Archive of Our Own

By the persistent glow of his electronic watch, Bradley knew it was already hitting 8:30 pm in the hushed cubicles of the firm, the stale scent of coffee and printer ink mixing bitterly in his nose as he glared at the offending spreadsheet on his screen. He’d been staring at little cells of numbers for the past hour, trying to figure out how a single intern could simultaneously break hard-coded formatting while also managing to misalign three months of data. The resulting cascade of incorrect finances was now looming in front of him like the tide of a tsunami, ready to take him under. Bradley frowned, tapping his pen absently. It was almost impressive. Not nearly as impressive as Bradley managing not to strangle said intern.

This was the third time in the last week, and the third time Bradley had caught the spreadsheet errors like writhing fish in a net. The answer was obvious. Sack the intern, move the reports over to a more seasoned analyst. Hope that management didn’t comment on the delays and come down on the whole team. Avoid the resulting backlash from the higher-ups, and manage to get through this nightmare of a quarter with only losing one person.

Bradley checked his watch again, sighing quietly. Running a hand through his hair to smooth it back in place, he began typing once more. Clacking the keys of his cheap plastic keyboard, he carefully moved numbers to their proper places, marked down the inconsistencies, and subtly copied everything into a fresh spreadsheet that hadn’t been mangled all to hell. Another thirty minutes passed as he worked, losing himself in the flow of the data, following the spend to its source until at last he’d corrected the major issues. Feeling a kink in his lower back developing, Bradley adjusted his posture. The resulting squeak of his chair was barely heard over the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the rustling of papers from a few other night owls in the office.

The intern should be sacked, the weak link replaced. But that wasn’t going to get them through these next few weeks, and they couldn’t afford bullshit like this getting back to the client. That would be unprofessional, and above all else, Bradley was a consummate professional, which is how he found himself sending the corrected spreadsheet to print and laying out the issues cleanly in a carefully composed email to the undeserving idiot. God help that intern if he couldn’t read an email properly. Bradley might actually snap his neck, HR be damned.

Standing and grabbing his stapler, Bradley made his way over to the back wall where the industrial-sized printer waited, whirring and chirping with an energy that bordered on offensive. If he hurried, he could drop this on the intern’s desk with some additional feedback, grab something at the convenience store on the way home, shower, and maybe still have time to scroll on his phone before it was time to pass out and do it all again. If he was being optimistic, maybe his sleep podcast had finally updated. That’d be nice. A loud grinding screech broke him violently out of his thoughts as he looked down and saw his perfectly corrected spreadsheet currently half eaten by the machine. It was also now alarmingly starting to smoke slightly, jammed firmly in the metal teeth as if daring him to reach in. Bradley closed his eyes briefly, willing himself not to scream. 

After all, screaming wouldn’t look good in front of the other analysts.

Opening his eyes with a silent prayer, Bradley placed his stapler aside on a nearby table and opened the machine's top panel. This was the second time the bastard had jammed today, and if he didn’t have such a mastery over himself, it’d be the last time it’d jam again, ever. The stapler nearby was solid and heavy, perfect for getting through a plastic casing. Did intentional destruction of corporate property count as a felony or a misdemeanor? If Bradley glared any harder, the printer’s guts likely would catch fire alongside his damn spreadsheet.

“You know, threatening a printer works, but usually unplugging it tends to work better.”

The voice had Bradley straightening to his full height from where he’d been hunched over, turning to see a smirking technician, wielding a large plastic toolbox with ease in his strong hands. The man caught his eye, gesturing to the mess in front of them. “At least, in my experience. This thing jam on you?” The tone was affable and calm, setting Bradley’s teeth instantly on edge. Obviously it was jammed. What moron couldn’t see that?

“Your print-out is on fire.”

Working to keep his expression carefully neutral, Bradley mentally worked to get a handle on his newly developing homicidal tendencies. The slight stream of smoke had steadily grown into a full-on glow of orange. “Yes. I know.”

“You uh….want to step aside and let me take care of that?”

Ah. Bradley blinked once, then did as he was bid. Making room for the shorter man to quickly brush past him as he pulled a very small extinguisher from his kit. Surprised, Bradley watched as the man quickly unplugged the printer and proceeded to put out the smoldering papers with a couple of quick localized bursts, avoiding setting off the sensitive smoke detector nearby. A fire alarm going off in the entire building would have been a less than ideal way to end his night, he realized distantly, almost feeling out of body as Bradley took another step back to let the jumpsuited man have more space. He ignored Bradley as he started to look at the pile of evil plastic scrap, muttering to himself under his breath. The print-outs Bradley had spent hours on sat limp and sad where they still stuck out of the top of the tray.

Right, he was a technician. The man must be the new one Bradley kept hearing about at the office break room. Bradley prided himself on maintaining a healthy distance with his coworkers, keeping up polite gossip while dodging invitations to baby showers and after-work drinks. But even he’d noticed how half the office had suddenly developed a plethora of suspicious “technical problems” ever since the newly hired contractor had started working here. Max, he thinks, his memory unfailing, even hours late into what had truly been a terrible day. Unfailing even when it was recalling the squawking vocal recount of Jenna down in Marketing. ‘He’s just the greatest! Ooo and dreamy, I wonder if he can fix my desk chair next!’

“This yours, I’m guessing?” Max the technician brings him back to the present as he waves a damp chunk of shredded papers vaguely in Bradley’s direction, not looking back at him. Bradley merely raised an eyebrow, swallowing the sneer that threatened to escape.

“It was. Now it belongs in the trash.”

“Probably better to recycle if you can. Heh. Well, maybe after it dries.”

Max leaned down to unclasp his toolbox and pull a pair of pliers and an electric screwdriver from within. His shoulders flexing beneath his nondescript jumpsuit as he leaned back inside the printer to do…God knows what. But as he started to work, Max paused to look over his shoulder to flash a quick smile Bradley’s way. It was winsome and guileless, full teeth and charming. Bradley’s eyebrow twitched. Jenna from Marketing’s nasal voice haunted him.

“If you give me, like, ten minutes here? I’ll have your document printed properly. Go stretch your legs, and it’ll be ready when you get back.” Max dismissed him with a short motion of his head, as Bradley bristled. No one dismissed him. He wasn’t a dog.

Through sheer force of will, Bradley managed a small nod at the technician’s back, and turned to give the man his space. He let his feet take them where they would, fully convinced the evening was a wash, and he’d have to come in early the next day to try printing again on another floor before his director arrived. He found himself making his winding path to the break room to grab something from the vending machine, just to give his hands something to do. While his body moved on autopilot, his mind was still churning. The persistent office hubbub was starting to make more sense.

“Max fixed my monitor connection!”

“Max helped me recover my presentation from the network!”

“Max says the fourth-floor shredder isn’t supposed to make that noise!”

Idiots. The whole thing was ridiculous, and felt especially juvenile when they were in the middle of stabilizing a deal with a major client. Sure, they’d had an amazing quarter, but the resulting boom was absolutely crushing every single department afterward. They absolutely had to make sure things went off without a hitch for the next couple of months, or it would mean losing what they’d gained and the reaper named “Layoffs” would start swinging its scythe. They didn’t have time to gush over the ‘hot new technician’. Even if he was a little good-looking. They needed to lock in, and Bradley refused to let horny single mom Jenna or dimwitted college interns pull them off course. The office acted like they were desperate for a new form of entertainment, but they had plenty on their plates as it was.

Completing a small lap and now with a chocolate bar in hand as he rode the elevator, Bradley let himself return to the cubicle zoo he called home on level three. Already mentally prepared to just clock out and go home when Max would inevitably shake his head and declare the printer finally dead. Good riddance. Maybe the tightwad C-suite would finally loosen the purse strings and actually buy them the equipment they needed to do their fucking jobs. Instead of hemming and hawing about ‘staying the course’ and ‘coming together’ during this ‘difficult financial period’. He knew the finances. Bradley practically was the finances at this point after he’d personally taken so much on. They were just skinflints at Scrooge Ltd., the lot of them. Bradley felt a scowl curling his lips as he felt his footsteps growing heavy with his doomed march back to the printer’s grave. To his surprise, the man was standing there waiting for him, printer casing put back together and a stack of neatly printed pages in hand.

“Oh hey, there you are! And here’s your document.”
 

What? He must have heard that wrong. And there was that smile again. Bradley squinted at him slightly, checking his watch subtly. Didn’t he know what time it was? Where was the energy coming from?

“I ran it through again, but you’ll probably want to make sure you aren’t missing any pages.”

Absolutely baffled and feeling a bit dazed with the caffeine wearing off, Bradley found himself taking the pages from the offered hand. Sure enough, to his amazement, every single page was there, the clean, orderly lines of spreadsheet cells filled with deceptively vital financial data. Running a hand through his hair, Bradley’s mouth spoke without his permission. “How the hell did you do that so fast? That thing was toast.”

“Oh, it was a paper clip,” Max said dismissively, waving a hand.

“...What?” Bradley’s brow furrowed incredulously. “You fixed it with a… paper clip?”

“Ha! No, though that’d be a neat party trick.” Max, leaving his answer vague, leaned down to pack up his toolbox and then wipe his hands on the knees of his dark jumpsuit.

Bradley could have left it there, should have left it there, really, since he had what he needed and was desperate to get home. But his curiosity was burning, and he really did hate that printer. “Then…?” His tone turned prickly as Bradley arched a brow, trying to hold in his annoyance. Max seemed to notice because an amused smirk tugged at his lips.

“There was a paper clip wedged in there. It had finally gotten down in the gears. So a spark probably had arced through it, which affected the sensors inside. Paper jam was also bad enough to wedge things too tight, so the temperature started cooking the ink on the page. I pried out the paper clip, tightened a few things, reset the computer, and sprayed some lubricant. Should run like new.”

Bradley sighed, looking down at the papers in his hand. A paper clip, honestly. He suddenly felt incredibly exhausted and was ready to just be done. He forced himself to pull it together and at least be polite, since Max had gotten him his printouts after all. Proper manners ingrained in him so deeply it was practically carved in his bones. “Well, thank you. It’s been giving us trouble for a while now, and this was of course the worst possible timing.” 

“Well hey, you can always try glaring at it if it acts up again.” Max’s smirk widened ever so slightly as Bradley’s felt his expression pinch. “Or call for me. I’ll be on contract here for a while. The name’s Max.”

