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It was quiet.
Really quiet.
That room was dim, only a dying panel light and the thin slit between the doors illuminated anything. They’d been so busy yelling and screaming and fighting that they’d barely noticed the loop has restarted. Eventually, [Antag] had gotten tired of his associate’s apologies. Something happened, he did something, something bad, and he remembered it in all too much detail.
[Colleague] had stopped struggling a while ago. Without his scissors, [Antag] was surely at a disadvantage— but still, he towered over him, knuckles red from both his partner’s and his own own blood. The blond’s disheveled hair covered some of his face while he lay on the ground, idle— but not dead. The room felt smaller, more heated, thicker than before. Escape had slipped through their fingers.
[Antag]’s breathing had not yet died down; it was still rapid, shallow, frazzled by his actions. There lay evidence of how shitty a person he was, the ways people had lied to him about how easy it is to heal, to move on from mistakes. He felt like a rabid animal in that moment— and in hindsight, he wondered if there was anything really differentiating him from one.
Eventually, [Colleague] woke up— slowly, taking in the surroundings as if he hadn’t seen this place thousands of times before. He hunched over against the wall; his usual residence. [Colleague] stared at [Antag], the latter ready to be feared, avoided, maybe even scratched at again. But, oddly, the blond didn’t show a hint of distress. A faint look of guilt, maybe, but nothing showing a sudden recollection of previous events. And in [Antag]’s opinion,
that was oh, so much worse.
“Hey, dumbass,” he spat, trying to arouse conflict— “how was your sleep? Got your 8 fuckin’ hours in?”
[Colleague] nodded, not seeming to care that it was a rhetorical question. “Mm. I guess. It was just… a lot, seeing them leave. I think my body just got tired or something.”
“…what are you talking about? That wasn’t— you should know why you fell out,” [Antag] said. He straightened his posture a bit, like it was going to intimidate the other into telling a truth he wasn’t aware of.
The blond tilted his head. “Hm? Did… did something happen?”
He blinked, shocked. [Colleague] didn’t remember anything. No, no, that’s not right— the senior should be scared, angry, even violent towards him; his actions should have repercussion, not just— getting away with it.
“I— uhm— it’s nothing. Nevermind.” [Antag] waved off, sliding down on the rug with him. “Of course you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about. You’re just a dismissive pushover, anyway.”
Silence overtook the room, [Antag]’s insult being left mostly ignored. They’d have to spend another forever together, despising the other wouldn’t do much.
Another chance came, eventually.
Honestly, they expected to be trapped in their own limbo for eternity. Neither of them took chances making conversation this time around— simply just jumping the gun and grabbing the other ones immediately. The newer versions couldn’t figure out what was going on before they were condemned to the same fate the older versions were only moments ago. As the doors closed, the both of them got one last, cruel glance at the people they were leaving behind— agreeing it was best not to think about that too much later.
Since then, the two attempted to go their separate ways— let this be an unspoken incident that they wouldn’t bring up ever again. [Antag] took his doppel’s place in the interview, [Colleague] called out early to fix himself up. No time has seemed to pass in the years they’d been stuck. It almost felt frustrating, patronizing. But nevertheless, it was it was over. They relished in the newfound freedom, something as simple as being able to move more than ten feet in either direction felt alien.
Almost as much as the newfound separation anxiety the both of them had gotten.
Neither of them noticed it at first, given all the other new mental problems they had to sort through after isolated torture trauma. [Antag] had much more of a difficult time managing stress and anger, while [Colleague] had developed a form of social anxiety; those were their own deals in and of themselves, but soon, they began to mix with odd feelings of yearning— unwanted yearning.
Irrational thoughts [Antag] had been struggling with began to morph into questions about him. What was he doing? Did he revert back to an asshole? Was he soaking in his popularity again? Is he sitting in his office? Is he free right now? Can he talk to him? Can he see him?
What?
