Chapter Text
“Where is my cheese?”
This was a question that Allan asked often in the office, and one that he wound up asking himself again as he checked beside the refrigerator in the break room. His precious piece of cheese, a great source of calcium and protein—it holds a special place in his heart, as he always safeguards it in one specific location, a place where he can rely on knowing that the light meal is there for him to enjoy whenever he feels. Ever since the incident of 2020, he’s gotten used to his cheese disappearing more often, and as a result it’s become part of his routine.
With his slanting eyes squinted further, he analyzed the spot where he would leave the cheese normally, including its surrounding areas: the corner of the room, behind the fridge, within the fridge and its compartments, even going so far as to move the whole appliance to check the hole in the wall.
Nothing. No trace of it.
“Where could my cheese be?” he repeated, impatiently tapping his foot, surveying the room with his hands on his hips. With each time that the food deviated from this place, the search that came with it seemed harder and lengthier. To Allan, this was extremely annoying. He doesn’t do anything more with his cheese, he doesn’t take it places, he doesn’t hide it elsewhere; he simply eats it.
Eventually, after standing there for two minutes, he shrugged and set his target on some other activity. He figured that he would find his cheese some other time; after all, that’s how his routine adapted throughout these years. He’d find it, eat it, buy another piece of the same cut and same flavour, then stash it for later. There wouldn’t be anything to worry about.
In scanning the area once more, Allan’s eyes locked onto a closed box of jumbo paperclips resting on the countertop, which subsequently led them to view another box of regular-sized paperclips. He smiled in recognition; in the company, he oversees administration, and such duties, like sorting through provisions, became a favourite pastime of his.
He saw the obvious opportunity to separate the large from the small, so he walked over to the nearest box and opened it.
Nothing.
There were no paperclips in the package. Allan froze, slightly startled by the fact. There was no trace of any paperclips which had been stocked within; the box was perfectly assembled, untouched, like it had just come from the factory, minus the shrink wrap. He came to this conclusion by examining the packaging carefully.
He then set his eyes on the other box—internally, he reasoned that at least there would still be paperclips for him to separate the poorly-made from the durable and dependable. He stepped sideways and opened it.
Again, nothing. The same as it was with the last: eradicated from existence.
“What the fuck?” Allan muttered in sheer confusion.
He was right to feel this way, as paperclips should have been in abundance—only the boss and he use them, and no one else could be bothered to. This was a deviation.
Allan stepped away slowly from the counter. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he looked around once more, nervously fidgeting with his blue tie. Then, lost for ideas, he peeked his head out into the hallway.
His deadpan voice called out: “Pim? Charlie? Glep? Did you guys take my cheese? And my paperclips?”
No answer.
He sighed heavily. “This isn’t funny, guys. I am not in the mood for this. I just want to know where my things are.”
Still nothing called back. His frown shifted from displeasure to disarray. He knew the others liked to goof off, but they would’ve said something by now, letting him know they were fucking with him. He reasoned that Mr. Boss was busy in his own office, and he didn’t want to bother him.
“Hello?” he prompted once more, his scowl becoming less confident. Once he got his (lack of) answer, he turned back into the break room, wringing his hands about.
Allan got to thinking again. If he really exaggerated, then this was also part of his routine; there being no paperclips meant that he’d be sent by the boss to go on a zany adventure, meeting all sorts of eccentric characters, to ultimately retrieve paperclips for use in the future. There’d be nothing to worry about.
So he walked over to the cabinets and swung one door open, seeing what other supplies there could be for him to sort through.
Nothing.
They were completely bare, with no trace of anything—all he could see was the hardboard shelves and the brick wall behind them.
Allan’s breathing became heavier. “No. No. No, no, no, no…” He threw open each succeeding door on top, the bottom cabinets, the drawers, the storage space above—all to no avail. Still nothing.
As he opened the last door, he started to spiral. “Where the fuck is everything?!” he nearly shouted, his accent dropping in fear.
He walked backwards, his hands opening and closing, his mouth slightly agape, his widened eyes nervously darting around. He expected his back to hit the refrigerator anytime soon, a barricade to lean on, but he soon found himself almost falling. He caught his balance and whipped himself around. The fridge was gone; the hole in the wall was gone.