“Hmm,” Bradley replied calmly but noncommittally, as he tucked his fatigue back behind practiced polish. “Thank you again for your help, Max.”

“No problem! Have a good night.” Max remarked breezily as he took himself and his toolkit away and back toward the elevators. Bradley immediately turned on his heel and marched back into the center of the office to drop the files onto the intern’s desk. Snagging a pen and a Post-it note, he wrote instructions in rapid looping letters, tucking it onto the top page before Bradley headed back to his own cubicle to grab his suit jacket. By now the office had quieted considerably, leaving Bradley alone on the floor with his thoughts. He might even be one of the few people left in the whole building now.

Later, as he stepped out of the polished glass doors of the firm and ignored his reflection in the glass, he reflected on the fact that for once the childish gossip was right. The technician, Max, was seemingly everything the gossip said he was. Capable and friendly. Well, mostly friendly. Bradley remembered with disdain the amusement that seemed to have been at his expense earlier. Whatever. For now, the siren song of the convenience store was calling, and he had a standing date to meet with his apartment shower. 

--------

It was another night trapped in the liminal hell of the office, and the janitor had already come by to clear their floor’s trash bins from the sea of cubicles. His small collection of paper coffee cups had no doubt been neatly swept away into oblivion along with the takeout trash. The emergency conference meeting he’d just left with his director and team members had Bradley massaging the bridge of his nose to try and unsuccessfully ease the tension there. From the frying pan to the fire, if it wasn’t one fuck up it was another.

They’d managed to avoid further mishaps with the revenue data and the project forecasts, due in no small part to Bradley finally sitting down with that damn intern over lunch to coach him on how to do his job properly and stop killing them. The intern, grateful and shaking like a leaf, had taken a notebook’s worth of notes as Bradley had droned on in between small bites of a salad. But now with that gap sealed, things suddenly weren’t lining up properly on the Sales department side of things. Not their fault, but someone on the client side had noticed and commented. That was bad. Their director believed it to be an issue with the client’s records. Bradley suspected some fool salesman promised something unauthorized during negotiation. The CEOs were going to murder everyone if they gave up a single cent more. Either way, they were all hands on deck until this got properly sorted. It was looking like another late night, and probably would be for a while.

As he finally got back to his chair and had just removed his coat, he was surprised to find a paper coffee cup waiting there right by the keyboard. Missed by the janitor, it seemed, except it wasn’t his. Had someone been at his desk? Did that someone leave their goddamn trash? Was this a cause for alarm? Had one of those fabled ‘bad actors’ actually broken in and hacked his computer? Feeling himself start to spiral a bit, Bradley strode over and reached to pick up the cup but quietly yelped as he was surprised. It was hot and full of liquid to the brim, and he’d barely managed to avoid splashing his hand. What was this? Was this from the director? Did he buy them coffee? He’d never done that. There was no note, no indication it was even for him. Was this for someone else?

It was a foolish idea to just drink it, right? Honestly, who in their right mind would just drink a random drink left on their desk by an unknown person? It was probably laced with something, arsenic, probably. His thoughts swirling dark to match his mood, Bradley didn’t even notice his own hands lift the cup up to his lips on autopilot, a thousand coffees of the past having trained him like a machine to consume, refuel, and produce. The first hot sip hit his tongue, just the side of cool enough to drink. Oh. Oops. Guess he was the fool. Except…

Bradley took another cautious sip, feeling his expression shift to match his utter shock. Was this… He looked down at the cup again, now more closely. It was. This was a coffee from the cafe a few blocks away, not the shitty drip coffee from downstairs. Not only that…

Looking around him, still sporting a dumb, baffled expression, Bradley had to take a moment to school his features once more. As casually as possible, he wandered over to his nearest coworker who had just set her laptop down. 

“Hey, did this come from you or the director?”

“Huh?” The woman looked completely distracted and ran ragged, similar to him. “What’s that?”

“The uh, is this coffee from you…or…?” Bradley trailed off, honestly at a loss and feeling like an alien from the expression on the other woman’s face.

“Not from me, no, though I’d kill for a cup. Doesn’t look like it came from the break room.”

“Uh, thanks…” Bradley hastily moved away, feeling stupid. But unable to just let it go, he moved over to where a couple more members of his team were urgently chatting back and forth, gesturing at one of their monitors.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, did uh…did one of you leave this? Or see who did?”

The pair looked at him blankly, the taller of the two shrugging. “No, sorry. I didn’t see anyone around here when we came out.”

“Yeah, not from us. Maybe someone from another floor?” The other man gave a knowing wink. “Jealous!”

Bradley felt out of his element and utterly suspicious. “No, I…I don’t think so. Uh, thanks.” Feeling awkward, he tried lightly interrogating a couple more people, but the answer was the same. Nobody knew anything. So he returned to his desk, uncomfortable and unsure and utterly without answers.

The coffee was, in a word, perfect. It was exactly how he took it, down to the bit of cinnamon on the foam and the syrup drizzle he’d never admit to. Who in the building would know his coffee order and not only leave him one, but leave it without a note? Bradley racked his brain to think through a list of individuals who might have made a pass at him in the last couple of weeks, but was coming up blank. Most of them were too…obvious, too on the nose to try and be sneaky. And he’d been adamant not to mix his professional and private life.

He should probably throw it away, to be safe. But…but he was tired, and he had an awful headache clawing up from the base of his neck into the backs of his eyes. And coffee was like a godsend for the soul-sucking fatigue he could feel setting in, that he knew he’d have to power through and shrug off if he was going to work through the evening with his team. Maybe…maybe if he was quick and no one was watching?

Hunching down behind the safety of his fabric-covered cubicle walls, giving one last suspicious look around himself, Bradley sipped again at the coffee and nearly groaned at the taste. This was so much better than the mud they tried to pass off downstairs. This was real and familiar. And it had enough caffeine to kill a horse. Perfect truly.

Though he tried to savor it, the coffee was gone too soon. The now empty cup was not placed in the trash immediately, but set to the side of his otherwise barren desktop. However, now feeling invigorated and ready to power through the stack of documents he needed to go through with a fine-toothed comb, Bradley straightened and set his jaw. It was time to show those clowns in Sales how things were done.

Hours passed, the clacking of multiple keyboards filling the space alongside the very quiet chords of music playing at one person’s desk, turned down low out of respect for the seriousness of what they were all focusing on. One by one, though, the keyboards slowed as his coworkers slowly filed out. Children, dinner plans, or just simply out of energy and hours. Bradley, with no one waiting for him back home and no family he was currently speaking with, waved them off and away. He had this, and they trusted him to keep following the trail through agreement after agreement. A couple of them clapped him on the back and promised him lunch tomorrow, or to pick up extra work for him later this week so he could head out early. Smiling and nodding noncommittally, Bradley shooed them away towards the elevators before resuming his focus. Kind as the offers were, they were unnecessary. Misguided even. This was his job, and he was good at it. It just made sense.

At some point, Bradley couldn’t even say when as lasered into his work as he currently was, a voice broke the stillness of the room and took him immediately out of his concentration.

“Hey! You getting home some time tonight, or do you like…permanently live here?”

Bradley looked up, bleary-eyed and momentarily startled to find the technician from earlier in the week standing in a cubicle nearby. Max’s toolbox was open on the floor, parts of something he had presumably been working on in his hands. When had he gotten here? It must have shown on his face because Max gave a small grin and a slight nod in his direction.

“Don’t think you heard me come in. There’re some network issues on this floor I’ve been trying to sort.” Max looked down, and the quiet sounds of metal and plastic came from something unseen for a moment, before the other man straightened and started gathering up his tools. Bradley checked the time on his watch and winced. It was really late. He stood as he began grabbing his coat to shrug it on, speaking as he did so.

“Oh, uh, sorry. No, I didn’t.” And then, because he actually was feeling a bit better from the jolt of anonymously gifted coffee earlier, found himself still talking as he paused. “Hope you’re able to figure out the network trouble. It’s definitely been ongoing, but this place probably keeps you hopping everywhere.” Bradley’s tone was actually even somewhat friendly, a miracle considering the day he’d had. Meeting Max’s chocolate brown eyes with his own, Bradley noted again that the other man was decently handsome, in a down-to-earth way. Max’s eyes crinkled slightly, looking a bit mischievous as he held eye contact.

“Eh, I’ll get it. Thanks. Can’t help but notice you look less homicidal tonight.”

This guy. The hell is that supposed to mean? Bradley arched a brow. 

“Yeah. Shockingly, when printers aren’t on fire, I find it within myself to be magnanimous.” Bradley’s tone was dry and deadpan as he smoothed out a wrinkle on his coat arm.

For a moment Max’s eyes flicked away to the empty coffee cup on Bradley’s desk, now over in the corner where he’d set it. Max’s lips stretched in a slight smirk, something like amusement in his expression when he looked back at Bradley. “Good to see.” But there was something in his tone that felt teasing, raising Bradley’s hackles.

Bradley’s eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. He chanced a look at the paper cup himself, then back at where Max was cleaning up. Max’s eyes twinkled as he finally picked up his toolbox and breezed out of the cubicle and by his own.

“Here, I’ll toss that for you.”  And before Bradley could stop him, the empty cup was in his hands, and leaving with the technician. Max tossed a small grin over his shoulders as he kept moving. “Have a good night, sir.”

Unable to help a slight sneer pulling at his mouth, Bradley stayed where he was planted in his cubicle. “Ugh, please. Don’t call me that. It’s Bradley.” And if he hadn’t been looking for it carefully, he might have missed the slight twitch of humor in Max’s carefully neutral expression. Bastard was doing it on purpose! But wait…what about…? 

“See ya around, Bradley!” And the other man was gone just like that, before he had a chance to retort.

Looking back down at his now empty desk, monitor powered off and only a couple of the nighttime lights on, illuminating the darkness of the large office room, the gears turned in Bradley’s head as he mentally reviewed their interaction. Did he…? Bradley straightened, suspicion pulling a deepening frown. Oh. Oh, absolutely not. This would not do.

--------

It only took a couple of days and a few well-placed questions and smiles before Bradley had what he needed to retaliate. Apparently, Mark in Proposals had overheard Max commiserating with a couple of the Proposal team members that the vending machines had stopped stocking a popular flavor of chips that apparently wasn’t sold in grocery or convenience stores nearby. Making it a pain to try and find elsewhere.