Every time, [Antag] would shake it away. It’s just what he got used to. He hates [Colleague], and probably vise versa. Sure, something felt wrong sometimes— okay, all the time— whenever he was alone, but… it’s habitual. It’ll go away eventually, right? Besides, it’s not like he deserves that kind of attention from the same person he’d practically abused. That’d be more of a batshit insane fantasy than wanting to go through that elevator experience again.
As for [Colleague], people began to feel… too much; Like eyes followed him everywhere— watching, judging, talking just out of earshot. Conversations never flowed as well as they used to— Small talk was more hollow than he remembered it. Once someone had become too obnoxious or self-seeking during an interaction, all he could think was, ‘god, if only [Antag] could tell this guy off.’
But that was just a nice thought. [Colleague] knows what that man’s hand feels like against his face, quite well, frankly. Relationships like that don’t mend. [Antag]’s stubborn, not healthy for him in the slightest— yet the memory of something softer being hinted at beneath the surface, like the toxic exterior was a defense mechanism; it lingered in the back of mind. Maybe he was just broken, not bad.
But that’s a really risky way to think, isn’t it.
Life returned to the most mundane state it could. Their shifts intertwined briefly sometimes, and awkwardly, trying to ignore the elephant in the room, they talked. Caught up. Asked deeper questions. Breaks felt short, when they’d gotten over the hard part of reconciliation and anticipant pauses. Their conversations felt more natural, like in there— but it lacked hostility. It brushed away all the hardships and left just the bonding; taking root in genuine interest, and innocent intent. However innocent the two could even be considered, anyhow.
They stayed at distance, feeling the other was better off without them. But that pull back— something dependent, unable to be ignored, It lingered. It tugged at their brains, eating at the back of their eyes until it started to hurt. He needed him. He needed him. He needed him. The words repeated over and over in a perpetual spiral in both of their heads— Eventually, the voice bled over into actions. Little suggestions, to keep the other in view.
“I could walk you to your office,”
“How about we talk just a bit longer?”
“Could you help me with something?”
“I wouldn’t mind the extra company,”
“Would you like to meet after work?”
[Colleague] was the first to propose it. [Antag] was hesitant, knowing that it could come with a conversation he’d rather not have, but it was him. Indulgence in his own little abandonment issues only left him wanting more, like the blond’s presence was a goddamn drug. One he definitely, oh so definitely, not supposed to have. So, he agreed. They’d meet up at [Colleague]’s house, drink a bit, and enjoy themselves.
It was probably supposed to be a genuine talk between the two of them that night. But it just wouldn’t take that turn— in fact, if either of them didn’t know any better, it could’ve been catagorized as a date; Talking the night away about useless topics, little tidbits about themselves surfacing in conversation— it fit the title perfectly. They got along well, without work deadlines or everlasting existential dread getting in the way. It’d been a while since the two could enjoy another’s company.
The raven-haired man sighed after a long winded chuckle. “Hah, Thanks again. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to invite me— It’s been hard to get you out of my head lately,” he admitted, turning to look at [Colleague]. The latter blinked, not expecting the comment.
Shit.
[Antag] covered his mouth after seeing his counterpart’s face; god, that was weird to say. What was his thought process behind that?
[Colleague] smiled softly, turning away. “Really? I… thought I was the only one.”
The intern was glad the blond had said something in turn before he could retract his statement.
“—I uh, thought I despised you for a really long time. All of that anger had no where to go, and when I felt angry, I remember… the elevator, and.. you.”
“Mm. So, are you… still mad at me?”
[Antag] shook his head. “NO— no, I’m not. I just feel… guilty, about the whole thing. I did some unforgivable shit, you know? Every time you flinched at me, every stutter in your voice— it’s my fault. I know it is.”
[Colleague] tilted his head down, unsure of what to say. He wanted to lie to him, say that other factors played a part of how he got fucked up in the head— but bottom line, [Antag] was right. The shorter man had taught him through fear how to shut up; he’d suffered the scars [Antag] had been too blind with despair to refrain from giving. But…
“…You know, I never saw you as a bad person, necessarily.” [Colleague] started, scratching the back of his neck— “You’re something I can’t exactly describe. Like, if a piece of rigid glass were in the shape of a heart. Does that make sense?”
