"Ah, Valentine's Day, the one day out of the whole year-"
"That's three-hundred and sixty-five days!" the speaker side-noted, enthusiastically, before continuing, "that couples are required to show their unyielding, and passionate, acclaim for one another."
Michael's gaze fell over the residents of his neighborhood, each sitting before him in their own, personal, lawn-chair, a dreamy expression encumbering his features as he shook his head, in awe of the statement, "It's unbelievably absurd."
"But!" he exclaimed, snapping out of his blissfully vacant stare, "It's to be celebrated, nonetheless." He lifted a finger into the air, a needless gesture to show he had more to say, "Which is why I'll be holding a couple's ball tonight in my grand foyer."
He sighed happily, feeling good about the announcement as he scanned the audience and their not-so-enthused expressions; he knew his associates wouldn't be thrilled about the idea, but he was grateful for the few who were able to at least feign excitement. He, himself, couldn't wait, as it was purely an excuse to mess with Eleanor.
"Keep in mind," he added, in closing, "it is a formal occasion, I cannot stress that enough." The thought of someone showing up in casual-wear was utterly abhorrent, the Architect couldn't help fretting the possibility of the lavish atmosphere being compromised by someone's inability to dress nicely. Without saying another word, having no desire to deal with his fellow torturers any longer, he made his way down the small staircase.
As he turned off the last step, he spotted Eleanor, sitting off to the side.
This was it, he had to talk to her, it was part of the plan, and he had to follow through. But why did he suddenly feel a tightness in his stupid throat? Why did his approach suddenly feel forced and uncertain?
He didn't like the feeling at all, but he pressed forward, making sure he had his signature grin plastered on his face, hoping that it somehow made him look more confident, especially now that she was looking at him.
"Eleanor!" he greeted pleasantly before coming to a stop beside her, "I was hoping I could have a word with you."
The petit blonde smiled back, although there was sadness in her expression; she had been sitting alone, watching the whole announcement alone, reminded at the end that she was- alone. She didn't have a soulmate, which meant she didn't have anyone to attend the ball with, which meant she should probably stay home. She had been given her own house, which happened to be even smaller, and so drab that she almost missed those horrendous clown portraits; it made it hard to believe she was in the Good Place, but she didn't belong there, so maybe it was only fair that she wasn't as happy as everyone else.
"Oh, hi Michael," she said as pleasantly as she could muster. It was a bit surprising he had singled her out, but that was just what she was, single. Maybe he was going to say what she had already been thinking. That she shouldn't attend the soiree. She surely didn't belong, and maybe that's why he always paid special attention to her, she was the odd one out. Yet, somehow, it made her feel special.
"I wanted to welcome you to the mansion tonight," he spoke in a friendly tone, even if, for some reason, it was difficult to get the words out without sounding- what was it? Nervous. "Now, I know you don't have a soulmate, but that shouldn't stop you, my dear, dear Eleanor." He placed a hand on her shoulder with a smile that seemed nice enough, but there was a secret maliciousness behind it, "You deserve to be just as happy as everybody else."
But the plans of ruining the night for her were already running through his mind. So many ways to sabotage. So many ways to make her jealous. To torture her emotions in the happiest place. People holding hands, people kissing, the sickly sweet endearments. Spoiled food, accidental tripping; any kind of humiliation he could think of. It was bound to be splendid.
Eleanor looked down and fidgeted, "I don't know…" Then she shrugged, looking up but not at him, her eyes dancing more around his head, "Okay, okay, I guess I could." She sighed as she tried to keep a chipper exterior, all for the sake of trying to seem grateful.
Seeing her so anxious made him feel something very odd, very strange indeed. He felt a sudden ache in his chest and suddenly he doubled over, putting a hand up to the spot over his heart. It wasn't a perfect situation as it should have been in a heavenly place like the Good Place. Heart attacks didn't happen. Right? But maybe it did in the Bad Place, which was what it exactly was. Something about the way Eleanor was acting had shot a spike through his heart, almost as though he felt guilty. Which was entirely unacceptable for a being like him.
Eleanor's eyes widened and she immediately put a hand on Michael's back, her expression full of concern. It was totally unexpected, and completely not what she thought might happen in the afterlife. Wasn't he some kind of god-like figure? He was immortal, immune to pain, yet it looked exactly like a heart attack. "Oh my god. Are you okay?" She grabbed onto him and led him to a chair, "Here, sit. Jeez, you're going to give me a heart attack."
The architect took quick deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He was shaken by the severity of his reaction to her reaction. All this time he was excited to mess with her, but now, for reasons unbeknownst to him, he was thinking of backing out. His mind was reeling with confusion. And then he realized something. Maybe he actually cared about her. No… that wasn't what it was. It couldn't have been. "Thank you, Eleanor."
"Well, yeah, of course. Man, I don't want to see that ever again." She took in a deep breath and let it out with a, "Whew."
Michael chuckled at the silly situation, "I'm alright, just a little glitch, I'm sure." Then he realized what that might sound like, "Not that there will be any more! No, not like last time. No, no, no. Don't you worry." He grinned and stood once more, "Now, let's get ready, shall we?"