Bradley was unfamiliar with the brand or the snack, but it was as easy as breathing to use his resources to not only find the chips, but find a large enough bag to put the tiny ones in the vending machines to shame. Mostly air in those things anyway. Bradley smoothly made sure to leave it by his toolbox, unseen by anyone. No note, of course. And he made sure to avoid him after that, playing it cool by diving right back into the workload his team had to sift through. It wasn’t like that was going anywhere. It was to prove a point anyhow, not like it meant much. 

So if he happened to smirk quietly to himself just a bit when he overheard Caitlyn gossiping to Robert from HR about how Max had been stupefied at finding the apparently rare chips later? Well, that was Bradley’s business.

--------

Coffees without notes kept arriving unexpectedly on his desk. Bags of chips and rare snacks mysteriously showed up at Max’s temporary office station. Neither outwardly acknowledged it. There was nothing to acknowledge. But quietly, Bradley and his team pulled through what they needed to. The proposal he put together was used by his director to not only fix the clerical issues the client noticed by smooth things over with sales while also keeping up the bottom line for the C-suite. Not only that, the client was impressed by a suggestion Bradley had subtly had one of his other team members propose. Getting that team member a shout-out by the director and a small recognition award by the higher-ups. It made the whole team look good. It kept operations running smoothly, and in the privacy of his own mind, it made Bradley feel good.

It was like a chessboard that stretched the lanes of office walls and the grid of departments and floors. Things were working as they should, financial data perfectly organized and everything to the letter. It helped ease the pang of going home to an empty apartment and weekends spent alone with a book or on his favorite park bench just people-watching. Sure, he could have found the energy to call up old contacts or go to a club and try to pass the time with someone anonymous and discreet. But part of Bradley was…tired. Tired of the pretenses. Tired of worrying about what the past thought or his family name. This was easier. Better, honestly. A new city, a well-established firm, a chance to grow his career on his terms. A little lonely maybe, but that was just adulthood.

Perhaps Bradley was just a little too focused on the numbers, the problems, the path of correcting snags before they became issues. It might explain how he studiously didn’t pay much attention to how other people in the office started to take notice of the anonymous coffees and mysteriously arriving chips.

There was the work, after all. Always the work.

--------

It was late. Very late. Later than Bradley usually stayed even on the worst days. He’d had a phone call earlier on his personal cellphone that had been… Well. No need to think of it now. But it hadn’t helped his mood, and things had spiraled from there. So he’d thrown himself into another fire that had come up that morning with all of his quiet fury and focus, ignoring his coworkers' offers of dinner or help or meet-ups after work. Karaoke wasn’t going to move the needle. Eating at a steakhouse elbow to elbow with other departments wasn’t going to fix the issues in their workload. Socializing and cavorting when he should be getting things done wasn’t going to prove anything to…

No. It didn’t matter. It never did. Besides, getting the impossible done was Bradley’s bread and butter. Speaking of which, in the push to grind through the work of three people (they really needed to loosen the purse strings of the budget and hire some of these damn interns full-time already), Bradley had, of course, been so consumed he’d forgotten to eat. But going home still felt suffocating. And the convenience store would be closing soon. So maybe, just maybe, he lingered here in the quiet of the office to find a space for himself that felt tolerable. Like he could better breathe.

Standing in the glow of the vending machines, ignoring the security cameras that were silently holding vigil all over the entire building, Bradley was looking over the sad options presented to him and about to punch in the numbers for a sandwich.

“That’s not dinner.” The voice shook Bradley badly enough out of his reverie that he missed the final number entirely and skidded his fingertip across the top of the card reader.

Feeling caught for some reason and standing up to his full height, Bradley turned to see Max coming out of the darkness to join him. He worked to keep his face neutral and his breathing calm, even while noting that Max himself seemed tired and not at his full level of energy. What was he doing here so late? Mentally noting he was taking too long to respond, Bradley forced out a shrug.

“It’s turkey at least.”

“It has a shelf life longer than both of us, my guy. That’s scary.”

Max rolled his eyes and came over to join him at the machine. Max then proceeded to clear the numbers Bradley had been about to punch in, and ignored his protests to not only select a less horrifying sandwich, but to swipe his own card on the reader. Bradley tried not to take it, but Max placed it in his hands firmly before selecting something else for himself. The electronic hum was the only sound for a moment, as the two looked at one another, before Max wordlessly gestured to one of the tables nearby in the break room with a view of the large hallway windows across from them. Outside the dark glass, the lights of the city buildings they could overlook shone and added to the strange, sparse glow of the room, coming from a single small light down the corridor and the LED lights of the machines behind them.

Bradley found himself settling into the chair beside Max, folding into his chair and leaning forward on his elbows. Max mirrored his posture, each of them unwrapping their choice of meal and letting the quiet remain around them undisturbed for a moment. The space felt liminal, like something would shift in a direction in a moment, but both of them were being careful enough to let it stay easy. Bradley tried to ignore the warmth coming from the shoulder near his, Max having apparently unzipped his normal jumpsuit to tie it around his waist, revealing a plain red T-shirt underneath. Bradley forced himself not to trace the outlines of what he could see of the other man’s arms.

After a few minutes of tiredly sharing space, focusing on chewing politely, Bradley perked up when a new sound snagged his attention. It was coming from a pair of earbuds Max was wearing that he hadn’t noticed before. It was a song, one he recognized.

“Is that…Powerline?” He asked, unable to stop himself. It was one of Powerline’s popular hits, still appearing on social media clips and in videos people lip-synced to. He wasn’t ready for Max to startle and look at him fully from inches away.

“You know Powerline?!”

Bradley, feeling embarrassed suddenly at the full force of Max’s attention, tried to scoff and wave the notion away. “Everyone knows Powerline. That’s ‘Another Way,’ right?” He tried to keep his face still as Max’s own expression transformed into what could only be described as delight.

“Yeah! It is! And no man, people don’t know Powerline. They know, like, his main hits that get played at parties.”

“Eh. I just happened to hear a few on the radio and liked them.”

“Oh yeah?” Max’s smile was cheeky. Bradley found it very distracting. “Do you know ‘Can We Talk’?”

Working to stay unaffected and seemingly bored, Bradley shrugged to try and put some space between them. “Sure, yeah. Good song.”

“How about ‘Stand Out’?”

“Don’t start. They’ve played that thing to death on the radio. Drives me crazy.”

“Yeah? What are your thoughts on ‘Always in my Heart?’ and ‘Round and Round’?” Max leaned on his elbow, still turned his way, and seemed genuinely interested in his answer.

“I mean, both are solid. I think I prefer the original ‘Round and Round’ compared to the ‘Soul Mix’ edit. But I know Powerline has been coming out with a lot of newer stuff lately that’s taking things in a different direction.”

Max grinned, teeth bright in the dark of the break room. His eyes seemed to dance with his growing excitement, making Bradley’s cheeks start to feel a bit warm. Did the A/C cut off or was it him?

“Yeah, he’s been having a ton of remixes released. Some people say he’s slowing down, but I’m holding out hope for some new singles for his next world tour. How about ‘She’s All That’?”

“I liked the beat of it a lot. And I really like the soulful quality of ‘What Do I Say’“. Bradley was startled out of his musings when Max gave a playful shove to his shoulder, nearly knocking him out of his seat.

“Bradley! Dude! That’s one of his classic B-sides! You’re a total Powerline fan, you liar!” There was something about his honest laugh and casual slang that made Max seem suddenly younger and more free. Bradley was unable to look away despite himself.

“I-I, uh! W-Well I–!” Bradley felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment as he uncharacteristically stammered. Max staring at him made him feel as if a spotlight were suddenly shining on him. Was it really that odd? I mean, yes, Powerline was a mega pop idol and had been for a while. But there was something to be said for his earlier R&B work. Was it that Bradley seemed too stuffy to enjoy that kind of thing? Too uncool? Inwardly, Bradley wished he’d never opened his stupid mouth, but the other man just shook his head.

“Not bad. Here, come on. I really like this one.” Max’s earlier joyful smile seemed to settle into something calmer, almost kind, as he cut off Bradley’s flustered internal dialogue with himself by handing Bradley an earbud. Hesitantly, Bradley took it, placing it in his own ear. Max looked down and fiddled with a phone that he took out of his pocket. After a moment of silence between the songs changing, Bradley then found himself holding still as the opening notes for ‘Back to the World’ quietly played between them. His shoulders relaxed, and Bradley closed his eyes slightly as he listened, feeling himself momentarily forgetting the stifling walls of the firm that surrounded them. Instead, it slowly transformed into a small bubble of smooth vocals and rhythmic chords as two semi-strangers sat side by side quietly staring out at the lights of the nighttime city.

--------

It was Friday night, a couple of days after that night at the vending machines. A scene that felt almost unreal, as Bradley found himself replaying it over and over in his mind when he wasn’t distracted. Memories of those strong brown hands holding out the earbud, the warm smile in the dark, the sharp smirk, and the coffees left for him. Bradley was doing his utmost to not let his imagination run away with him, but it was starting to get in the way of his already sleepless nights. Max was…a competent technician. Friendly but professional. They were essentially coworkers, while the other man remained on contract with the firm. Bradley, as a rule, did not let coworkers into his private life.

So he stuffed the muddled feelings down as best he could. Sure, yes, okay, Max was attractive, Bradley was painfully single, and it could almost be considered…interest if it had been anyone else, in any other setting. But the fact remained: Max was friendly to everyone at the office. He was constantly throwing compliments to the ladies and even some of the men around the departments as he worked, optimistic and hard-working. It was no wonder that so many had very obvious crushes on him. But interdepartmental affairs were strictly forbidden, so it’d be foolish of Max or anyone to act on anything. And just because someone was nice and friendly did not mean they were interested. In friendship or…or otherwise.

After all, hadn’t Bradley learned that lesson painfully by now? But no. It wouldn’t do to dwell on that.

It was better to keep things strictly professional and his own eyes on the prize. The department has survived this long. There was no need to embarrass any of them with a torrid scandal. Or even worse, to make a pass at someone who didn’t swing that way. The mortification of that might just kill him.