The intern chuckled. “Not really, but I think I get it.”
[Colleague] sighed— sitting back, but not quite easing up. “I’m just putting it out there. I could be justified in not wanting anything from your company, but… I don’t want to blame you, either. Desperation makes you do some shitty things. I would know.” He trails, adjusting himself. [Antag]’s face relaxed, solemn expression blanketing his stare. [Colleague] never hated him. How selfish was he for disliking someone for all the wrong things he’d done?
“…I don’t deserve your closure,” he mumbles, though more of a statement rather than a self-deprecating comment. [Colleague] turns slightly, grinning to himself— though his tone is melancholic.
“To be fair, yeah, in some ways you don’t, but… I want to give it to you anyway. After all, I am just a dismissive pushover, hm?” He laughs, though a soft pang of guilt hits [Antag]. He recognizes the insulting title as one of the many degradations he’s spat at him— ergo, he doesn’t follow up with an amused expression.
“…I guess… I should say sorry. For everything. I should’ve—“
“—Don’t.” The blond cut in. “I don’t need an apology. There’s no reason for ‘I should’ve’ and ‘what ifs’. What happened…happened, and we need to move on— get past it. No use on dwelling in daydreams and hypotheticals. I’m still working on differing the two.”
“But I NEED you to know how much I wanna take it all back! How the fuck else can I—“ the intern paused, seeing [Colleague] flinch. He doesn’t wanna get kicked out now, so he should probably cool it. The idea of seeing a replica of their previous interactions brings a visceral reaction to [Antag], one he’s not fit to handle right now.
“…I— sorry. Just… let me do something for you. I don’t want to feel like this. I need to pay you back somehow. Do you wanna hit me? Hell, I’ll let you hunt me for sport if it meant we were on the same page,” he said, sitting back into a more idle position.
[Colleague] turned his head down, holding his arms at his abdomen. “You want to do something for me?”
The raven haired man perked up, nodding. He really, really did. Anything to get rid of the agonizing burden in his gut.
“Okay, then. I… I want you to stay with me. Do something that tells me I matter in your life.” He states, his gaze becoming the most literal it can. “In whatever way you think suffices— go off with any idea that comes to mind, seriously. Just… prove it. Please.” There’s a hint of desperation in his last word— [Antag] knows he means the request. And he wants him to mean his response.
There’s really only one idea that sparks.
Slowly, [Antag] shifts closer— his head is hung lower than usual. A cold hand is reluctantly placed onto [Colleague]’s. He waits a moment— making sure his counterpart isn’t uncomfortable with the contact.
“You mean a lot to me,” the shorter man starts, nearly trailing off— “…almost to the point I feel selfish. Days have been… empty.”
Finally, he looks up at the blond. “This is selfish too, but it’s the only thing I can think of that’ll say something right now.” Quickly, a hand is placed onto [Colleague]’s cheek, and [Antag] closes the gap.
[Colleague]’s eyes widened for moment, but didn’t react. The kiss was small, uncertain, but gentle; there was hints of indecisiveness in the raven haired man’s movements. Nevertheless, a decision was made. The contact could’ve last minutes up to millennia. The goal was to convey something, no matter how long it took.
Slowly, he pulled away, making room for the blond to press a hand to his own lips in disbelief.
“…Was that alright?”
[Colleague] traced his eyes from looking nowhere back to him, still staring, bewildered.
“…mhm.”
They weren’t sure where to go after that. Slowly, conversation took root again, though a thick benignity hung over the atmosphere. [Antag] had proved… something. Though he’s not sure if it was loyalty, or a desire darker than that— related more so to possessiveness. Unspoken, it sufficed. It didn’t hurt anymore, because the threat of it doing so was tamed as best as it could be. This felt… nice. Natural. Closer to the definition of change.
Maybe one day, somewhere in the future, they could actually be good for each other.