Work Text:
N.corp corridors smell of clinical freshness—a repulsive echo of the old, moldy dampness lurking beneath the surface of the snow-white walls, cheap tobacco, and sweet-smelling medicines. A repulsive draft drags from it through the tightly sealed corridors, forcing the heart to beat in a new, tense rhythm, in which it stops with every tiny thud, timidly pressing against the cage of stronh ribcage, trying to listen to the cold, barely audible ghostly howl hiding beyond the limits of this labyrinth. From the long stay here, a sickening chill runs through Romeo's bones, and his body aches as if iron needles were shifting between his vertebrae, irritating the substance flowing through the nervous system. While the back of his head stings, responding to an invisible gaze, while the temples of his head vibrate, trying to hold back the rising urge of nausea in his throat from the tiresome, already irritating, unchanging corridors, Romeo feels as if all his senses are now three times heightened, reacting to the cold echo coming from the depths of his agitated, anxious mind. His breathing seems much louder, weaker, as if he’s running out of breath after taking a few quick steps; his vision blurs, refusing to adjust to the light of the bright lamps overhead. His muscles throb, trying to respond to the incredible effort — to lean his shoulder against the cold wall and, sliding along it, gather his strength. He gets lost in the multitude of corners, clinging with a trembling hand to the clean patterns of the white tiles, immediately leaving a dusty, almost ashen handprint on them.
He needs to pull himself together, he thinks. He needs to get a grip and stop buckling under the invisible weight of that strange, bearing gaze. He wipes the tanned skin of his forehead with the back of his hand, noticing the unbearable stuffiness and heat, which instantly turns to a chill creeping beneath the taut skin of his frail flesh.
He opens another door — it immediately lets out a heart-wrenching creak, making Romeo jump and curse under his breath about how hard it was, at times, to stay quiet here. Somehow, in this cramped space of white walls, low ceilings, and garishly bright light, he looked like a bull in a china shop, constantly bumping into doorways that were too low or a blindingly bright light bulbs that instantly blinded his eyes. Everything here, as if on purpose, glowed with a bright, lifeless light; and as if on purpose, everything here repeated itself, confusing Romeo with the identical hallways and rooms. He cautiously peeks inside, jutting out his tousled head, and, squinting warily with his soft eyes, he finally meets the sharp, reproachful, and piercing gaze of dark eyes behind the lenses of round glasses. The room here is no different from the canvas of snow-white, narrowing corridors, but some furniture—in the form of lab tables, various instruments, glass flasks, and medicines—brings a touch of variety to this pale room. In this long, drawn-out moment of silence, he manages to catch a glimpse of the beauty of his office-style slicked-back hair, the polished collar of his uniform, sharp shoulders, without a single hint of a speck of dust or a misaligned seam that might inadvertently spoil this perfect, polished image of a “white-collar worker”. He catches himself thinking that this is improper—and that he should be ashamed of staring so brazenly and openly at a colleague's face—but Romeo simply cannot bring himself to look away, to lower his gaze to the monotonous patterns on the white walls. Honestly, he should've been embarrassed, apologizing for his behavior and covering his red face with the brim of his hat, but his eyes still remain fixed on that granite-like, perfect profile. The sharp outline of the cheekbones and the tiny scattering of wrinkles, barely visible beneath the frames of his glasses, causes Romeo to involuntarily exhale the breath he had, without thinking, been holding in his chest, silently admiring the neat glint on the sharp contour of the pointed chin, the slender nose, and the smoky, neat eyebrows drawn together at the bridge of the nose. At this pleasant sight, a flutter involuntarily stirs in the pit of his heart, filling his bloodstream with a pleasant, unfamiliar sense of fulfillment. When his colleague's hand, wrapped in a shiny glove, slowly pushes the thin glasses back onto his nose, Romeo could swear that for a split second he was blinded by a warm red glow, forcing him to falter slightly, blink, rub his eyes, and immediately step closer, without a thought for the other person’s personal space.