Having come home, showered, and changed into his casual street clothes, Bradley let the storm of his thoughts brew as he glanced out the window and pulled up his phone to order takeout from one of his regular places. But a distant roll of thunder made him pause. Whoever was delivering late at night would probably get caught in the rain later. Taking a glance into his spotless but empty fridge, he made a quick decision to head to the convenience store nearby to grab something quick. It was close, only a couple of blocks to there and a couple more beyond to his place of work. And while Bradley spent an unhealthy amount of time there, it was one of the larger and nicer convenience stores in the city. One of the reasons he had selected his apartment in the first place. It had a small selection of actual food mixed in with the typical junk food and snacks. And there was something almost primally good at consuming garbage that he knew his father would’ve had a total conniption over if he ever knew. Not that he would. Bradley’s choices were now his own.

Later, it’s there, as he’s moving up and down aisles and angling around tight store displays, that the universe decides it had left him alone with his thoughts long enough, and it was time to kick him straight in the balls. The next thing he knew, Bradley felt the wind rudely knocked out of him as he slammed fully into another shopper rounding the corner. Mortified and already apologizing, Bradley reached down to grab hold of the shorter individual by the shoulders to keep them upright as they struggled to keep a hand on their swinging basket. A couple of cans fell and hit the ground, rolling away.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” Then he froze, horrified. This could not be happening to him.

Lo and behold, as if summoned by his earlier melancholy and firmly gripped in Bradley’s hands, was none other than the subject of his thoughts lately: Max the technician. Who, regrettably, was looking perfectly comfortable and very alluring out of his work clothes. Oh dear. Bradley’s roving eyes took in a soft hoodie, loose jeans, sneakers, and his locs down and styled loose instead of tied back like they typically were. Max’s own eyes were wide, as if he hadn’t expected this run-in either. That was when Bradley realized he was still holding him about the shoulders. His fingers flexed without his permission. Mentally slapping himself, Bradley let go as if he’d been burned, and took a step back to give the man breathing space, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow him already. Christ. Get it together already.

Max, dazed, seemed to shake himself back to reality as he looked down and checked his basket contents.  Bradley, broken from the spell of eye contact, reached down to start grabbing the rolling cans to hand back to the other man. It looked like soup and ingredients for a sauce, perhaps. And he was probably imagining it, but it seemed as if there was the slightest darkening to Max’s brown cheeks as he silently accepted the cans back. This was humiliating. Bradley had to fix this, smooth over the awkward encounter so they both could get back to living their lives.

“Sorry to jump scare you and nearly bowl you over, Max. I was just, uh, picking something up for dinner really quick. I’ll let you get back to it.” Bradley gave him a polite nod, polished smile back in place. Max, for his part, narrowed his eyes and gave him a once-over, taking inventory of what Bradley was wearing before raising an eyebrow. Bradley felt his cheeks begin to burn.

“Hey, Bradley. I didn’t recognize you without a spreadsheet in hand.” Max quipped cheekily, the good humor coming back. But then a slow smile spread as Max’s eyes shifted with something unknown. “You going out somewhere tonight?”

Bradley, confused by the question (and really the fact that the conversation was continuing at all), paused in his attempt to turn to the coolers nearby. “Hmm? Oh. No. I just threw something on to step out and grab something to eat really quick. I live nearby.”

Max’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline before coming over to stand near, not even making a move to hide the fact that he was now openly staring at Bradley. Unsure as to what the reaction was about, Bradley tried to focus on frozen pizzas and burritos.

“You’re kidding, right?

That Bradley up short as he looked down at his coworker. Arching an imperious eyebrow of his own. “Beg your pardon?”

Max just gestured up and down at him with an exasperated hand.

“What? I’m just casual, alright. I only wear suits at the office.”

“This is what you call casual?” Max’s voice rose as he looked pointedly at his clothes. Bradley, completely baffled and glancing back to make sure the person at the register wasn’t looking their way, felt himself getting irritated. He looked down at himself as well to assess if he’d magically left his place in a potato sack or something. But no, everything was normal. He was currently wearing his fitted knit polo, dark chinos, and polished leather sneakers. He failed to understand the intensity of Max’s reaction to very normal casual wear.

“...Yes?”

 “Do you always dress like someone is asking you to approve a loan?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Bradley felt his tone shift as the jab got under his skin. “I’m wearing sneakers, Max.” Bradley glowered, not appreciating being the butt of a joke. Yes, he was wearing basics, but they were well made and perfectly serviceable. Max just rolled his eyes, throwing a hand up towards the track lighting as if it had answers.

“My bad, Your Highness. I didn’t realize you were slumming it.”

“Now look here–”

“And what is that supposed to be?” Max pointed at Bradley’s own basket, with clear disapproval. Thrown off, Bradley frowned, looking down at his basket for what seemed to be the issue. Max’s basket held several fresh ingredients and some eggs. His own basket, in comparison, held canned coffee, a wrapped sandwich, and a package of fruit cups.

“Dinner. Or do you have short-term memory loss?”

“You cannot be serious.” Max looked aghast.

Bradley shouldered past him and made to start resuming his search through the coolers, pointedly ignoring Max. But Max clearly wasn’t going anywhere. Awkward. Max stood beside him, grabbing something from the cooler after Bradley did, leaning close enough that Bradley caught the scent of his aftershave. The two of them continued shopping silently throughout the convenience store, music playing above in the fluorescent lights, clerk bored and reading on his phone, their reflections distorted in the aisle mirrors above. 

When Max turned to pick up a box of pasta, Bradley leaned in the opposite direction to snag a box of tea off the top shelf. When he leaned back down, he noticed a can of chicken had been placed into his basket without his notice. He stared at it for a moment. Then picked it up and set it back on a shelf. Bradley then moved to grab a package of chocolate-dipped pretzels, for a nighttime indulgence. When he looked down, the can of chicken was there again, this time with a jar of pesto and some dried noodles.

Glancing over at Max, Bradley noted he was studiously not looking at him. But there was a determined set to his jaw and a furrow to his brow. Keeping his attention on him this time, Bradley slowly took the can of chicken out of his basket and put it on the shelf beside them. Max’s brow twitched, and he turned and glared up at Bradley. Locking eyes, he picked the can of chicken back up and set it back into Bradley’s basket. Then he took a can of tomatoes from his own basket and added those too.

“Max.”

“Brad.”

“Bradley, not Brad. And no.”

“Yes, Brad.”

“Max. No. Thank. You.” Bradley moved to put distance between them and started heading to the checkout counter. Max remained undeterred and followed him closely.

“Look. You need to eat a real meal for once. You’re skinny as hell.”

“I’m sorry, but excuse me?” The insult shocked Bradley into an entirely different octave, as he twisted and glared down at Max in outrage. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You’re not my mother, Max…Max…ugh. We don’t even know each other's last names! Why are you giving me so much shit? ”

“It’s Goof. Max Goof. And look, you can throw all of this together in a pan easily and have dinner in under a half hour. Or does someone in fucking chinos at midnight not own a damn saute pan?” Bradley gave Max a dark look but bit down on a nasty comment on the edge of his tongue as he noted the clerk was staring at them both in very open interest. Taking a moment to calm himself, Bradley hissed quietly between his teeth.

“Yes, I own a fucking saute pan. But I am dead on my goddamn feet, and it was this or ordering shitty takeout again.”

Max held his glare, not blinking, clearly waiting for something. 

“What now?”

“I told you my name.”

Bradley’s jaw clenched a moment stubbornly before he finally exhaled. Swearing mentally as he closed his eyes momentarily, he finally managed to push in response through clenched teeth. “It’s…Uppercrust.” He was already primed and waiting as Max snorted at the name, amusement breaking up some of the annoyance that had been on his face. There was a flash of victory in his eyes as well that Bradley didn’t know what to really do with.

“Uppercrust…really?” A smirk twitched Max’s lips for a moment as he gave another once-over of Bradley’s appearance. Bradley rolled his eyes this time, a habit he might be picking up from Max. He decided it was best not to disclose that technically he was the 3rd Bradley Uppercrust as well. Something told him Max Goof wouldn't let him live it down.

“Yes, really. Now shut up and let me check out.”

“Fine. You can check out. But you’re taking this, and throwing some of this on top.” Max had dropped some shredded mozzarella cheese and garlic powder on top of the ingredients in his basket. As Bradley made to argue once more, he was stopped as Max’s face grew serious and he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, man. For me.”

A twisting in his guts made it hard for Bradley to hold Max’s earnest gaze. Looking away with a huff, Bradley found his gaze going everywhere but down into the face, looking up into his own, waiting. The clerk smirked and raised an eyebrow. God, this was all so stupid. What were they doing here in the middle of the night arguing over… Bradley straightened up and smoothed his expression. Trying to salvage the remains of his dignity. He was definitely going to have to change corner stores after this.

“...Fine. Now can we please check out and leave? I’d like to get back home before I die of starvation.”

The resulting beaming smile was blinding, which was the excuse Bradley gave himself for being unable to look at Max at all. Hustling to the counter, Bradley paid for his basket, angrily snatched up Max’s basket to pay for that too, and then ushered them both outside to escape the cashier’s invasive looks. The embarrassment of the whole encounter was distracting enough that Bradley was unprepared to walk fully into a torrential downpour outside, yelping as he leapt back and ran a hand through suddenly damp bangs. Max, calm as can be behind him, set his bag onto his wrist as he reached into his hoodie pocket to produce a collapsed umbrella. Max then waited as he gave Bradley a significant look. Bradley ground his teeth in utter aggravation, working to keep his voice down.

“I didn’t bring one.” 

Max didn’t even attempt to hold back the loud belly laugh he gave. Bradley ran a hand tiredly over his face.

“Come on, you dummy. We’ll share.”

“You really don’t have to…” Bradley tried, feeling completely defeated by everything tonight.

“Nah, it’s fine. You said you live around here, right? You’ll look like a drowned rat otherwise. Don’t wanna ruin the fit.” And Max had the utter audacity to wink at him as he held out the umbrella over them both, pressing close. Too close, Bradley thought dazedly, though he didn’t move away to add space between them. The two of them headed down the wet streets together, towards Bradley’s building. The sounds of the rain hopefully hid the pounding of Bradley’s heart. Either way, neither mentioned it.

--------

Bradley was back in his office, face buried in his hands, after having the worst day of his entire career at Scrooge Ltd. Everything that could have gone wrong did, and Bradley had taken the blows square in the chest. 

