Another day of terrorizing my coworkers in Artefact Storage today! I will be honest, it isn't always intentional. So there have been the times that I have purposefully let them get a little bit uh targeted by an artefact, but it was just for research purposes! It helps to have a little lab rat every now and then.

I realize that maybe I am not the best at making coffee, and usually I buy it or Elias makes it. Also, like it's really hard to fuck up tea, you know? I am worried, however, that I am not doing this whole office coffee thing right. I noticed the pot was empty, and I know that we're all coffee drinkers here. I felt like doing something nice for once, but it occurs to me that I am sort of not experienced in these kinds of things.

I mean, I like that none of them come back into my area particularly often because it scares them. I did hang up that one photo influenced by the vast, which did cause quite a bit of vertigo. I actually got scolded by Elias for that early on, and he made me take it down. Something about being more delicate toward my coworkers. Since the few scoldings I have had from him, I have been feeling poorly about my treatment of my colleagues, so I have done less experimenting with them. Unfortunately, yes, I do get injured a bit at times, or sad, or well fed upon. It's just a little bit! Plus, I'm sort of good at it.

I stand before the coffee machine, feeling a surge of determination as I split another packet of instant coffee into the basket. Carter's voice interrupts my concentration, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Helen, are you using instant coffee in the coffee pot?" His tone is a mixture of confusion and concern, filling me with inklings of anxiety.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I glance down at the coffee machine, " Is this incorrect?" Suddenly, I feel rather self-conscious. I think I would like to shrivel up and die please.

"I mean, yes but, no." I pour some of the white powder in the filter basket as well, my fingers shaking. "God, Helen, what are you doing?" His words are tinged with exasperation.

"I saw it was empty! I wanted to make a new pot for everyone," my voice wavers with each word, and I search for justification. Carter moves closer to the coffee machine, but it's too late. The machine starts to sputter and splatter, and I feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Margaret enters the room, drawn by the commotion. "Hey, what's happening?" she asks.

"Helen, made coffee with instant coffee and no filter," he gestures toward the tortured machine. The coffee machine is spitting out a murky sort of brown liquid. I don't think it's supposed to look like that. How does Elias do this so well?

Carter starts cackling like a duck. Margaret lifts the lid, peeking in, and snorts, "You didn't distribute it very well." She presses a hand over her mouth, stifling another snort, "Carter, look it's all on one side." She has a hand on his arm, urging him to take a closer look.

"The creamer, Marg! Do you see the creamer?" I don't understand what's so funny about all of this.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I apologize, feeling utterly embarrassed by my mistake. It's stupid, and it's such a small thing, but it reminds me how awful I am at all this. I often don't think I can do much of anything, and I have been trying. It stings in so many ways. I can't do anything right.

"Shit, dude she's crying. You made her cry." Margaret

Carter protests, choking back another laugh, "You laughed too!"

"Hey, Helen, it's okay. Look, I'm gonna have a cup," Margaret raises the cup like a peace offering, and pours another for Carter.

"No," I protest weakly, "Don't drink that." Margaret blows over her cup, taking a dainty sip. Carter swallows a loud gulp as if it were water. I can't believe this. Am I just charity work?

"No! It's fine really, look mmmm, this is so good," he takes a sip between every few words.

"You guys! I was just trying to be nice. I feel like you guys don't like me, and–" Carter cuts me off.

"We like you, Helen," he insists, and Margaret adds on, "Yeah, we just don't like all the creepy little trinkets you work with, but like, that's your job, hun. You do it well too!"

"You know for looking like bog water, it could taste worse!" They are trying to be sweet, but I can't help the rush of inadequacy and embarrassment flooding through me. I am humiliated. I really do just wish I would disappear. Not bog water! How much worse could it actually get? I don't understand what I did wrong other than everything.

"Carter! That's so backhanded, oh my god, you ca-Hey!" Carter raises his eyebrows and tweaks his head to the side, giving Margaret a slight nudge. " What do you think you….Mr. Bouchard, what brings you here to our little cozy corner of the institute today?"

Enter my worst nightmare. Go away. What are you doing here? Here to laugh at me too, huh? His presence casts a shadow over my day.

