Wednesday.

The quiet ticking of the clock had become a knowing familiar; it was funny, Jean thought, how accustomed one became to tuning out such things. Was it half past three already? Was the workday so close to its conclusion? Without his discretion the thought passed through his head, But you could stay after hours to finish up those reports. Then it wouldn't just be another hour and a half, it could be another three hours, or four, or…

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open, stared at the glossy screen; no calls.

There loomed above him a heavy melancholy which persisted over the past days, something almost physical, and now he counted not only the days but the hours and minutes that had gone by; he'd been extra good with his assignments. He'd gone out of his way without conscious awareness, and on the way home he would circle around a certain shop, like the memories would magically make something happen.

For the remainder of the week he had stayed at work overtime, but nothing had happened; he had checked his phone repeatedly, unnecessarily, and said nothing of his disappointment. It wasn't until the following week that he had been called in by Owl and asked to report to the director; outwardly he merely blinked.

The next day would have him dressed immaculately in his uniform and stood at the director-general's office, prepared with exactly the documents he'd been asked to write, waiting his turn to speak but without intention to speak at all. He wasn't called in straight away, but the director-general was busy, it was all right, there again was the ticking of the clock…

When at last he'd been summoned the impulse overcame him to salute, but he knew self-restraint; "Have a seat," Mauve said, the resolute voice of a queen, authority of mythical proportions, maternal and absolute; he paced beneath her supremacy of presence. Unawares a small part of him had hoped for absolution, but it didn't come; ever since he'd been chastised he had curled aside meekly like a wounded beast. He had hoped for a chance at redemption, to prove himself better, that perhaps he'd be ordered or that information would be inquired of him— and when finally it came, the sensation was not imparted on him that he had performed to her satisfaction.

He'd been dismissed at the end of the meeting and gave his polite formalities before taking his leave; on the way home he remained stood against the side of the building, the smoke of his cigarette wafting up into the black skies…

Meetings like these had become few and far between, it was months from then that anything of significance had happened; by inadvertent chance Jean had become aware that Mauve was dating a handsome young underwear model, who was terribly nice and who had made her happy. Somewhere inside it made Jean glad to see her treated well; she had devoted herself tirelessly to her work, it warmed his heart to know that in the evenings there was a gentleman who could ease her stress. If he had the chance, himself, he…

When she asked him at the end of the day without much ado to come to her condo he spent only a moment absorbing the shock, no questions issued from him and his ears burned red when there came his dutiful consent; where her shoes paced across the carpet he saw thermal impressions of silver and gold.

They would need to stay up late finishing work, later than her office had stayed open; when he took his place at the passenger's seat of her car his gaze wandered to the brightly-lit panel, the leather seats were luxuriant and comfortable. There was the living awareness of her presence only a short distance away, something so human and real that it didn't seem possible. From above the light of street lamps washed them over like water, the sound of the turn signal, the expiration of her breath; he imagined that certainly she must live in a very posh tower, and she did, he followed in a daze through the parking garage to the elevator.

Outside the door her aristocratic hands rummaged through her bag for her keys, she gave no apology for asking him to work so late because they both understood the importance of the matter; then the plush scent of the carpet surrounded him, the lights came on, she was disarming the alarm and proceeded through her home like it were any old day. Was this how she went about it every evening…? Jean yawned without meaning to and followed her into the living room, where she told him to feel at ease; they had stayed up very late, to where they both were visibly tired. Jean with his jacket off, Mauve with her hair tied up and out of the way. He called Lotta to let her know he won't be back for a while.

At three in the morning at last they had finished, Mauve thanked him for working so hard and offered to drive him home; with his face flushed Jean replied that he will call a cab.

Despite his exhaustion after coming home he stayed up the rest of the night, stood on his porch, cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers; he thought time and again of how Mauve's elegant hands had looked on the steering wheel of her car.

XXX

The guy Mauve had been dating really was very nice; Jean had met him once, he could see why she liked him because he was inhumanly handsome. "Ahh, she's so lucky," Lotta had said. "I wonder if I'll ever get to date a guy like that…"

Jean had smiled; "Who knows?" he replied. He asked Lotta if she wanted to go and get dinner; it was a very long time before Mauve had asked him to work late at her place again, and he agreed without hesitation. It wasn't a regular thing, and the times that it happened were very exhausting; "You're in danger," she told him directly one night. She wasn't exactly sure what the matter was, but she'd noticed for some time that he was being trailed, and something about his pursuers didn't sit right with her. She led him to her home office and explained that he could stay the night, there was a couch and she could get him something to sleep in; Jean understood. He nodded and thanked her, and wondered why he was being pursued.

Mauve showed him where the bathroom was, she gave him a toothbrush and some towels, and a bar of soap; he listened to the sound of her footsteps while she walked away, then regarded the towel in his hands and ran his fingertips over the soft fabric. It had turned out that her relationship with the underwear model was a guise, he now knew, at the end of the day she was married only to her job.

Jean had showered and intended to sleep in his shorts and undershirt, he spent an hour lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling; after he couldn't get to sleep he got up and crept quietly down the hall toward the balcony in order to have a smoke, without thinking of it he had set off the alarm when he tried to open the balcony door. Mauve found him blushing bright red at his blunder, she gave a small smile while disabling the alarm and got the door open for him; he apologized for waking her up but she didn't seem bothered. Out the corner of his eye he watched her walk back inside while he lit his cigarette, but she remained at the balcony door; "Let me show you how to turn the alarm back on once you finish," she said.

She told him the code and demonstrated what to press; "Know what," she said, "I'll write it down for you." Partway through doing so she paused and regarded him, they observed one another in silence; it was a great relief to Jean to see her smile. "This isn't appropriate of me, is it?" she asked good-naturedly. "I understand if I've made you uncomfortable. Rest assured, I have no underhanded intent."

She handed him the paper with the instructions for the alarm and went over them again, then bid him a good night and made her way back toward the corridor; in the pale moonlight Jean regarded her messy handwriting, her voice still alive in his mind.

At her doorway he appeared boyish, his limbs regal but thin, and there came from him the soft little words, "Director-general, you have never made me feel uncomfortable."

She could tell that it was unusual for him to speak this way; that Jean was a very calm and indifferent person who seldom reacted with such conviction. He gave no question when she asked him to come in, just as he'd given no question when first she had invited him to her home; despite his deep embarrassment there was in him no doubt, he made his way delicately under the covers and pulled them up to his chin.

He said nothing aloud but the words lingered unspoken between them, Such an intent would not have been underhanded.

"All right," Mauve said; "come here."

There issued in the darkness the quiet rustling of the sheets while Jean sat up, Mauve could tell by the sound of his expiration that he was trembling; he seemed childlike from under the swing of his hair but there clearly was intrigue. Mauve said, "You're a virgin."

Silence.

"Yes," there came the reply.

She nodded; "I thought so."

After several seconds she sighed; "Something like this would interfere with our business relationship. You understand, don't you? We should go no farther."

At this he retreated; he moved back to his side of the bed and lay down again, Mauve watched while he pulled the covers back up to his chin. He remained on his back and stared at the ceiling, and here was the personality she knew in him well; he didn't take much to heart. It wasn't until she lay back down that she heard him say very softly, "I don't think it would interfere."

In the dark of the room she observed his delicate silhouette, he regarded her reverently, like she were a figure of legend; when she kissed him every bit of him came on fire. "You taste like cigarettes," she said. He shyly murmured, "Sorry."

To be continued…