Going back to the office in this slightly shorter update, which means more Seung Gil and Otabek! IDK, I like these two as friends hahha Yes, there's food in this chapter; no, I'm not ashamed XD Just a warning: some of this chapter involves a some anxiety and mania, so heads up; I think it's mild, but everybody's different, so be aware and take care while you read, okay?


When the others on the floor tell a customer they'll 'go check in the back' to placate them, this is the room they go to. Are there more copies of books here? Yes, but only a select few in a couple boxes and everyone at the office knows this. We don't carry shelves and shelves of overstock and we don't get shipments every other day; this room is mostly for flattened boxes and office supplies and shit that doesn't work like it's supposed to. The wind outside is nearly palpable due to the fact that there's no temperature regulation back here. During these winter months, it's colder than the refrigerator in the breakroom. Under the roller door, a small puddle often forms from leftover snow dripping through. I've seen it freeze on multiple occasions, but mostly it's just grimy water with an orange cone beside it. One of the shelves, the one with staplers that shoot springs and pens without caps, sits in the middle of the room at a strange angle, not quite parallel or perpendicular to anything around it. In the corner, boxes of unsellable merchandise collect dust and lean up against the assortment of standees and signs from past sales, events and book signings. I once heard that a bird made a nest in that gap between the ceiling and the far wall, and its offspring come back to roost there in the spring. The lights don't work well, and every step on the cement floor makes a lonely echo.

All in all, this makes for the best hiding place in the entire building. Nobody comes back here unless they absolutely need to, the same way nobody talks to me unless they need to. I told Otabek that I'd be back here checking on some inventory shit lie or something; I don't even remember, but I had to get out of that tiny room or I'd have a meltdown. The sound of the other three clicking at their computers, click click click tap click, and the clock on the wall with its dreadful toc toc toc every second of every minute of every hour combined with the numbers I had to analyze on my screen mixed in with symbols to make black and red figures got to be a burden on my brain. I mean, I got through what I was supposed to today; in record time, probably. Keeping my mind on work was a great distraction from everything else in my life. Saving, doublechecking, saving again, uploading and printing were quick to complete. My remaining time is the issue: that's why I'm back here. My clipboard is a total façade, filled with dummy numbers and random things I illegibly scribble. For a while, I was content to filter through boxes and make notes on the paper; six was a pretty popular number for some reason. Then I started to let my mind wander and promptly stood up from the box and began pacing. To the puddle, to the supposed bird nest, to the corner, around the shelf, around the other shelf, near the door and back again. I have another project I could be working on; I should really get back to it, but maybe a moment in this cold area will keep all my pieces together. I think I have everything I need to start the project, but I'll have to check the updated folder. I may even need to ask Otabek for a certain set of spreadsheets, but I think they're on the shared drive so I'll have access to them. When I pass the box again, I can't help but wonder why the books haven't been sent somewhere else. Maybe I'll volunteer to donate them if nobody has a better idea. That could be written off, I'm sure; a donation is a donation. The store once had a sale for the holiday season with discounted merchandise. Not this year, but the ones before. There's probably a good reason why they didn't this year, but I don't know what that reason might be. I wonder if I could find anything interesting in that overturned box on the shelf. Actually, I don't think I can reach that shelf; when I look up, I know I can't get to it without help so decide to keep pacing. If I stacked up some of those books, I could probably be tall enough, but I'm sure the stack would topple over and that's pretty much asking for a staff meeting over workplace safety and I'd rather be forced to listen to the women in the office gossip about celebrities I've never heard of. Trust me, that—

"Seung Gil!"

"Holy fuck!" The words fly right out of my mouth without permission. The voice and the grip on my shoulder scared the absolute shit out of me, though; my heart nearly flew out of my chest. I press on my sternum to keep my organs inside, catching my breath. It finally registers that it's Otabek who's touching me. "Goddamn it, Otabek! What're you trying to do?" I'm not sure why I'm yelling; I think I hate being scared like that, but I know he didn't mean to do it.

He's frowning, too, but it's not his normal frown. It looks weird, like he's taking this personally. "Didn't you hear me calling you?"

I rub my eyes, frustrated with myself and my lack of awareness. Anybody could've snuck up on me, and I wouldn't have known. "What?" I sigh.

"I said your name, like, ten times. You couldn't hear me?"

"No. What is it? What're you doing back here?" I reach down to find the clipboard I'd dropped when he interrupted my pacing and mental ranting.