“Howdy, I’m Romeo,” he says, instinctively holding out his hand, trying to stand near his colleague and appear as friendly as possible. His tanned hand, glinting with a soft bronze sheen in the blinding light, opens in anticipation, revealing a cluster of scars, the faded, rough outlines of cuts, and a few scratches hidden beneath the folds of his warm skin. “I’m here, like, as your company bodyguard, but no matter how hard I tried to look around and find someone, I only found you. I guess that’s just my fate—to unexpectedly run into people as beautiful as you.”
Romeo winks at him, baring the sharp fangs of a smile in a friendly manner. He beams pleasantly in response to gubo's cold indifference. His whole heart fills with a strange, soothing feeling, as he keeps staring at the way other's face changes, barely showing a hint of relaxed softness.
The other’s chest rises slowly as he takes a deep breath, and, holding his breath, exhales just as slowly. A thin line of smoke leaves those thin lips, filling the air between them with a cherry, fruity smell, the one that makes Romeo’s nose twitch, trying to dive into this sweet, almost desirable sea of aromas. A soft, velvety voice emerges from his thin lips with a barely perceptible pause, as if trying to find the right words and not offend—and yet, a sarcastic smirk blinds his eyes, immediately vanishing in the rays of artificial light.
“Gubo.”
The light bulb above them flickers a few times, stretching out the uncomfortable silence. Romeo feels like something inside his stomach drops with a disappointed, empty feeling, leaving him in a mix of confusion and awkwardness he's desperately trying to fix. The hand extended for a handshake remains untouched, hovering in the air and twitching awkwardly in a waiting, unhurried gesture. Romeo shrugs his shoulder, reminding Gubo about outstretched hand.
“Wow... um... Gubo... what a... wordy introduction.”
Romeo shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, bites his lip, and chews on it slightly, trying to shorten the pause that hangs between them like an unbearable weight. He tries once more to look into his eyes, noticing his wistful, longing gleam, veiled by soft lashes. He looks like a beautiful art piece he desperately desires to reach, even if he needs to go through thorny paths and hot metal.
“I don’t need to say much to realize you aren’t worth a single second of my precious time.” Gubo slowly shrugs his shoulders, his smile growing wider, thinner. He looks like a fox, constantly trying to bite into Romeo's hand and show who's stronger, better than him here. “I already know that you won't say anything that can be useful for me.”
And with that, Gubo can't help but chuckle, sending his cigarette on the floor, near Romeo's legs. He presses on it with his shoe, letting the small hiss of ashes fill the space between them. It makes Romeo scowl, the flick of playful teasing crosses his face, as he slightly leand closer.
“Listen, maybe we should just shake hands instead of trading barbs? Or do you have some unknown allergy to normal communication with anyone, which fundamentally forces you to act so unapproachable and cold? Or are you so busy making eyes at the white walls here, instead of at me, that you don’t even want to… have a friendly chat?”
Romeo fidgets with his poncho, irritated as hell, his fingers lightly tugging on the edge of the fabric to calm down, shift his focus. And even now, despite his discontent, he can’t help but joke. His gaze drifts to the slender cigarette clenched tightly between the stranger’s lips. A thin wisp of smoke slowly curls around them, forcing Romeo to swallow and look up at the eyes now staring intently at him. Even now, mesmerized, he can't help but feel like those eyes makes something do backflips inside his mind and scream “hooray!” three times. This brings a slight half-smile to his own lips; Gubo finally reaches his hand and shakes it, feeling the strong and warm heat even through the leather of the glove.
“Gubo Park. I can tell you’re going to cause me a lot of trouble, Romeo.”
“I’ll be more than happy to get right to it as soon as we’re on a mission together and I have to cover your back from bullets.”
“Just don’t ask for payment for that protection. I’m not paying for your lunches.”
“Oh, believe me, I’ll ask for much more than something so simple, Gubo.”