His hands started shaking, and he tried to grab onto anything he could, but all he could feel was dread, and he couldn’t do anything. Why was everything changing? He went into a breathless stream: “I just wanted my… what’s… why is this… why can’t it be… I want it…” As he turned around the room unawares, he saw the table in the centre was gone, and so was the TV, the beanbag, the coffee machine, the microwave, the bulletin board: now all that was left was himself and the room proper.
Allan pulled aggressively at his tie, almost choking himself but not caring in the moment because he needed a fidget of some sort. He desperately yelled the names of his coworkers for help, but no response came. Where was everyone? Pim and Charlie might have been playing video games in their apartment, Glep might have been with his wife. They don’t spend nearly the amount of time as he does in the office, but they really should, because they have lots of time ahead of them to do whatever else they want—
Allan’s heart dropped. He’d been screaming for quite a while, but he only now realized that one specific person wasn’t answering his pleas.
“Mr. Boss…?” he timidly called, turning his head just the slightest.
No answer.
Allan needed to know. Suddenly hyperventilating, not thinking about anything else, he dashed out of the break room and cornered the narrow hallway, nearly slipping.
He ran down the passage frantically, never taking his eyes off of the boss’ executive door, continuously, gutturally shrieking his name out. “Mr. Boss?! Mr. Boss!”
He nearly smashed into the door, barely halting himself before turning the knob and bursting through to the other side. He looked straight forward to meet the boss’ gaze at his desk, but he was met with none.
Mr. Boss wasn’t there. There was nothing. No trace of him. As if he was never there.
As a horrible realization came over him, Allan’s own disembodied voice rang out piercingly throughout the room, to which Allan broke down and covered his ears, his eyes squeezed tight, his teeth gritted rigidly. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain, and he heard the fears embedded so deeply in him.
He’s dead. What did you expect? He’s old. He’s gone, and you never recovered.
Allan opened his eyes. He’d woken up sweating profusely, and he felt that his covers were half thrown off the bed, and that his hands were intensely gripping what sheets were still on his waist.
The room was so dark that he couldn’t see anything completely, and to feel real, he abruptly sat up. Still panting heavily, he shifted his feet around under the covers, feeling the fabric wrinkle and hearing it crackle, and he fisted his hands. He instinctively reached for his tie, but he felt nothing; he must have had taken it off before bed. He started to shake with trepidation.
He was so scared that he didn’t even know where he was. He needed something to touch, to see, to help him realize what was real and what wasn’t. He needed something, anything, that would ground him. He needed comfort.
Just then he felt a hand gently reach out to touch his shoulder. “Hey, Al. You can’t sleep, huh—?”
Allan whipped around to his left at the high voice, and he saw Mr. Boss beside him, dimly lit by a nocturnal glow from a nearby window he’d just noticed. The older man’s face was gentle, softly smiling; his grey toupee was off, leaving just the whiter hairs forming a horseshoe around his head. Seeing his boyfriend, Allan felt tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, his mouth open in shock.
He must have looked utterly devastated, because Mr. Boss immediately moped and switched to a more concerned expression. “Woah. Hey. Allan. Buddy… you okay?” He said this last sentence with a smile again, his head tilting a little.
Allan finally came undone. He collapsed into Mr. Boss, hugging him tightly, burying his red face into his wrinkled neck, sobbing quietly yet harshly. He latched on, not wanting to let him go.
He could feel Mr. Boss flinch slightly at the sheer aggression of the action, which almost made him cry even more, but after a beat, he heard him exhale, softly yet firmly, and he felt the wind blow onto his own shoulder.
The older one reciprocated the embrace, rocking the both of them delicately from side to side. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Al. I’m here. It’s alright.” They stayed like this in each other’s arms for minutes that seemed like hours—Allan was too distraught to count how many.
Allan savoured this moment; he focused on the wrinkled, draped skin that he felt on his face and his back, the boss’ hands wrapped around him; on the odor print that he’d gotten so used to smelling on his clothes and tuxedo; on the texture of his ruffled, bristling hair, which he clutched in his hand by groping the back of the human’s head. This was the grounding he needed.