Otabek folds his arms over his chest, expression staying the same. "You've been back here for more than three hours. Nobody goes back here, let alone for three straight hours." Since he didn't answer me or even ask a question of his own, I stay silent and stare at the floor. He has nice shoes, but they look too expensive for my taste. "Are you okay?" He finally asks. I'm not sure how to answer that, opting to sigh and avoid eye contact some more. Well, until he grabs me by the shoulders not too gently. "Look at me." Okay, fine; damn. When I return his glare, I realize the reason he looked so off is that his eyes aren't piercing at all; he looks concerned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm nervous."

Oh, hell; that's not what I wanted to say. I mean, it's what I was thinking, what I was running from, but I meant to say I was fine. Otabek's shoulders fall, eyes softening even more. "Come with me." He wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling me from the room.

"What're you doing?"

"Getting you out of here."

"We're supposed to be working, dum-dum."

"Neither of us took a lunch yet, so just cooperate." He says in a lighter tone before we clock out. I didn't realize it was almost 3 PM. Why didn't he go on his lunch break? It's not like him to skip a meal; he's weirdly regimented with things like that. I can't find it in me to ask, or even to complain about being pulled around like an unruly child; I just go with it. Next thing I know, I'm sitting across from Otabek with pizza and soda between us. "You need to eat."

I don't understand why he's doing this. "Why?"

"You haven't eaten, and you probably haven't slept. It's on me, alright?" He insists, demonstrating that pizza is for eating and root beer is for drinking. I'm not really hungry, but he's right: I haven't been sleeping well and I don't remember the last thing I ate. "I'm not expecting you to tell me what's up, but I can't have you losing your shit at the office, or running yourself ragged."

I stare at my plate while I eat, hands weak and trembling. Something is bothering me, but I can't bring myself to tell the one person I should be telling; he's not like other people, and I shouldn't compare him to them. "I don't like meeting friends."

Otabek blinks, pausing mid-bite. When he gets a chance, he simply asks: "What?"

I realize I misspoke. "I mean the friends of my boyfriends." That sounds worse, I think. "The ones in the past, I guess."

"Oh. That's what's going on?"

"This weekend." I sigh, drowning my sorrows in dark, bubbly sugar, settling in my weary stomach. "His friends are like family to him, and I do want to meet them. Important to him, important to me." Otabek stays quiet while I attempt to explain. "I'm used to this sort of thing ending badly, and I can't help but assume it'll happen again."

He clears his throat, frowning again. "Can I ask what exactly you think will happen?"

"I'll be judged." I meet his stare, mirroring his expression. "Life isn't fair to introverted people. If you're quiet, if you'd rather stand off to the side, something must be wrong or something must be fixed. There has to be a way to bring me out of my shell, to make me normal. But this is my normal." Parties suck. People suck. I want to be a better me, my best me; I don't want to be someone else.

Sitting back in his chair, his eyes fall to his plate. "I understand." He doesn't need to say more for me to believe him. "It's easy enough for a group of people to meet one person, but people don't realize how hard it can be for one person to meet a group."

Did I really have someone who understood this struggle sitting mere feet away from me for years? "I know! But if you say that, they make you feel like an asshole."

He laughs with a brief nod. "I know, but sometimes they just don't get it." Otabek shrugs. "It's not our job to let it bother us, though. They can judge all they want, but that's not gonna change who we are. Anyone who can't handle that can probably fuck off."

I nod, picking at my food. "But what if that person matters to someone special?"

"Like, someone close to your man?"

"Yeah. I don't want to embarrass myself or him."

He thinks this over with help from his soda. "I think it can be worked on. If it matters, it can be improved, don't you think?" He asks. Well, I suppose it makes sense; I don't want to make bad impressions but if it can't be helped, it can probably be fixed. I nod, picking up my food again. I've been to this place before, and made it my go-to for delivery back when I hadn't made my resolution yet; I guess Otabek doesn't have that bad of taste in food. "So is this, like, a meet my boyfriend thing?"

"It's an anniversary party for one of his friends." When I tell him the date and venue, he starts to laugh. Like, enough that people start to look our direction. "Shut up! What's funny about that?" I whisper-yell at him.

When he settles down, he shakes his head. "That's my party. You're coming to my anniversary party, Seung Gil."

Okay, yeah: that is kind of funny. It's also a little awkward, considering we didn't know that until now. "You're kidding." I laugh, too, shocked by the tiny world we live in. He shakes his head no, he isn't kidding. "How weird is that? You wouldn't have known until you saw me walk in with Phichit."

"So you're Phichit's boyfriend." Otabek smirks. "I've heard of you through Yuri."