After getting reamed by his director earlier in full view of the other directors on staff, he’d been hauled in to one meeting after another as the full fury of the company seemed to rain down on him and his team. Missing documents from the server cost them a valuable contract with one of their top clients. The executives were blaming all of the analysts after IT fingered things their way. Someone screwed up the expense reports, and the director was blaming Bradley and the interns. The printer on the third floor and the second floor both conked out, and in a bid to try and improve morale, someone had tried to order the traditional Corporate Morale Pizza Party™…only to fail to order enough food for everyone. The greasy cardboard boxes had been picked perfectly clean by the office vultures by the time Bradley and his team of corpses were permitted to leave the evisceration that had been the previous round of meetings. It had been a breaking point.

Eric had thrown his hands up and had stormed off to give his two weeks' notice to HR right then and there. Melissa threatened to jump out of the window before stalking off to the bathrooms to very noticeably cry. Bradley himself felt hollowed out and empty inside. Everything was going to actual shit. And frankly he wasn’t sure if he could keep pushing anymore. Maybe he’d never been good enough to make it here, maybe he’d been too cocky…too…too much of an Uppercrust. Egotistical and full of himself, but without the actual chops and substance to make a mark. Maybe his father had been right…

It was now night, another evening of overtime, of course. Except this one stung in a very ugly way. His director had all but threatened him that if some of this wasn’t fixed by morning, it was going to cost jobs. Most likely his. Bradley had never been fired at a job in his life, and he sure as hell wasn’t starting now. Feeling bitter and lost, Bradley sat up from his slouch and tried to set his hands back down on his keyboard except…except he couldn’t. Shaking his head, he tried to blow away the distracting memories from earlier and just focus on what was in front of him. On the job, the work still to do, the spreadsheets and documents and forecasts and charts that made up the typical dimensions of his day-to-day. But every time he clicked his mouse cursor, he kept hearing the shouting from earlier in his ears. The look in the interns’ eyes of complete devastation and guilt as Bradley was verbally ripped apart in front of them. The humiliation of Eric turning his face afterward and declaring that this place was an utter hellhole, and nothing made it worth the degradation. As if Bradley didn’t already know, didn’t already see the cracks in the foundation and the tenuous grip they all had on what was essentially their livelihoods. Sure, Bradley was fine, as well as probably some other people on the team outside of the higher-ups. But most? Most needed this job. They were single parents or living on their own or had to be caregivers. It wasn’t just a job loss, he knew that. Eric could walk away without a plan, but Carla would lose her home. Melissa was pregnant and was counting down days til her leave. Andre was only a year away from retirement. It would devastate them, especially with the job market today.

It wasn’t fair. This was the thing that he and his father always failed to see eye to eye on. Yes, the world wasn’t fair, and business was cutthroat. But business was made up of people. It needed people doing the roles and doing them well to succeed. And when you threw the people away for temporary gains, well…it just didn’t balance the ledger. Obviously. It was pure logic. 

For a moment Bradley felt an ache in his chest. He thought for a moment of his past friendships. Of his fraternity brothers who’d helped him see something outside of the track his life had been on. Of Max with his stupidly charming smile and his stupid mother henning at the workplace and outside of it. 

The people mattered. It was just…sometimes Bradley didn’t see where he might matter to those same people.

He was safe so long as he was useful. Competent. Calm. Fit in a box that made sense to the rest of the world. But taking risks and pushing? Maybe that wasn’t for him after all. 

Bradley, his thoughts growing heavier, the ringing sounds of the director’s yelling still clamoring like a bell in his brain as a backdrop, kept staring at the blinking mouse cursor on the screen. Judging him from the empty cell on the spreadsheet. The data blurred before his eyes. Oh no, wait. That was his actual vision blurring.

Ducking his head down for a moment, the office a silent grave around him and the blue light of his monitor, he quickly swiped a thumb over his eyes to remove the wetness starting to sting there. Stupid, he was acting utterly childishly. There were some tissues he kept in his desk for allergy days and other people’s troubles. He needed to get a grip and stop acting like a fucking baby.

But as he pulled his desk drawer out, he found himself staring down at it stupidly as something bright yellow gleamed at him in the dark. Dumbly, he picked it up and turned it over in his fingertips to inspect it.

It was a thumb drive, with the Powerline logo on it, though it looked like it had been worn down over time. There was a small folded sticky note taped to it. Opening it clumsily, Bradley brought it up to inspect it more closely. A handwritten note scrawled in Sharpie by an unfamiliar hand.

FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY!

Bradley, befuddled and knocked for a loop, considered the consequences only for a moment. Ignoring everything IT made them watch on the annual training videos, Bradley plugged the thumb drive into his tower’s USB slot and waited as the contents booted up as a folder entitled Max’s Powerline Mix that filled the screen. Dazed, Bradley scrolled within. There were all audio files inside, numbered in order, but instead of the track names displaying, they all had been renamed.

TRACK 1 - FOR WHEN THE COFFEE IS HOT

TRACK 2 - FOR WHEN THE COFFEE WASN’T HOT ENOUGH

There were more absurd titles and notes as he scrolled, growing more ridiculous as he went down the list.

TRACK 7 - FOR WHEN YOU’RE CONSIDERING HOMICIDE

TRACK 10 - FOR WHEN TRACK 7 DOESN’T WORK

Bradley, feeling a strange sensation on his face, caught a glimpse of his ragged reflection in the monitor and realized he’d begun softly smiling without his knowledge.

TRACK 13 - FOR WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE GIVING UP

TRACK 14 - FOR WHEN THEY THROW A PIZZA PARTY

That last one did it. Alone in the office, a man at his stupid financial desk island in the rows of cubicles and black monitors, finally felt safe to break just a bit. It started as a small snicker, but then he felt his head toss back in a full and honest laugh as he leaned back in a chair. It felt too loud in the quiet, but freeing in a way. His peals of genuine laughter kept going as he felt a couple of tears slip down his cheek, and he scrubbed a hand over his face to try and regain some control.

Quieting down, hair mussed, shirt and tie disheveled, face a wreck, and overall behaving in a way he’d never let his coworkers see in the light of day, Bradley finally took a breath and pushed play, starting from Track 14, letting the music drift from his rarely used speakers. The upbeat music came through in almost an act of rebellion, and Bradley felt himself smiling again once more. Taking a deep breath, he sat up straight and set his hands back on the mouse. It was time to get to work. He could do this.

And if he maybe was a bit too distracted to pay much mind to a figure just outside of his peripheral view, who’d apparently been standing there watching his outburst longer than he’d realized, well, he’d just blame the fatigue and the late hour. The figure turned and slowly left, looking back over its shoulder as Bradley hummed quietly along to the music.

--------

Bradley Uppercrust III was nothing if not a man who paid his debts. It was something his entire family prided themselves on, and one of the few positive traits that stuck with him. So after walking into the office two days later with renewed vigor and his sharpest suit, Bradley had already determined how he would be returning the gesture of the Emergency Playlist. If he’d downloaded a private copy to his laptop at home for safekeeping, that was just for him to know.

It had taken Bradley embarrassingly little effort to chat up his coworkers who always seemed to light up when he actually bothered to give them his attention. And nothing fueled the water coolers like gossip about an office favorite. Sure enough, Max had mentioned his love for Powerline to more than just Bradley. He’d also apparently mentioned an obscure bootlegged remix he’d used to listen to as a child that had been lost to the years and wasn’t available on any of the usual streaming platforms. Impossible to find, and a thorn in the side of a lifetime fan like Max.

But Bradley wasn’t Max. And an Uppercrust could find anything if sufficiently motivated.

It also helps when you have a second cousin in the music industry.

After Bradley had played Max’s playlist on repeat as the soundtrack to his total focus on fixing the fires that had threatened to immolate the entire department, he’d managed to pull what they needed by the skin and the undying drive any Uppercrust was capable of. Bradley had traced the missing files like a hell-bent bloodhound, had traced their tracked changes to those who’d actually been responsible, had assembled evidence clearing him and his intern analysts, and had thrown it back on the IT team. There’d been an error with a shitty update they’d soft-launched on the back end of the server. Something made to protect them all from outside probes. Only it’d tacked onto the wrong things and saw client files as potential threats. It’d take an effort between both teams’ directors to fully recover what was lost, but it was recoverable.

So now, armed with his own sleek red thumbdrive, and a briefcase full of revenge for a certain pair of “leaders”, Bradley sauntered onto the second floor and over to where Max was hunched over yet another gutter machine on his desk.

Pausing just a moment to lean down and take an earbud out of Max’s ear, Bradley surprised him completely out of his focus as he looked up, startled by the man standing above him. With a small smirk, Bradley set his thumb drive down onto a clean spot of the desk, tapping it once as he whispered into the man’s ear.

“Track eight.”

Max, the blush almost invisible on his cheeks but dark enough to spot in the bright lighting above, floundered as Bradley replaced his earbud and walked away without looking back. As he pressed the button for the elevators to take him back up to where his station was, he heard a loud commotion behind him as Max presumably listened to the track.

“....no fucking way…UPPERCRUST!”

But Bradley was already on the elevators and gone, thankfully alone for the ride, so no one witnessed the smug grin of victory on his face.

Scales rebalanced.

--------

It had been nearly two months since Max and Bradley had begun the strange dance they’d started at the workplace, months since the major client contract that had kicked off all of the insanity that had filled Bradley’s nights. The contract was slowly snaking to a close, and he’d managed to not only put the director firmly in his place, but he’d smoothed things over so that the team wasn’t constantly tearing itself apart or battling the other departments. He could even call things cordial between the director and himself now. So while he was again in the bowels of the firm, standing over a printer (that Max had repaired, again) spitting out corrected spreadsheets…he was almost wistful. These nights would slow down soon. Things would get back on track again, hopefully. And he’d probably go back to his typical clock-outs of going back to his place alone, and avoiding invitations from people at the office who didn’t know any better.

He heard Max coming this time, his tool belt clinking quietly on his waist as he rounded the corner with some cables in hand, which he dropped off at a workstation before giving a friendly wave to Bradley. Bradley smiled and nodded, collecting his printouts and heading back to his coworker’s desk to tuck them subtly into a folder with one of his Post-it note memos. Max came to stand behind him, jumpsuited arms folded over his chest as he leaned with affected casualness. He appears to have been studying him.

