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It wasn't that Patrick didn't like his job. In fact, he loved his job. He got to listen to music on a daily basis. He got to pick between what he liked and didn't like, was able to discuss it with other people and the actual artists, and in the end have an album that he helped to perfect. It was awesome.
But sometimes he hated it. He hated the part where he had to listen to crap music, and had a different opinion than everyone else, and had to work with stubborn musicians who thought that particular progression was unique and original, when it really wasn't.
He put his chin in his hand and looked outside at the pouring rain. A movement caught his eye in the building across the way. It was a man in a red hoodie in the window directly opposite his. The man had drawn a happy face in sharpie on an A4 piece of paper and taped it to his window. It even had spiky hair.
Patrick frowned. Who could anyone be happy in such horrible weather? Without thinking about what he was doing, he took a piece of paper from his note pad and drew a sad face before taping it to his window.
At 6 O'clock on the dot, Patrick packed up and went home, waving to Joe before he left and nodding to Brendon on his way out. He completely forgot about the paper and the faces drawn in sharpie.
The next day, almost crawling into work with coffee in one hand and his bag over his shoulder, he saw the sign was still hanging there. He put everything down, booted his computer, and took it down, glancing at the window across the way to see if the other was still there too.
This time, the man was dressed in a bright blue hoodie, sitting behind his desk. As Patrick watched, the man leaned back from the table to balance on the back legs of his chair and dropped down again. Patrick was about to turn away when he noticed that the face on the paper had changed. Now it was a sad face with a question mark next to it.
Rain, Patrick wrote on the back of the paper and taped it up again so the sad face was facing him. By now his computer had started, so he put on his headphones and completely immersed himself in his work. At lunch time, Brendon bounced by and handed him and Joe a sandwich each.
"Dude, why is there a sad face taped to your window?" Brendon asked.
"Huh? Oh." Patrick turned around, and tore down the sheet of paper quickly. "No reason. Hey how's your assignment going?"
"It's going great! I got to talk to these cool dudes from New York of all places…" As Brendon went on about the band, Patrick tuned him out. Brendon was nice and all, but he talked more than Patrick could take in. The key was to filter the important things like "so you're next on the list."
"Wait, what?" Patrick asked, back tracking to see what he missed.
"I need to interview A&R so you're next on the list?" Brendon said, unsurely, "I asked you a while back and you said it'd be fine…"
"Oh right, right, you did. Yes of course," Patrick said. Brendon had asked, about a month ago, and Patrick had agreed. "Name the time and date," he said and smiled.
They organised a time after work and Brendon went back to work.
By 4:30, Patrick was beat. He stretched his arms up, feeling his spine crack, and rubbed at his eyes from under his glasses. When they fell back into place the paper on the other building's window caught his eye. It had an umbrella drawn on it. Patrick smiled and bit his lip.
The rest of his day was good. Every time he thought of the umbrella he smiled. But by lunchtime the next day his bad mood had came back. He'd had a meeting with one of the bands, and they had ignored all of his advice, never mind that he actually knew what he was doing. By the time he got back to his desk, his coffee had gone stone cold.
He glanced outside his window again, contemplated the man across the way, and took out a new sheet of paper. He thought some more and then wrote Cold coffee, mostly because asshole musicians would be bad for his reputation and was a little too big to fit on the paper in big enough letters.
He'd gotten a reply by the end of the day, a question. microwave?
Not the Same, he wrote on the back of the paper, taped it up and went home feeling exhausted and dejected. He ate his dinner watching the TV, ignored a text from Joe, and plinked at his piano a little before going to bed.
Patrick woke up still feeling drained. He stayed in bed until the last minute and ran out the door without breakfast, making it to the train just in time. He thanked whoever was watching Up There that the elevator up was empty so he wouldn't have to make small talk. As he stepped out, he pulled his hat low.
Joe wasn't there yet. He groaned and put his head down on his desk. He didn't know how long he sat there, but he must've dosed off because the soft thud on his desk jerked him awake. He looked up to see a coffee cup and then further up to see Joe standing there, his hair under a woollen hat, his blue eyes worried behind his black rimmed glasses.
"You okay dude?" He asked Patrick.
"I love you," Patrick said with all his heart. He clutched at the warm cup and pulled it close, reverently breathing in the aroma before taking a sip.