Wait, Yuri? Not Yuuri, who's married to Victor; Yuri as in Phichit's coworker during the…morning show. "So that's why you listen to that shitty music before lunch!"

"I told you, I don't listen for the music."

Yeah, no kidding. "I had no clue." No clue Otabek was married to Tiger in the morning, but also that he's been married for three years. "Oh, congratulations on three years. What should I buy you?"

"Thanks." Otabek chuckles, getting back to eating. "I don't know. Alcohol?"

"Like, champagne?"

"Sure."

I nod, making a mental note to be useful to Phichit when we go to the store. "Okay."

He sits back again, amused. "So you've got nothing to worry about. Phichit won't leave you hanging, and I'll be there, too, if he does. You'll survive." I have a feeling Otabek knows this, but those words are oddly comforting. Knowing I won't be forced to struggle alone makes this whole party thing less of a big deal.

"That's…that's true."

"Besides, I know his friends. They can be loud and nosy, but they mean well. They know how to back off if someone's uncomfortable." He adds.

I've heard the same from Phichit, but again, it's nice to hear from someone else, too. "Anyone I should be worried about?"

"Yuri."

He's smirking, but I think he's serious. "His best friend?"

"No."

"Your husband?"

"That's the one." Why he laughs is beyond me. "Don't let him scare you."

Is that reassuring? That doesn't feel reassuring; that feels threatening. Since he doesn't say more on the matter, I just shrug it off. "Um, alright. Thanks." Yes, thank you for warning me about your scary husband who I will be handing a bottle of booze.

"Why the running around in the back room, by the way? If I may ask."

I learned long ago that my body will react to stress without me having to feel stressed. In school, I logically understood that there was nothing to fear when giving speeches or presentations; however, my body reacted as if I'd been overthinking the whole situation: sweaty palms, increased heartrate, queasy stomach. It's like my brain and the rest of my body work on different wavelengths. During times when I knew I'd physically get stressed out, I tried talking some sense into myself. There's the usual 'there's no need to be afraid,' and the classic 'nothing to fear but fear itself.' If the situation called for it, I'd even try 'it'll be over before you know it.' At first, like when I was pretty young, this helped a bit: deep breaths, dive in and do what needs to be done. As I got older, this unfortunately stopped working. Talking to myself about how I had nothing to worry about didn't make me feel any better. In fact, it made things worse. Sometimes things got so bad that I couldn't even handle thinking about what was stressing me out; the idea of impending doom and being helpless against it couldn't be squashed. I'd do whatever it took to get the thought out of my head, often jumping from task to task and losing myself in whatever I was doing. This doesn't work so well when it's time for sleep, and my traitorous brain focuses in on the one thing I'm trying to avoid. Being an insomniac doesn't help matters, either, only worsening things. I once stayed up for two straight days cleaning every last inch of my dorm room so I wouldn't have to think about a meeting my advisor threw at me to discuss my resumé. I scared my neighbor when I didn't realize the time and began vacuuming the blinds covering my window. I'm not sure where this excess energy comes from, but it just appears when I know stress is coming and physically running around helps; most likely adrenaline. Otabek has been a great help today, more so than I expected, but there's no way in hell I'm throwing all of this information at him. "Nervous energy. Sorry I snapped at you."

"It's fine." He takes this into consideration, nodding slowly. "Silence."

Is that his way of telling me to shut up? "What?"

"It's what happens to me under stress."

Ah, I get it now. "Oh, yeah?" I can't imagine keeping quiet is helpful, but then again, distracting oneself instead of acknowledging a problem isn't all that beneficial either.

"Yeah. It's not on purpose, but I just kinda withdraw entirely."

"Doesn't that lead to overthinking?" I wonder out loud.

He nods, pausing to refill his cup with our shared pitcher. "Sure does." Otabek shrugs. "But I hate venting about bullshit. Everything works itself out, anyway, so whatever."

In a way, I get it completely: no sense in complaining about something that'll shortly be a nonissue. On the other hand, marinating in worries does nothing for morale; it's exhausting both mentally and physically. I could be wrong, but I'm sure Otabek's husband would listen to his problems if he shared them. I mean, I'm listening to him and we don't even know each other that well. "Your life, I guess."

Otabek laughs, narrowing his eyes at me. "Are you trying to counsel me, Seung Gil?"

I roll my eyes, scoffing at the thought of having my life together enough to be able to give others advice on theirs. "Not even close. Just seems destructive, that's all."

"That's all." He repeats. "I've been told similar things."

"By Yuri?"

"Mostly." Otabek pouts, staring down instead of at me. "I can handle my own shit."

