slightly louder overhead today.
“Hello, I'm calling today with an exciting sales opportunity-”
Click
The person on the other end hangs up almost immediately. Like most of them do.
Dave sighs, rolls his eyes, and crosses the number off the long list of phone numbers.
“Well fuck you too…” He mumbles under his breath, stubbing the end of his cigarette out in the ashtray on his desk.
He checks the clock on the wall, and decides it's a great time to take his lunch break.
His chair scrapes against the floor when he pushes away from his desk, earning him an annoyed look from the guy next to him, who is mid phone conversation, but he doesn't really care.
This job is a complete waste of time, and anyone actually trying to sell this garbage is just plain stupid in his opinion.
And that's the only opinion that matters.
Five feet away from the break room, and he's suddenly assaulted by the odor of microwaved fish.
Dave stops in his tracks, and scrunches up his nose.
He hates this place, but he hates the people more.
With a quiet groan, he carries on towards the employee lounge, entering with a scowl.
There are a handful of other people inside, sitting at tables, smoking, eating, watching the news on the small television in the corner.
The microwave is running, the source of the putrid smell.
Next to it stands a coworker whose name he doesn't care to learn, but he wishes now he knew it so he could add the man to his most hated list.
None of them greet him, and he returns the sentiment as he grabs his jacket from the coat rack, and his bagged lunch from the fridge.
This call center is not a place to make friends, all the employees are only here out of necessity.
There's nothing more. No camaraderie, no small talk, no after work get-togethers.
And that suits Dave just fine.
He wouldn't want it any other way.
His strict no friends at work policy is holding up stronger than ever.
The heavy door to the stairwell slams behind him as he makes his way up the first flight of stairs.
The building has ten floors, and his call center is on the first.
He has no idea what goes on in any of the other offices in the place, it's all rented space.
Different companies, different groups of people he doesn't care about.
The only time he ever leaves his floor is lunch time, to go to the roof.
He decided a few days into working here, that the roof is the best possible place to eat lunch.
No one else comes up there, it's peaceful, and you can smoke a joint if you feel inclined to.
Which he does. Every day.
His long legs make quick enough work of the stairs, but the backs of his calves always ache by the time he reaches the roof access door.
It's worth it though, as soon as he opens the door and the sun hits him in the face.
Oddly enough, there is a singular picnic table up here. Meaning it was meant for people to take breaks at some point.
Only it's either been forgotten, or people just didn't like it.
Dave sits down at the table and sighs, relieved.
He takes out the pre-roll he brought with him, and opens his paper bag, dumping the contents out onto the table.
A banana, bruised.
A chocolate chip cookie, courtesy of his mother.
A can of diet coke.
Perfectly nutritious lunch.
He pops open the can of soda and takes a drink, looking out over the streets as best as he can from the comfort of the picnic table.
Cars driving up and down the road, people walking, talking to each other, actually living instead of just existing.
The whole city was out there, going on, people going about their lives.
And he was here, on the roof of this stupid call center.
Stuck.
He's about to spark up his joint when something pulls him out of his pessimistic trance.
It's the sound of the roof door opening and closing.
Curiously, he looks over to see who it could be, since no one has ever come up to the roof in the year that he's been working here.
What he sees is a guy. Tall and lanky, a head full of greasy, long blond hair and a face speckled in acne.
Gross.
The guy wipes at his eyes, and presses his back against the door, crying in a way that just screams obnoxious.
So Dave watches, silently.
The guy takes a few controlled, deep breaths, and doesn't look in his direction thankfully.
He takes another sip of his coke, starting to lose interest in the stranger already, since all it seems like he's gonna do is stand there and cry.
But then something weird happens.
The blond starts walking towards the edge of the roof.
Slow, almost painful steps.
Sort of like an invisible force was pulling him towards the ledge, and he didn't really want to go.
Dave's interest is piqued once again.
“Fuck this place…” The stranger mutters, wiping at his eyes once again, “I hate it here.”
Dave rolls his eyes, as if he didn't have that same thought a hundred times a day.
He was just never stupid enough to stand on the edge of the building about it.
When the blond starts to climb up on the ledge however, he decides he's done enough silent watching, and should probably make his presence known.
“Try and do a flip on your way down.” Dave says flatly, no real urgency to his voice.
The other boy clearly startles, faltering in his climbing pursuit, and thankfully giving up on it.
He turns and looks at Dave, anger replacing his previous despair.
“You scared the shit out of me!” He yells, “I almost fucking fell!”
Dave just stares at him, wondering if the guy is as stupid as he looks.
“Isn't that the whole point?” He asks, taking a drink of his soda.
The guy looks flustered, like he doesn't have a comeback for that. He opens his mouth only to close it again.
So yeah, the guy probably is as stupid as he looks.
Dave sighs, and gets up from the picnic table, stretches, and takes a few slow strides towards the blond.
Up close he can see he's wearing a polo shirt that is just as ugly as his own, only this guy has a name embroidered on his.
James
“Just go away man, I don't need an audience.” James mutters at him, pushing his greasy locks back with his hand.
There's dirt under his fingernails, and black ink stains on his fingers.
“No?” Dave asks, peering over the edge of the building to see a few people walking on the sidewalk below. “Cause I'm pretty sure as soon as you stand up on the ledge, one of those idiots is bound to look up, then you're gonna have the fire department and the cops down there shouting at you through a megaphone.”
Quite the audience, in his opinion.
James huffs, and slumps his shoulders, as he starts fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
“What floor do you work on?” Dave asks, just because he's curious now.
“The fifth.” The blond answers, sniffling. “What about you?”
“The first.” He answers, leaning on the ledge, not really worried about falling over.
James scrunches up his nose at him.