“Hey, I’ve been wondering for a while now, and I just gotta ask…I’ve seen you here like almost every night, killing yourself all hours and doing the work for the whole team, it seems like.”

“Not the whole team. Just taking care of things slipping through the cracks.” Bradley defended, waving the notion away.

“No man. Look, I’ve got eyes and ears. You are always in here, later than anyone and burning through those documents like it's going out of style. But no one seems to think you suck at your job, kinda the opposite. So you’re not here because of that. Everyone else gets to go home and get their work-life balance, so what gives?”

Bradley smiled, a joke already prepared to deflect with, “Well, honestly, I just–” but Max’s unblinking gaze pinned him where he stood. The seriousness of them made the smile drain from his face.

“Why are you always putting yourself through hell, Bradley?”

Unable to find an answer to that right away, Bradley looked away to buy himself a moment to recover. The probing question left him uncomfortable, and straying them away from the light-hearted ribbing they tended to default to.

“I…” Bradley halted, the words sticking in his throat. He looked down at his hands, which still held the stack of Post-it notes and the Sharpie. His jaw locked, not sure what to part with. What he could trust Max with.

But wasn’t that foolish? Didn’t Max already know more about him than anyone else here? And he was tired of the silence. Maybe…just a little.

Bradley sighed quietly, choosing his words carefully. Then he looked up and locked eyes with Max, who had been patiently waiting. “Walk with me?”

The two men quietly wound their way down to where the silent break room and vending machines were. A false notion in Bradley’s mind that sensitive topics were less painful, took less from you, when spoken in a place like this versus where he toiled daily. Something about it felt less oppressive, smaller but more intimate. Safer maybe. Bradley grabbed a couple of water bottles from the closest machine before folding himself into one of the many empty chairs at the lunch tables. Wordlessly, he waved the other bottle vaguely above his shoulder as an open invitation. Max, taking it, sat down beside him. Both of them looked out the windows again at the cityscape, rather than each other. It gave an impression of being at confession. And in some ways perhaps it was.

Bradley twisted the bottle in his hand but didn’t open it.

“My family is…wealthy, Max. Very wealthy. With connections to every possible business market and entertainment industry they can manage. We’re successful, connected, and honestly…? Completely awful.”

Bradley felt as if someone else were speaking through him, feeling detached from the words that left him to float into the dark. Max, for his part, had turned to watch him, brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. Choosing to listen quietly instead.

“I could have walked out of college and straight right into a cushy position at any number of firms. Hell, so could most of my fraternity. But, if I had…”

Bradley trailed off, the sweating bottle slowly turning over and over in his hands, grounding him as he chose his words with all the care of a surgeon.

“If I had, then every single one of my accomplishments would belong to the name. The legacy.” Bradley blinked away memories, shutting down the emotion behind his own words, as he kept his explanation as mild and palatable as he could make it. Not for Max, but for himself.

“I’m the third ‘Bradley Uppercrust’ in the line. I was given cars and boats and tutors since before I could walk. And my father had already curated my entire life ahead of me before I’d even entered primary. So when I graduated university I just…I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I rebelled.”

Bradley turned to give Max a practiced smile, his pulse steady and his posture calm. In control. “My father couldn’t believe it. Frankly, he still doesn’t. I’ll spare you the gory details, but I walked away from a lot of things. Not permanently, of course, but in something of a…a challenge. A wager.”

Bradley turned away from the gleaming eyes in the dark, back to the cityscape that glowed silently beyond the windows. “I wanted one thing that was actually mine. And my father couldn’t stand it. So I needed to think differently, something outside of the plan. Something where I could use my skills to prove myself where my name wouldn’t overshadow my efforts, and I could just…prove myself. You know? As large as the name ‘Uppercrust’ is, the ‘Scrooge’ name easily dwarfs it. This firm is one of the sub-branches. I couldn’t even get in the door to a larger one. It was exactly what I needed.”

Max finally broke the quiet with a small scoff, his face making a complicated expression that Bradley wasn’t able to decipher in the shadows. “Pfft. Scrooge huh? Yeah, I can see what you’re saying. The Scrooge firm definitely has a reputation.”

“So does the man himself. The McDuck name still makes people quake in the boardroom.”

Max smiled at that, but said nothing. Something private in his expression. Waiting a beat to see if Max was growing bored with his long-winded story, Bradley took a moment to gather his thoughts and take a drink. The cold water helped relieve the dryness in his throat, some of it missing and rolling down his throat. Max watched him quietly, a small smile on his face that made Bradley’s insides do something complicated. So he resumed his story to help settle his nerves.

“If I can succeed here, nobody can say that ‘Daddy Uppercrust’ handed it to me. So I won’t let the team falter, I won’t let idiotic politics get in the way of our metrics, and I sure as hell won’t let us fail this project if I can help it. I have time, I don’t have attachments, and I have drive. So yeah, I stay late sometimes. But really it's for my own ambitions. I won’t fail.” Bradley couldn’t help a bit of heat entering his voice, the past barbs of the director jarring him again, melding with the open scorn of his father.

Max nodded slowly, seeming to be running through his own thoughts for a moment. He took a sip of his water contemplatively, seeming to pick out his own words. “Look, I…I get it. I get wanting to make your own path. It ain’t easy when your dad’s shadow is all over you, and people don’t see the real you. And admittedly I don’t get the business world like, at all. I’m just a technician. It’s easier to work with my hands, and I never had an interest in business, you know? But…”

He trailed off, looking Bradley over with something like sympathy. It sat wrong with Bradley, not understanding why the man had a pitying look on his face. Max sighed and ran a hand over his locs, still tied back and out of his face for his work. But he scratched at his ear as he looked away.

“I just don’t believe that making your own way means you need to make yourself miserable. You’re part of a team. But you can’t carry the whole team. Yeah, stuff goes wrong. Yeah, your family may never see what it is you’re doing. But you only have one life, and you have to live it for you.” Max turned and locked eyes with Bradley, who gasped lightly at the fire that seemed to enter them. Max leaned closer, his octave dropping as he sternly chided him.

“You need to live some time, Bradley. Destroying yourself in the process of sticking it to your old man doesn’t prove anything. You have a lot going for you. You’re a hell of an analyst, I hear the office talk. And you have a lot of people that would love to get to know you better. You could let them sometime.”

He fell silent, and he and Bradley stared into each other’s eyes, the challenge lying there between them. Bradley looked down where their hands were resting near one another on the table.

“I…Some days I wish I could, Max. Truly. But, and I really don’t mean this in any kind of way…you don’t understand what families like mine are like.” Bradley looked away, his tone turning from wistful to bitter. Max moved his hand away subtly, and Bradley felt something curl up in his chest and die.

“...You’d be surprised,” was Max’s only response.

They both fell silent. Bradley was lost in his thoughts and feeling the loneliness for the first time in weeks.

--------

It was done. The nightmare project had finally finished that day. Bradley and his teammates had stayed an hour after to wrap up the final document reviews and post their findings to the server for the leadership team to access in the morning. Tiredly congratulating each other with slaps on the back and handshakes mixed with sarcastic compliments, Bradley followed his team towards the elevators with a feeling of relief as they chattered with more enthusiasm than he could remember seeing since this all had begun. Things could finally start going back to normal. His ear caught part of a conversation he hadn’t been tuned into.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna miss him. Max really made things bearable some days. He really saved me with that new monitor when Callahan started breathing down my neck.”

Bradley stopped short, feeling his blood run cold as he stared at the backs of his coworkers.

“Wait. What?”

The other woman looked over her shoulder, tired eyes widening a bit, before something like sympathy entered her features. It twisted the rising panic in him into something sickening. 

“Oh yeah, you didn’t hear? Max’s contract is ending tomorrow. Some of the other departments are getting him a cake and putting together a little farewell party. You should come.” He felt the rest of the team eyeing him carefully, as Bradley’s face closed down, the good humor leaking away. With practiced ease, his mask fell back into place. Of course. Max had only been temporary. He’d known that all along he’d…just forgotten for a bit.

“Oh? I hadn’t realized.” Bradley gave a noncommittal shrug. “He’ll be missed, he definitely kept things running smoothly around here.” Punching the button for the elevator, feeling his chest tighten but keeping his face empty, Bradley stepped into the elevator with the others and didn’t look back.

He didn’t stay behind that night.

--------

Bradley hadn’t slept well, no doubt residual aftershocks from the weeks of massive stress he and the team had been under. He absolutely did not spend it thinking about Max’s end of contract. Of all the little things he’d come to enjoy, that he was about to lose with his exit. Little things that had brightened his days, that Bradley found himself secretly looking forward to.

Instead, he’d ordered expensive takeout, put on that popular new movie on stream while he doom-scrolled on the couch, and had a couple of glasses of wine from a bottle that he kept locked away for celebrations. The firm had finally beaten down the monster client. Now they were free to get back to day-to-day operations. Bradley had been so perfectly fine that he’d toyed around with one of those hook-up apps, entertaining the idea of losing himself in someone anonymous for a few hours. Ultimately he’d been exhausted and just stayed home, but it was certainly on the table for the weekend.

During the daytime, however, the thoughts he’d been pushing away were much harder to ignore. Max would no longer be here come Monday, which meant…well, the printer would almost certainly be a lost cause when it next broke. But it also meant no more perfectly curated coffees meant to irritate him, no more late-night jokes at his expense, no more vending machine harassment or foolish playlists on USB drives. No Powerline. No smug face popping up over his cubicle wall. No more distractions. Really, wasn’t this ideal? Bradley now had the lanes open to focus on his goals, without sentimental technicians sticking their noses in his business. Bradley wasn’t stupid. He knew he was a right bastard at times. Max would probably be relieved.

Follow-up conference meetings took up most of his morning, everything needing to be communicated to the C-suite with the data clearly defined in a handoff, so they could prepare their own reports for the board of directors (of which Mr. McDuck himself sat). Bradley added himself to a couple of the optional ones, just to oversee that the passing of sensitive information went well and nothing was missed. And there was still a ton of work to do from his backlog, so Bradley stayed behind when members of his team went to the farewell party that Marketing was throwing for Max. He also left early for lunch, avoiding the break room and giving a small apologetic wave when he heard Max and a couple others call out to him as he breezed out the main doors. He walked a balance between being at his desk and timing things to be conveniently preoccupied during the high foot traffic parts of the day.