I'm not trying to change his life, or anything. I didn't even think what I said would hold any weight to him. "Sure you can, but you don't have to. I mean, you have friends and stuff. Isn't that what a spouse is there for, too? You're the married one, so I don't know, but I thought marriage meant not being alone." Ugh, I sound preachy, cringing a little at my own words. "Sorry. I'm not trying to lecture. I'm in no place, so…forget it."

Another grumpy frown aimed at me? "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Minimize your opinions." He shakes his head. "And, anyway, I'll make you a deal."

"Oh?"

"Yup." Otabek smirks again. "I'll work on not bottling up, and you work on not pacing around like a plotting serial killer." I can't consider this when I'm laughing so much; I sincerely hope he's exaggerating! "Do we have a deal?" He holds his hand out across the table, waiting for me to shake on an agreement. Well, if I can convince him to work on himself, there's no reason why I can't try to become less of a tangled knot of nervous energy every time something intimidates me.

I shake Otabek's hand, returning his smirk. "Alright, deal."

Not that anyone would care, but I'm pretty sure our lunch is longer than it should be. Neither of us mentions it; we just stroll back in and sit at our respective desks. While we were eating, I forgot to ask him why he had waited so long to leave for food. Maybe he's gotten used to me offering to pick something up for him. "Question." I look over my shoulder, but Otabek doesn't turn around.

"Answer."

"Why didn't you go to lunch earlier? Weren't you hungry?"

He chuckles, finally turning enough for me to see his smile. "Yeah, but I was waiting for you."

Very straightforward. On my end, it feels like we've exchanged more words over pizza than we have in our entire careers together; those words weren't small or shallow, either. The mutual quiet that falls over us puts me at ease, enough to read over some project notes in peace. I've done so much work already, I can't find it in myself to do any more for the day. The small clock on my monitor says that Phichit should be up by now, though it's anyone's guess if he's busy or not. I pull my phone out and shoot him a text: 'Afternoon, P. Turns out I know what to get the couple for the party.' I don't wait for a reply; I leave my phone out and browse some recently uploaded files.

To my surprise, a reply comes right away: 'Hi :D how do you know & what's your idea?'

I could just answer him with words, but where's the fun in that? "O." I hold my phone up in Otabek's direction, waiting for him to turn around. He quirks an eyebrow, confused. "It's for Phichit." With that, he poses with his chin on one hand, turning to show his profile. I laugh and take the picture anyway; he only breaks out in his own laughter when I put the phone down.

"Did I look professional?" Otabek asks over his shoulder.

The picture gets a caption: 'He requests champagne.' I roll my eyes at my coworker, sending the image to Phichit. "Employee of the month. I'll have to send it to you."

"Please don't." He laughs, returning to his computer.

I set my phone to the side and stare at my own monitor. I'll be getting ready for the party in two days; semiformal and wrapping up a present in a way that Phichit will probably end up redoing anyway. I'm not gonna lie: thinking about everything is still not feeling great. Yes, I'm better prepared now, but an hour with Otabek hasn't made my body forget that I don't like large groups of people or embarrassing myself in front of them; meeting so many strangers in one night is still going to be a short trip to hell and I'm fighting the urge to leave the room to keep my mind off it all. Can I really do this? I turn back around, watching Otabek type away at something. "So, do you really mean that?"

"Mean what?" He doesn't lose focus, but his tone is curious.

"That your party won't kill me."

Now he turns his chair my direction, holding one thumb up. "Yeah, I got your back."

Okay, I can do this: I've got this. I nod in response, picking my phone back up to find a new message on it: 'Whaaaaat OMG you work w my friend's hubby lmao why didn't we know this?'

I can't stay stuck in my own fears forever. I won't say this event will end well because I honestly don't know what'll happen. I do know I'll be okay, and I have to start somewhere. It sucks, but I have to try; I'm tired of being lonely. 'Surprised me, too. He's a good guy.'

'Yeah, cool that you're friends :D Another reason we'll have fun this weekend!'

Phichit took my phone once and added in a selfie as his contact photo, one with sleepy bedhead and my shirt on. Every time I look at it, I smile; somehow, even when I want to break down and make excuses and ask Otabek to cancel his party, I manage to smile.


I stained my keyboard with cherry juice :o Did y'all know Washington state produces most of the sweet cherries for the entire US? Most of which are grown in the region where I live. Fun fruit fact brought to you by Fox hahha ANYWAY, now we're seeing more layers to O and SG and their growth as friends. The next chapter will finally be the party! See you then, and thanks for reading :D