"You have an addiction, you know that?" Joe said wearily, but he was grinning as he went around to his own desk.
"Why do you always get to be late?" Patrick said, knowing he sounded grumpy.
"'cause I have my own means of transport, and you have to catch the train," Joe said, matter-of-fact.
"A bicycle is not a means of transport," Patrick said.
"Okay," Joe said, "you can keep catching your real mode of transport, and I'll continue sleeping in." It was an old argument, but Patrick liked the familiarity of it.
He glanced outside and saw yesterday's note still hanging in the office across the way. The office was still empty. Looked like everyone was running late today.
He started up his computer and got to work.
The next time he glanced outside, the microwave question had been replaced with the word thermos! He smiled and took down his paper. maybe, he wrote on it and taped it up again.
He had to stay late that night to work with Brendon. He didn't mind. It was all questions about things he did on a day to day basis, so it was easy.
A few days passed and the thought of the thermos got buried under more pressing thoughts like the looming deadlines, the reports that were due, and the performance update just around the corner.
Then, about a week later, he saw it. He'd decided to walk home since the cold wasn't bone deep and the air was crisp. There were only a few stores open, letting light pour out over the pavement, and in one of them, something bright and plastic-y and cup shaped caught his eye.
He laughed to himself and went in. It was a thermos, the same red as the man's hoodie had been that first day. Of course that's when he realised he didn't even know this guy's name and he was following his advice. He hesitated and the man at the counter gave him a look.
He bought it in the end and decided to move things along himself.
I'm Patrick, he wrote the next day and put it up next to the thermos, which he'd placed on his windowsill. Just as he was taping it up, he looked over to see the man staring back at him. When he saw that Patrick caught him, he grinned and gave a small wave. Then, he put up both hands and mouthed 'wait' and got a sheet of paper. He wrote something on it and held it up.
im pete, it said, glad to meet you, and he grinned wide.
***
One day Patrick looked outside his window and saw Pete had written: i like your hat.
It was a new note. It hadn't been there that morning when he'd checked. That's kinda creepy, he wrote and put it up, even though he thought it was a little bit cute too, that Pete would see his hat from his office and like it enough to comment.
sorry but i do!
Patrick didn't even have to think before writing his reply and taping it up. I collect them.
hey we have something in common! The reply came up within two minutes. He'd barely looked away. When he looked up again, Pete was just taping up his reply.
Oh Yeah? He wrote and waited because he could see Pete waiting at his desk, twirling his pen between his hands.
When he saw Patrick's reply, he wrote on both sides of a new piece of paper and held up one side so Patrick could see it.
i collect hoodies! He had written, then when he saw that Patrick had finished reading, turned the sheet around. i have like 108 of them.
Patrick laughed softly so Joe wouldn't hear, but Pete could see anyway. Do you spend all your wages on hoodies or something?
no some of it goes to shoes, he wrote, and lifted up one foot to show Patrick his florescent sneaker.
Oh my god its Purple, Patrick wrote.
my friend Gabe designed them, Pete wrote proudly.
Patrick wanted to know who this Gabe was and what he was to Pete. He thought that the twisting feeling in his stomach might be jealousy, but he had no right to be jealous. He hardly knew Pete, and definitely didn't have any claim over him.
***
Patrick was having a bad day. It was to be expected. Not everything was going to be peachy, and that band was still giving him shit and not listening to anything he'd advised them on. Their agent or manager or whoever he was wasn't helping matters along either. If anything, it felt like they were contradicting him just to spite him, which was just stupid and counterproductive.
He'd gotten into a shouting match with their frontman, which was against company policy, he was sure. The boss had given him a talk about it and everything. He wanted to bang his head against a wall.
He looked outside to see if Pete was in his office. He found him staring back at Patrick with a note up. whats wrong?
Patrick sighed. People Suck, he wrote.
bad day? Pete wrote and pouted.
Fought with clients, he wrote and on the other side, Boss gave me a Talk, and drew a sad face.
maybe you could come work with me, Pete wrote and smiled.
Patrick read that and blinked. Besides the fact that it was sweet that Pete would even suggest that, like it was so easy he could just walk in and they'd give him a job and a nice office and he'd get to see Pete and talk with him with his actual voice every day, he didn't know what Pete actually did. He knew it had to do with drawing, since he always had a pencil in his hand, always sketching or colouring.
i dont even know what you do, he wrote and raised his eyebrows at Pete.
advertising Pete wrote. im really good at it.
