Anyone who knew Craig at all knew he was not a morning person and the top of the list of people who did not care was his best friend Catherine. Naturally, she knew all the methods to get his tired-ass out of bed, dressed, coffee in hand, and standing wherever it was she wanted to go without him noticing until the bottom of that coffee cup was found. The moment that happened, Craig found himself blearily blinking at the inside of a department store, firmly sat at one of the benches facing a bunch of dressing rooms. Cat's curly, dirty blonde mane was blocking part of his view, so at least he knew he'd been kidnapped by the (mostly) benevolent. He set down the plastic coffee shop cup and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses before resurveying his surroundings.
It looked as though they were in the men's department and by the pile of suits in Cat's arms, they were looking for something fancy. Deducing from her eager expression and his position—namely not inside of a dressing room—they were with someone else. Who exactly their company was, Craig wasn't aware just yet, but a familiar patch of red hair bobbed at the top of one of the doors Cat was staring at. A heavy sigh made Cat whip her head around to face her reluctant companion.
"Joined the land of the living finally?" she asked one of those grating rhetorical questions Craig asked her to knock off several years ago.
"I'm looking for the nearest exit. It appears to be further than my stealth and speed combined could carry me," Craig deadpanned.
"I could tackle you better than mall security, wanna bet?" Cat's amber eyes sparkled with a manic sort of glee at just the idea.
It was received with nothing but a no-nonsense stare until she settled down, "Who are we with," Craig finally said, more of a demand for information than an actual question.
"Didn't I tell you about the new guy in my department? I think you've met him, right? He's the one I caught wearing a women's blouse to work, something about losing a bet with Rick, that guy you hate in your department?" Cat was buzzing back and forth between the bench and the dressing room as she spoke, occasionally handing an article of clothing over the top of the door.
Immediately, Craig's fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose, "Oh dear god, if both of them are here, I will walk home I swear to—"
"Nope, just him. I offered to help him find something a little bit more… his style. You've met him, yes or no?"
"Yes," Craig gritted out, "Any friend of that blowhard is not someone with whom I wish to be associating."
In fact, Craig had met the person he and Cat were talking about; his named was Wheatley and he had this issue with Craig and personal space, which was really no different than the company Craig was now aware he chose. No wonder they were friends, but at least Wheatley had a habit of being a little more polite than Richard who had a desk across from Craig's. Better manners or not, Craig didn't want to get to know the man any more than he had to, much less spend time with him and Cat—or him and anyone.
"Please tell me I didn't speak with him before now," he sighed, pulling his hand down to stare at Cat who just had her faux-ditzy little smile on her face. It wasn't going to work to play dumb, Craig knew better.
"Oh god, do you not know yourself when you're catatonic like that? You barely spoke a word until now and it was only to tell me what kind of coffee you wanted," Cat laughed, neatly arranging the hangers of blazers and vests that were passed to her on the return rack.
"Better question: Did he—this Wheatley fellow as I assume we've brought him and not another gullible fool in your department—try to speak to me?"
"Oh of course, what did you expect? He talked your ear off, not that you heard. I tried to tell him, but do you think he listened? Nope!" Cat shrugged uselessly.
"Uhm. I… I have this hunch you're having quite the conversation out there, but do either of you figure you could… er, help 'ole Wheatley in here?" the voice from behind the door spoke up finally, jolting both Craig and Cat into silence.
Cat rushed over to the door and tried to open it, but Wheatley shooed her right back out, "Oh no, ohhh no, this is, ah, what one would call a man's problem, thank you, but… could you…?"
Craig shot Catherine one scathing, withering look that practically spoke volumes if he had to extricate the man's testicles from a zipper or worse. Nonetheless, he stood and tried his best not to outright stomp over to the dressing stall to show off his annoyance. Wheatley hid behind the door, but let him in the cramped space.
"Oh this is incredibly embarrassing, but I have no idea how to tie one of these blasted things!" Wheatley finally said, turning to let Craig see him.
He was fortunately completely and totally dressed. That almost made Craig sigh in utter relief. In fact he was very well dressed; it seemed like Catherine's good taste came through for the redheaded man just as it had for anyone she got her perfect manicure into. She'd fitted him out with a light grey suit that surprisingly fit his rail-thin and massively tall body very well, then paired it with dark blue suspenders and another miraculously well-fitting dress shirt. Craig had to admit that even hapless Wheatley looked attractive like this, well-dressed and awkwardly smiling at him, offering a hopelessly tangled bowtie.