Bradley was perfectly fine. And if he was being a bit more testy than the day strictly called for, it was only because he knew that just because the project had ended didn’t mean that all of the responsibilities did as well. He’d had no intention of staying all night. There was no need, and honestly it was probably because he’d been so caught up in being ‘very busy’ that he hadn’t realized that half of the office had already emptied for the day, since on Fridays people had a habit of bustling out earlier than usual. Eager to start their weekends.

His mistake, he later supposed, was that he should have seen it coming that Max wasn’t the type to be ignored.

“Hey. Uppercrust.” 

Bradley winced at the name and stood up from where he’d been kneeling in order to snag a candy bar from the bottom of the farthest vending machine.

“...Goof. All packed up?” Bradley mentally patted himself on the back for the perfect smoothness of his tone.

“You never came by. Were you gonna scoot out without saying farewell?” Max cocked his head, regarding him. Something in his tone was warm with annoyance. In contrast, Bradley’s own tone cooled.

“I figured you had plenty of people trying to snag your attention. And I had reports to file.”

Max frowned at this, slowly crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah? Reports, huh?”

“Yes, Max. Some of us still have actual work to do here.”

“Bullshit.”

Max’s face contorted into an expression of anger that Bradley had never seen before. Something that raised his own hackles as he squared his chest and looked down at him from his full height. Max strode over, and Bradley held his ground. Unwilling to be cowed.

“You’ve been pissy all day.”

“I haven’t been pissy. I’ve been focused and working. Something other departments have never tried before.”

“You’ve been icy with your team, and you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

“If you have something to say, why don’t you come out and say it!”

“What is there to say?” Bradley drawled, sneering. “Contracts end every day. Feel free to give me a follow on LinkedIn, though.”

Bradley made to roughly shoulder past Max and head back to his desk to grab his things. But Max shot a hand out and gave a shove to his chest, halting him. Bradley tried to pass the other way, but Max just used his other hand to halt his progress.

“Bradley.”

“What. Get out of the way.”

“Are you mad because I’m leaving?”

Bradley fell silent, locking stares with the shorter man looking up into his eyes. Max said nothing, each of them waiting for the other to break first. But Bradley had generational stubbornness behind him, and refused to break that for a man he barely knew outside of the break room. The hands that were loosely on his chest and bicep remained, warm and dangerous and there despite Bradley’s best attempt to ignore their weight. Maybe it was the strength in those hands that flexed slightly as they slowly pushed him backward toward the alcove wall adjacent to the machines.

“Bradley…”

“....”

Bradley’s back hit the wall, and Max’s palm planted itself beside his head. Bradley felt his cheeks flame as heat crawled up his neck and to his ears. Max looked up into his eyes, irritation still in his pinched brows and flashing eyes. But something else was starting to crackle in the air.

“Are you angry my contract is ending?” 

It was like a dam had burst.

“Of course I’m angry!” Bradley’s voice rang down the hall, obvious to any of the security guards or any lingering office personnel who might still be clocking out. Bradley bit down on his words with a hiss, reigning in the volume but emotions still sparking in rage. “What do you think?! You spent the last eight weeks making yourself impossible to ignore, inserting yourself into practically everything, and now you’re just…you’re just leaving?!”

To Bradley’s outrage, Max had the audacity to suddenly smile. That damn smug expression that drove him crazy. Bradley felt the anger go out of him in a rush, rapidly being replaced by a sickly growing mortification. Oh. Oh no.

“Don’t,” Bradley warned, uncomfortable. Max just leaned in closer, still smiling.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face said it all. I don’t want to hear it.” Max smiled wider.

“Maybe you need to.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“Max. Please.”

“No, you shut up. My turn now, Brad.” Bradley felt something molten go through his veins at the purring tone that seemed to enter Max’s teasing words. Feeling trapped, but helpless to free himself, Bradley just shrunk inward as if he could crawl into the wall at his back. The humming of the vending machines wasn’t enough to distract him from the way Max’s eyes darkened. Neither were the lenses of the security cameras watching everything above.

“I’m going to miss it too, you know.”

Bradley’s racing thoughts stopped short as Max sighed wistfully. Still never moving the arm he caged Bradley in with. The heat of his body was dizzying, even through the layers of jumpsuit.

“The treat exchanges…the Powerline track…staying late sometimes when I know you could have left earlier, just because you saw I was working late. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Oh god. What have we been doing? The revelation slammed into Bradley, that not only had his feelings on things been…seen by Max. But…but that Max had felt them too. They’d clearly both been courting one another. At the office and… 

Memories of an umbrella at night in the rain brought fresh heat to Bradley’s face that seemed to set Max’s eyes twinkling. Opening his mouth to say something, he wasn’t even sure what, Bradley was halted from anything further by Max leaning in to take advantage and press his lips against his. Stiffening only a moment, Bradley relaxed as Max stepped in as close as possible, his other hand reaching up to cradle his cheek as Bradley’s eyes closed at the intensity. Bradley shivered, one hand coming up to claw into the shorter man’s shoulder as Max kissed him thoroughly and completely in the corner of the break room. And Bradley found himself kissing back just as hungrily, pouring all of his frustration and sorrow into each kiss. Hoping Max could feel it and understand what he couldn’t bring himself to still say aloud. 

At last Max released him, stepping back to catch his breath as Bradley was left wobbling on shaking legs. Completely and utterly lost. For once, not a single thought of an income statement or a financial model left in his brain.

“And don’t think for a minute I could ever forget you, Bradley Uppercrust III.”

--------

Monday morning saw Bradley arriving to work, nervous and ill at ease. As he brought his things over to his desk, he felt his suspicions growing as he noted his coworkers were…acting strange. They kept glancing his way and whispering amongst themselves when they thought he wasn’t looking. His director was also making his way over to him, looking too serious for the start of the day.

“Bradley. The C-suite met with Mr. McDuck and the board early this morning.” Bradley checked his watch. It had to have been a very early meeting then. But the director clearly wasn’t done.

“Mr. McDuck is still here. And he wants to see you upstairs.”

Bradley felt the blood drain from his face. The director was looking at him with a guarded expression, giving him an awkward nod.

“I wouldn’t keep him waiting. Best to go now.”

Bradley set his bag down and made to pick up a notebook and pencil, but the director shook his head.

“Leave it.”

Christ, this is it. They’re going to fire me.

But Bradley refused to part with his dignity, even if word had gotten out and the office was prepping for his private execution. Giving a grim nod of his own and raising his chin, Bradley forced himself to walk calmly alongside the director, who leaned into the elevator to press his higher-level keycard to the sensor. The other man then punched the button for the top floor and leaned back out of the way, leaving Bradley to ride up to the mystical executive floor alone. Bradley tried to hide the anxiety gnawing within.

The bell quietly dinged, and the doors opened silently at the very top. Bradley stepped silently out onto sleek low-pile carpeting, expensive artwork adorning the walls. He then, after a moment of getting his bearings, began walking through the lobby where a receptionist quietly typed in the hush of the upstairs. Soft, unoffending music played from hidden speakers as Bradley came towards her. She looked him over and flicked her eyes to his name badge, interrupting him before he could speak.

“Mr. McDuck will see you. Last door down the hall.”

Nodding mutely, Bradley moved past her. He continued in that direction down a long corridor of doorways that sported gold plates declaring the names of the top heads of their firm. But even having never been here before, Bradley knew there was only one door that mattered. The one that remained closed when not in use, emblazoned with a large golden seal of the Scrooge Ltd. logo, an electronic lock, and an intercom beneath the shiny, ornate nameplate. S. McDuck, it read in bold lettering.

Bradley took a quiet breath to steady himself, checking to make sure he wasn’t unkempt from the ride up, then pressed the button.

“Yes?” The voice that answered was brusque, iron, and deeply Scottish. Bradley schooled his features, keeping his feet planted and fighting the urge to turn away.

“Bradley Uppercrust, to see Mr. McDuck.” Bradley’s voice only wobbled slightly. Hopefully the electronic intercom didn’t catch it.

“Well, hurry up and come in. I don’t have all day.”

The lock made a click, allowing him entry. Bradley pushed his way inside, and the door closed quickly behind him. He stood near the doorway as he let his eyes adjust to the dim, sleek office. The furniture was expensive, polished, and authentically antique. The paintings on the walls were real oil on canvas. The desk was a massive behemoth that looked like it cost as much as some people’s homes. Sitting in a large, high-backed, cushioned chair with his fingers steepled and a frown affixed to his face was the infamous business mogul himself, the company’s namesake Scrooge McDuck. Silver-haired, bespectacled, and deeply unimpressed. 

Which is why it took Bradley far too long to note the other occupant in the room.

“Oh, hey.”

Bradley had to be dreaming. A nightmare. That would explain the ice in his veins, and the fact that Max Goof was sitting in a casual T-shirt and jeans, perched against Scrooge’s desk and looking perfectly at ease. He was also drinking from an iced coffee, placing it on the desk with a coaster.

Bradley couldn’t even hope to stop the bewildered, horrified expression that crawled across his face as he did the unthinkable and ignored the very important elephant sitting in the room to stare at the man who’d become everything in such a short amount of time.

“...What are you doing here?”

But the pointed clearing of a throat brought that to an end with finality.

“He’s here because he’s a pest, but he’s good at these newfangled computery things. Hate the bloody things.” Max nodded in confirmation, and passed over a sleek black laptop to Scrooge, from where it had been resting nearby. 

“It should be all good to go now, Uncle Scrooge.”

Bradley swore he could actually hear his own jaw hit the floor. “Y-Y…you! What did you…?!”

But Scrooge was focused on Max and the new laptop, adjusting his spectacles as he squinted and glared at the piece of technology with a visceral level of disdain.

“Why’s it blinking like that? Why’d the daft fools on this floor insist on this ridiculous software?! Waste of money if ye ask me. Doesn’t even work right.”

“I can show you later this week if you want.”

“Bah, just bring it with ye when we come over for dinner tomorrow. Goofy’s cooking, right?” Scrooge cast a suspicious and bleary eye at Max, expression warning.

Bradley, feeling like he’d landed on another planet and utterly betrayed, watched as Max playfully winked at him and gave a serious nod to the most important man in the business world.