Really? Patrick wrote, Anything I know?
the ipod ads with the white headphones and people dancing? my idea, Pete wrote on two pieces of paper and taped them up. He looked pretty proud.
Oh wow that's Awesome! Patrick wrote.
yeah, that's how i got this office, Pete wrote.
Patrick smiled. It sounded like Pete loved his job.
***
Patrick didn't feel too creepy watching Pete anymore because he found that Pete watched him too. Today he was nervous.
He kept pacing his office, then sitting down, only to get up again and keep pacing.
You OK? he wrote and put it up and waited.
got asked to go see the boss, Pete wrote.
good or bad? Patrick asked.
could go either way, Pete wrote. He still looked nervous, but at least he wasn't pacing anymore. a post opened up above me, and when Patrick read it Pete had already written the rest, could be a promotion or intro to the new guy.
Patrick couldn't think of anything to ask after that, so he wrote Good Luck! and taped it up.
They had to wait all day. The meeting with the boss kept being pushed further and further until it was almost time to go home. Patrick had finished all his work but stayed to wait with Pete. People had come in and talked with Pete, mostly looking reassuring and confident.
Then just as the sun was setting, Pete got a call, and after quickly glancing at Patrick, he left.
He was only gone for ten minutes, but when he came back he was grinning from ear to ear. promotion!! he wrote and held it up.
Patrick grinned back. Congrats! he wrote.
its going to be awesome! Pete wrote, i get my own team, a nice pay rise, a bigger office!
Patrick stopped and read that again. a new office? he wrote.
Pete made a face and then wrote something. yeah, a couple of floors up.
Patrick tried to look through the window and up, but the reflection meant he couldn't see into the office. Won't get to see you anymore, he wrote. He debated adding a question mark, finally settling on not. Unless they started seeing each other outside the office, it wasn't going to work anymore.
Pete drew a sad face and held it up.
Patrick knew what he had to do. Joe was always telling him to go for what he wanted, and he wanted this so much.
Maybe, Patrick wrote and held it up. He could feel his heart start to beat faster.
Pete raised an eyebrow in question.
Patrick's hands were shaking as he wrote the next message. Maybe we could start meeting outside.
for real? Pete wrote, looking excited.
Yeah! Patrick wrote, We could go out to dinner to celebrate.
oh my god yes, Pete wrote. He was jumping from one foot to another in his excitement.
He went through a list of places he knew in his head. Just as he was writing a name down, Joe peaked over the top of the cubicle. "Dude," he said, cocking an eyebrow, "what are you even doing? And why are you writing so big?"
Patrick looked up, slightly distracted, and kept writing the address. "I, um, I've sort of been talking to this guy next door. It's just, you know, something to pass the time." He said. He could feel his face going red.
Joe looked over his head, skimming the windows and then looked back at Patrick. "Is he short, dark, and possibly insane?" Patrick looked up to see Pete practically bouncing around his office, and nodded.
"Dude, what did you say? He's celebrating like he just won the Super Bowl."
"Oh, um, he just got a promotion so we're going out to celebrate," Patrick explained, scratching nervously at his sideburns. "I'm just, you know, picking the place."
Joe snickered. "Well, just so long as you don't communicate with just signs on your date, I think it could be a pretty good thing." Joe smirked. Patrick could feel himself blush even harder and tugged down his hat so Joe couldn't see.
He taped up the paper with a note at the bottom telling Pete he'd meet him downstairs and then picked up his bag.
"Now go get 'im, Tiger," Joe said with a wink, and Patrick smiled despite everything. He tried to not rush to the elevator but ended up with a fast walk that had the few remaining people look at him strangely.
The elevator ride down took almost forever, but when he stepped out to the cold night air he met Pete half way between their buildings.
They smiled at each other, so close that Patrick could see that Pete's eyes were brown and that he had three freckles on his cheekbone.
Pete spoke first. "Hi."
Patrick's smile widened. "Hi, I'm Patrick. It's nice to meet you."
Pete laughed, and it was so strange to finally hear after only seeing it. Patrick loved it. "I'm Pete, and I'd really like to take you out," Pete said, and Patrick's face was starting to hurt from all the smiling.
Pete held out a hand and Patrick took it.
The end.