“The telemarketers?” He asks, and Dave feels mildly offended by his tone.
“Yeah, the telemarketers.” He replies. “Probably beats whatever the fuck you got going on up on the fifth floor that has you wanting to throw yourself off a building.” He adds, crossing his arms over his chest.
James shrinks back, obviously not experienced in dealing with anyone quite so abrasive.
“We make calendars.” He answers simply.
Dave raises a brow at that.
“That definitely doesn't sound like the kind of job you kill yourself over.” he says flatly.
It actually sounds kind of interesting.
“Yeah well… Whatever.” James mumbles, looking down at his shoes.
Dave rolls his eyes.
“Look man, I'm just trying to eat my lunch. If you're gonna jump, do it when I leave.”
With that he pushes himself off the ledge and heads back over to the picnic table.
He's only got thirty minutes, and this dumb asshole has already wasted enough of it.
Dave resumes his previous activity, and finally gets to light his joint.
The one part of his day that he actually looks forward to.
Getting high on the roof.
He takes a generous drag off it and instantly feels a little bit better.
James lingers by the ledge, looking down at the street, before turning his attention back to Dave and cautiously approaching the picnic table.
Dave pretends he doesn't see him, focusing instead on trying to peel his banana one handed.
“Is that pot?” The blond asks him, pointing to the joint.
“I dunno.” Dave replies with a shrug. “You gonna tell on me before you throw yourself off the building?” He adds with a laugh.
James doesn't laugh.
Instead he sits down across from him at the table.
Uninvited, but it's probably better than him standing around over by the ledge.
Except now he's watching him.
The same way an animal watches you when it wants some of the food you're eating.
He's got those pathetic, down-turned, kicked puppy eyes to match.
And he probably doesn't want the damn banana.
“Peel this for me.” Dave says, holding it out to him anyway. “And I'll give you a hit off this.” he waves the joint around in the air for emphasis.
James looks at the banana, and then at the joint, and then at Dave.
He takes the banana from him and peels it slowly before offering it back.
“Thanks.” Dave says, holding the joint out to him.
They make the exchange, and he takes a bite of the banana, watching as James hits the joint.
“So what's so bad about making calendars?” He can't help but ask, chewing. “You don't like numbers or something?”
James rolls his eyes, and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair again.
Which is probably why it's so greasy looking, because he keeps touching it with his dirty hands.
“It's not just the job.” He says, “It's like… Everything. I just hate this whole place, and everyone here.”
Dave takes another bite of the banana, looking at the blond from across the table.
He's not a therapist, and he doesn't want to pretend to be one, he doesn't really have any good advice anyway.
That's kind of exactly how he feels about this place too.
“Yeah, so?” He says flatly. “That's life. It sucks.”
“It's not supposed to though.” James says, frowning. “It's supposed to be good.”
“Who said?” Dave scoffs, taking his joint back and taking a hit. “I’ve never seen it being good. You just gotta get through it until it's over.”
James just sighs, looking down at the table, not really looking comforted at all. Which was to be expected.
“Can I have that cookie?” The blond asks after a silent moment, pointing to the chocolate chip cookie that his mother wouldn't stop trying to shove at him until he finally took it before leaving the house this morning.
Something about him looking too skinny.
“Sure. If it'll make you stop acting like a pussy.”
“I'm not acting like a pussy.” James argues, snatching the cookie off the table. “You're kinda mean, does anyone ever actually buy anything from you on the phone?”
Dave just has to laugh at that.
Between getting called mean when he's sharing his weed and his lunch with the stranger, and being asked if he actually sells anything.
This guy is pretty funny.
“Nope.” He answers truthfully. “You make any good calendars?” He asks in return, taking another bite of the banana.
“I don't actually make the calendars.” James says around a mouthful of cookie. “I just make copies and get the coffee orders and shit.”
Dave nods in response.
It doesn't sound like a terrible job. Boring as hell maybe, but it kind of makes him want to consider moving up a few floors.
He takes another hit off the joint, and then passes it back to James because he's feeling generous.
Then he checks his watch, and curses under his breath.
He's gotta get back down to the first floor soon or else his boss is gonna make him stay late again.
“I gotta go.” He says, finishing his banana and putting the peel back in the paper bag.
“Already?” James asks, watching him get up from the table with a frown. It's clear he wanted to keep talking, or maybe he just doesn't want to be alone.
Dave lingers next to the table, torn about what he's thinking of saying.
“Look, if I decided to jump off the building every time I was unhappy they would have been scraping my ass off the sidewalk a long time ago.” He sighs, “So… Maybe just finish that joint and then go back to your dumb calendar job, and if you want we can have lunch up here again tomorrow.” He offers, feeling awkward.
But then the blond smiles up at him, and it's all teeth.
Honestly he kinda looks like a horse.
In a sweet way, he guesses.
Sweet and stupid.
It probably wouldn't be so bad to spend more lunch breaks with him.
“Are you trying to be my friend so I won't kill myself?” He asks.
“No, I never said we were friends.” Dave corrects him quickly, “I said if you decide not to turn yourself into a stain on the sidewalk, we can meet up here tomorrow for lunch again.”
James hums, and smiles at him again.
It's a better look on him than the crying was for sure. If only now he didn't look so annoying.
Dave rolls his eyes, and starts heading for the roof door.
“Hey wait!” James calls to him. “What's your name?”
He opens the door and turns back to look at the blond again, smirking at him.
“I guess you gotta wait until tomorrow to find out!” He replies, before heading back into the stairwell and hurrying down the steps, trying to get back to his floor before he's considered late back from his break.
When he passes the fifth floor he finds himself smiling for no reason, and has to force himself to stop.
Seems like his no friends at work policy didn't really work out after all…