“Yes, sir, Dad’s cooking.”

“Good. See to it. Heard that idiot Donald boast he was getting in the kitchen, and we barely survived the last attempt. Yer dismissed.” But despite the curt goodbye, Bradley noted that Scrooge gave one fond pat on Max’s back as he stood to leave. As he passed through, Max mouthed a silent message to him on the way out. 

I’ll meet you outside.

And with that, Max was out the door, and Bradley was alone staring at the hard eyes of Mr. McDuck.

“Have a seat, young man, and quit lolly-gagging. We have much to talk about.”

Bradley carefully settled himself into an uncomfortable chair facing the desk, the angle perfect for reminding the sitter just who had the power in this room. Scrooge took his time shuffling a few papers on his desk, ignoring Bradley for the moment, and opened a folder. His eyes flicked back to Bradley over the top of his spectacles, giving him the distinct impression of a bug being pinned to the page.

“I’ll get right to the point. This last quarter’s disastrous boom nearly floundered this firm. But yer performance has been brought to leadership’s attention–”

“I…I’m sorry?” Bradley, feeling weak, quietly began to apologize. But Scrooge’s frown sharpened.

“Don’t interrupt, laddie.”

Bradley’s jaw clicked closed.

“During the recent client acquisition and the resulting contracts, this firm saw unprecedented growth that it was unprepared for and nearly lost due to negligence and management fumbling. Absurd! An embarrassment! I just left a firm dressing down for the whole pack of hyenas slathering up here, who’d better be prepared to shape up or ship out. However…”

Bradley just waited quietly, wondering where his dismissal fit in and why HR didn’t just leave him a notice on his desk.

“However, it couldn’t help but be noticed that yer involvement and a few key others kept the levee from breaking. And it was appreciated.” Scrooge’s stern demeanor shifted into something like consideration as he looked Bradley over. Bradley, for his part, was finding it hard to follow. Scrooge looked down and began reciting from a list that had been printed and placed in front of him.

“Ye caught mistakes before they reached the client, ye repeatedly cleaned up problems caused by other departments, ye mentored yer own team behind the scenes, yer reports were consistently accurate despite frankly ridiculous deadlines…” Scrooge looked up and quirked an eyebrow at that. Looking annoyed and somehow impressed. Or perhaps annoyed that he was impressed.

“But what stood out to me is how ye protected yer fellow analysts and the interns under ye, even when yer yellow-bellied director threw ye under the bus. Took steel ones, that.”

Bradley blinked rapidly, genuinely shocked. Scrooge McDuck had heard about that? Someone at his level? Wait. Was he not being fired?

“Yet the thing I wanted to talk to ye about, and why yer talkin’ to me and not to some ninny in HR, is how even when the going got tough, and yer back was against the wall…” Bradley flushed as a quick vision of Max’s lips flashed through his brain like a lightning bolt. He desperately tried not to squirm in his seat, Scrooge never breaking eye contact.

“...Ye never tried to leverage the Uppercrust name.”

That brought Bradley back to the present, causing him to sit up straight and fight to keep his hands from fidgeting. Scrooge watched him, taking in his microexpressions with a stillness that made Bradley look down. Finding it hard to meet his gaze.

Scrooge sighed then, looking away for a moment at a portrait of himself hanging on the wall.

“I’d like to make ye an offer, laddie. The long and short of it is, yer too good for yer department. It’s hard times that bring the cream to the top, and it's these types of challenges we’ve been under that test the quality. I want to promote ye to a new position as a Financial Planning and Analysis Manager at our main branch. New office, a team to work under ye, and ye report to me. Let’s see if you can make lightning strike twice.”

Bradley at last found his voice, everything he had ever wanted seemingly on a silver platter in front of him to the point he feared where the trick lay. Where the trap hid, waiting to snap shut.

“That is an incredibly generous offer, sir. I’m…frankly at a loss for words. I had no idea that management had been paying such close attention.”

“Oh. We see it all.” The wrinkled Scotsman declared, just a touch of menace in his voice.

“You…you mentioned my family. Is it a conflict for you at all, to have an Uppercrust within your firm?” If there was one thing Bradley feared…it was to be promised a dream now, only to have it humiliatingly dashed on the rocks later. It would kill something within him. Better to get the rejection out of the way early. Scrooge was silent a moment, regarding him coolly, no doubt irritated that Bradley didn’t just shut up and accept already. But Bradley had danced on strings before, and he wanted to know the length of his leash before he willingly went for the open cage door.

“I knew who yer father was the day we hired ye, lad. Uppercrust the II and I have had our public clashes, the same as I’ve had with Uppercrust the I. But yer parentage doesn’t define ye, I’ve always believed. I caught yer measure from the reports early on. I knew who ye were. Rather, I was waiting to see whether ye knew who ye were.”

Bradley felt his throat tighten, unexpectedly feeling something ring in the hollow of his chest.

“Yer a good analyst, ye work hard, and ye have a solid head on yer shoulders, Uppercrust. But I will say this.” His tone dropped by degrees as he locked eyes with Bradley. The room seemed to get colder. “If ye think working yerself into an early grave makes ye a better one, yer dafter than yer quarterly reports suggest."

Bradley just stared at him. So Scrooge went on, folding his arms in his crisp black suit.

“I hired ye for that brain of yers, lad. If ye work yerself until the thing stops functioning, that's a terrible return on my investment. See to it ye keep to reasonable hours.”

“I…yes, Mr. McDuck.”

“If there are no further questions, I take it ye accept the position?”

“Yes. Yes! Thank you, Mr. McDuck.”

“Good. Paperwork will be sent to yer desk, and ye’ll be notified of yer start date.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And Bradley?”

“Yes, Mr. McDuck?”

“Let’s try and be mindful of where ye ravish young Goof in the future.”

--------

It was a short time later, and Bradley felt like he was walking in a dream. Somehow he’d left the upper level, sailed in a daze past his bewildered coworkers, clocked out for lunch early, and gone and stepped outside for fresh air, having caught a Max waving at him from beyond the glass doors of the front lobby.

Now side by side, sitting on a couple of iron chairs at the cafe that had the coffee he liked, Max and he stared at each other from across the tops of their lattes. Max was amused, and Bradley was at a loss as to where to start. But then, things always did seem to start and end with Scrooge Ltd.

“So all these weeks of hearing me bitch about work, and you didn’t think to tell me you knew Scrooge fucking McDuck personally?”

“Eh.”

“I’ve spent my entire professional career trying to impress that man.”

“Very cool of you, by the way.”

“Shut up. And you already really know him. He’s family?”

“Well, he’s not actually family-family. But yeah, I know him.”

“You literally called him Uncle Scrooge in there.”

“Ha. Well, kinda a long story. But I grew up with his great-nephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and they call him Uncle Scrooge. So I ended up just picking it up.”

“And he just…comes over for dinner sometimes.”

“He, his nephew, and my dad go way back. Weird bunch of adventures or something, I’ve never really cared to hear it all. But they’re close, so they’re family. Just always been that way.”

Bradley felt he was going to explode. Part of him felt a bit hurt still, though, that Max had kept quiet about it all.

“Why…did you never say anything?”

Max, slouching a bit and blowing a loc out of his eye from where it hung loose about his face, gave a half-hearted shrug.

“I’ve never thought it was relevant, honestly. I mean, I’m not a businessman. Scrooge doesn’t listen to me about anything of that sort, and I’d never ask him. I’ve heard the Uppercrust name thrown around a bit too, but it’s not like it really comes up in my day-to-day. Old Uncle Scrooge just happens to be someone my dad knows, who brought expensive gifts at Christmas time, but then complained about giving out free lunch money. That’s just how it is, you know?”

Max looked into his eyes, his expression shifting into something earnest as Bradley felt his heart begin to speed up.

“But I do know what it’s like to want to prove yourself. And to be different than your dad. I mean, I love my dad, but he drives me crazy. I don’t want to be Max Goof. I want to be just Max to the people who matter. I get what you were saying that night…succeeding on your own merits. I’ve been doing that in my own way too. But you…”

Max trailed off. And tentatively, he extended a hand to brush fingertips against Bradley’s resting on the table. His cheeks were warming, a match to what Bradley was feeling himself.

“You have this habit of, like, letting yourself suffer for success. Which is stupid. It worries people.”

Bradley, cautiously but inevitably, let his fingers lace with Max’s own. Which brought a small smile to the other man’s face.

“You really don’t care about who I am? What comes with my name?”

Max just shook his head.

“Dude, no. I just want you to relax a little before you’re eighty.” 

And Bradley felt something warm burn fiercely in his chest at the declaration. Was there a chance Max would still be there in a perfect world? If he made it to eighty?

Bradley looked down at their intertwined hands, feeling the restless animal in his chest finally settle for the first time in a while. Max had been there through some of his worst moments recently. To help encourage and comfort Bradley. To give coffee and music and share moments with him. Not his legacy. Not his name. It was…freeing, in all the best ways. In ways he never thought he might be allowed to have. 

Max tapped his hand with a thumb to get his attention again, suddenly looking a bit shy.

“So you uh, did he uh…offer you a position at the main branch?”

Bradley blinked, taken aback. “Um, yeah. He did.”

“Cool, cool. That’s…well, it's close to my home. And near where my dad lives. Plus, like, you know…I pick up contracts there pretty often. If you wanted to get dinner sometime this week. But, oh, uh…Jenna in Marketing said you don’t date coworkers, so–”

“You’ve been talking to Jenna in Marketing? About me?”

“W-Well, not like…talking. Just you know. Talking?”

“Max…” Bradley, finding himself utterly charmed by this incomprehensible man he almost certainly didn’t deserve, felt a slow smile start to stretch across his features without his permission. Honestly, he might be too smitten to care.

“Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Max Goof?”

“...Yes. Yes, I am, Mr. Bradley Uppercrust III.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” Bradley felt his smile grow into a sly smirk, leaning down slightly to bring Max’s knuckles up to his lips for a slow kiss. Max looked transfixed, a goofy smile spreading on his own face. “It would appear we are currently not coworkers.” 

“Keep it up, and you might get a future invitation to family dinner.” Max’s eyes twinkled merrily. Then he leaned over and picked up Bradley’s hastily ordered lunch from where it had lain forgotten to the side.

“Now eat your sandwich, asshole. I want another kiss before you clock back in.”

The End