The scrap of cloth was plucked from the taller man's grasp and Craig began to untangle it, "You're in luck, this is among my skills."
The knots in the damn thing were tightly bound, making Craig wonder just what Wheatley had done to attempt to tie it. Entirely too caught up in detangling the mess, the blond didn't notice until it was too late that his space was yet again invaded. Wheatley was hanging over him, backing him into the corner of the dressing room, likely unintentionally as he was simply watching Craig's thin fingers work with the knotted fabric. Finally finished, Craig looked up attempted to put some distance between them, only finding he'd already met the wall of the suddenly too small stall.
"You're… pretty good at that, looks like," Wheatley suddenly said, voice suddenly lowered slightly like they were sharing a secret. It made the small box they were standing in seem smaller and far more intimate than comfortable.
Craig had to swiftly nod and suppress the urge to bolt, focusing his energy on briskly flipping the other man's collar up and looping the blue bow tie around his neck. He did his best not to let his hands shake because it was pretty obvious that a set of unnerving blue eyes were on his hands, then on his face, staring unabashedly. He tried to pretend he didn't notice and nervously continued loop the bowtie until he could tug the knot snugly. It wasn't as though he were intimidated or anything, just a little unnerved and unused to being observed so closely. As a reflex, Craig fussed and smoothed down Wheatley's collar, tensing when the taller man caught his hand as he pulled away.
"You were absolutely right, quite talented hands you have there," Wheatley observed, though his eyes were not anywhere near Craig's hands, but on his face, specifically fixated on his mouth.
It was inevitable that the blond's too-pale skin was coloring fiercely and he did his best to shrink into the corner of the dressing room, but it didn't look like he would be able to escape that easy. That became quickly clear very fast the moment Wheatley nearly lunged forward, crushing their lips together in more of a haphazard manner instead of a rough one. Instinctively, Craig made a surprised squeaking noise and gripped each lapel of the grey suit jacket on the skinny man.
That grip to balance himself seemed to give Wheatley all the permission he needed. Hands were immediately on his hips, pulling him closer to the other man while he tried to think, bewildered with the tongue in his mouth. The only thing he could even manage to do was reciprocate, his brain was so frozen up with how to get him off or if he wanted it this or if he found the man attractive—he found Wheatley attractive, that thought stuck out in the jumbled mess of thoughts that were tumbling around in his mind while he made a soft, possibly pleased noise against his mouth.
His brain only managed to reboot in time to feel a brush of teeth on his bottom lip and fingers digging firmly into his backside. With a surge of strength that even surprised Craig, he swung on that grip he had on the grey suit jacket managing to dislodge Wheatley and even hear him thud against the wall. No damage, just surprise—giving Craig more than enough time to race right out of the fitting room, face inevitably red and his hair mused.
"Uhm? Everything okay?" Cat cocked her head to one side, trying not to grin at Craig's flustered and disheveled state.
"FINE, JUST FINE," Craig bit out and resumed his seat on the bench to fiddle with his coffee cup instead of look at his knowing friend.
He still hadn't caught his breath by the time Wheatley came out, looking as though nothing had happened at all, save for a wide, exuberant smile like he'd just won the lottery. Of all the luck, Cat shot another cursory glance over at Craig who did not even bother to try to meet it.
"It looks good! Do you like it? Is it comfortable?" Catherine had already hopped up and started to pull and arrange Wheatley's outfit, who gladly let her buzz and fuss around him, but kept an eye on Craig.
"Oh, fits nicely, that's a bit of a trick you pulled there, dunno how you managed that. I'm a bit useless in the neckwear department, but Craig here was just loads of help on that front," Wheatley supplied, turning to look at himself in the mirror, still looking cheeky and just a little too pleased with himself.
"What do you think, Craig?" Cat piped up, standing back to take in the full effect.
"It's fine, can we go," he huffed and finally remembered to run a hand through his hair to make it lay flat again.
"Well if you like it, then it must be perfect, hm?" Cat clapped her hands, voice saccharine and suggestive.
The implication of that was so heavy that Craig burned a little harder. She knew, that nosy little—Craig didn't care, he just wanted to go home and be left alone. His heart was still pounding in his chest. Shopping was quickly added to the list of things he loathed, along with one simply cheerfully smiling Wheatley. Presumptuous bastard, embarrassing him like that and then looking as though he were unaffected when Craig could barely maintain his composure. The blond did not even want to sort out how he felt about what just occurred; he just wanted to go home. Increased heart rate and sudden warmth in his stomach weren't symptoms of anything. Definitely not.