Eventually, Mr. Boss loosened his grip, and grunted—virtually a small exhale—while adjusting himself downwards into the covers, deeper into the mattress. Heartsore, Allan only grabbed tighter onto his shoulder, whimpering in fear. “No,” he wept. “Don’t go. Not you. Don’t go…”
Mr. Boss responded quietly, and though he couldn’t see his face, Allan could practically hear his grin: “Aw, don’t fret, Allan! I’m just making the two of us a little more comfortable.”
And that he was; soon enough they were laying back down, Allan curled against him like a vine, molded on his side. Mr. Boss laid with one hand supporting his head and the other arm resting on Allan’s side. He must have noticed that Allan was sort of falling in the space between his abdomen and his arm—the creature’s head was uncomfortably nestled in the tight region, but he didn’t care much anyways—because Allan then felt a little bony finger brush his chin, motioning for him to look up. Once he lifted his tear-streaked face, he saw Mr. Boss gaze down lovingly at him.
“C’mere, Al. Lift your head.”
Allan did so; Mr. Boss pulled the sheets down so that they were strewn about his waist, and he gently guided his neck so that his head was soon settled on his hairy chest.
The first thing that Allan could hear was the boss’ muffled, steady heartbeat. He felt his eyes well up again, but not out of sadness—this time, out of gratitude. This was definitive proof that Mr. Boss was alive, safe, here. He couldn’t have asked for anything more. So for the first time since waking up, he smiled, and he purred with happiness.
He closed his eyes and relished in Mr. Boss’ warmth, as his head bobbed slowly with the movement of the human’s stomach, breathing in and out, steady like the ocean currents. After some repetitions, he heard Mr. Boss sigh breathily in satisfaction, and then felt him stroke his back tenderly, which only made him more relaxed.
After ten minutes, Allan lifted his head again to face the boss, both blissfully content. “Thank you,” he murmured with a subtle smile—despite his voice sounding cracked, his nasally accent had mostly returned.
Mr. Boss waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, pshaw,” he whispered; “it’s no problem, Al. I just hate to see you this sad! You were leaking quite the eye-fluid, big guy!”
Allan snorted in response, heartened if only for a moment—his partner always knew what to say to lighten the situation. Mr. Boss too laughed at the sight of the chuckle.
They both settled into a comfortable silence, which Mr. Boss soon broke, pulling Allan up slightly so that his neck was snugged in a loose headlock.
“Allan…” he begun, briefly having his eyes closed leisurely. “I love you so much, pal. You don’t gotta carry everything on those tall shoulders of yours. If something’s eating away at ya, you can tell me.”
Allan didn’t answer right away. Though he held onto Mr. Boss tighter, he stared off into the distance, out the large window that illuminated his frame. He wasn’t sure how to approach his problem; he didn’t want to make either of them uncomfortable.
Mr. Boss chuckled. “Aww, just look at ya!” he cooed sympathetically. Slowly, he moved his head forward to meet Allan’s further down, and he passionately kissed the critter’s crown, letting it linger. Allan desperately tried not to think of the dread he had, but he knew it had to be brought up. As a result, his eyes misted over as he held on, taking pleasure in experiencing Mr. Boss’ affection.
“You know I’ll always be there for you, right, Al?”
Allan froze, as he did in the nightmare, almost bringing him back there. He knew this statement was incorrect. He quickly blushed, mindlessly looking up at Mr. Boss, then back into space.
“That’s not true,” Allan replied, unwittingly embarrassing himself.
Mr. Boss looked towards him, seeming inquisitive as to his remark. Allan turned his neck away further, not knowing what the other was feeling. Should he have had said anything at all?
Then he felt him shift his weight just a bit more, bringing him up so that their heads were opposite each other’s by the headboard, pulling the blankets back up over his thin shoulders to shield him from the cool draft of the room. Mr. Boss tucked him in and tightened his embrace.
“Gee, what’s rattling around in that neat little head of yours?” Mr. Boss chirped.
Allan concentrated his attention on the one he loves. This conversation had to be had sometime; he couldn’t just ignore the terror he felt, putting it off until what he feared actually happened.
He inhaled, exhaled, took a beat.
“I’m worried you’ll die and leave me here alone.”