"I was going to take Helen out for a drink," he announces, adjusting the sleeve settled at his forearm.

"Oh, no need! Helen, just brewed a lovely pot of coffee," Carter interjects, shooting a jolt of panic through me. Nonono! Carter, why? I knew it. He has to hate me. He pours another cup.

Holding the cup out to Elias with a scheming grin, he sighs, "It would be a shame for it to go to waste, don't you think?"

Elias's gaze meets mine, his eyes holding a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something I can't quite decipher. Despite my feeble attempts to dissuade him, he seems determined to proceed. "Come now, Helen, don't be so modest," he says, his voice smooth and reassuring, yet tinged with a hint of mischief. "A little evening caffeine won't hurt anyone." My heart sinks as he raises the cup to his lips, my stomach churning with anxiety. I can already anticipate the grimace that will surely follow the first sip of my abysmal attempt at coffee.

But to my surprise, there's no immediate reaction from Elias. Instead, he takes a long, thoughtful sip, his expression unreadable. My breath catches in my throat as I wait for his verdict.

After what feels like an eternity, Elias sets the cup down with a thoughtful nod. "A bit unconventional, perhaps, but it has its own charm." What a liar! Could it be possible that Elias actually enjoys my terrible coffee? Or is he merely being polite, sparing my feelings?

I watch him closely, searching for any hint of insincerity in his expression. But his features remain composed, his gaze unwavering.

"I don't mean to break up the party at all, but can we step into your area, Helen?" As Elias's request cuts through the casual banter, a sudden sense of unease settles over me. Work. Right. I should have known.

Carter's attempt to ease the transition only adds to the awkwardness of the moment. With a gentle nudge, he guides Margaret out of the room, who sends me a thumbs up as she meanders out.

The air feels heavy with tension as Elias's gaze settles on me, his expression unreadable. Despite his calm demeanor, I had read an undercurrent of urgency in his words. His hand finds my elbow, and he guides me away from the break area. Every time we make contact, it is another kind of shock. This is no different. It leaves me overly aware. Every step is an eternity.

We manage the next few moments in relative silence. By the time we finally make it to my desk and corner, I confront him. "You hated it," I blurt out, unable to suppress the sudden surge of insecurity that washes over me. The confession hangs between us, the weight of my own inadequacies press down on me again.

"I would drink anything from your hands, dear." He envelopes my hands within his, his eyes boring into mine. I feel like I am rehearsing before a full audience with a bright stage light blinding me.

"Shut up! Don't be ridiculous." The warmth of his hands is met with a fire setting in my cheeks. It can be so hard to hide in front of him.

"It wasn't the best, yes," he concedes, his tone gentle.

"Why are you here?"

"You expressed a desire for me to come see you more often." Could he be lying? He just said my coffee wasn't the best, so chances are it's more likely he's just being honest. This is insane. This is so mundanely laughable. I did say that. I wasn't exactly sure he would follow through, however.

"But like, for what? I don't know if I have anything I can really update you on."

His eyes glimmer, his smile is a rare one, but one I have been seeing more and more of. "I'm just here for you," he assures me.

Oh.

His smile grows, and his head dips in response to my thoughts. He buries his head in my shoulder. My whole body goes stiff similar to the rigidity of rigor mortis. I can feel his warm breath as it leaves his lips drifting over the junction between my shoulder and my neck. He takes a deep breath, and then releases a deep sigh. Is he smelling me? The intimacy of it all feels palpable and thick.

He is so close that I can smell him. I can't help but inhale deeply, committing the layers of his scent to memory. He smells earthy and rich, there are hints of sandalwood, and I think I can even gather a fresh undertone of bergamot. Everything about him is so distinct and well put together.

For a fleeting instant, I allow myself to lean into his embrace, relishing the closeness and the reassurance it brings. His proximity is both intoxicating and unnerving, stirring up a whirlwind within me. Despite my best efforts to maintain composure, I find myself teetering on the edge of vulnerability, my defenses crumbling under the weight of his gaze as they always seem to do. You destroy me, and I can't get enough of you. With a gentle squeeze of his arms around me, Elias breaks the silence, his voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the moment. "You're tense," he observes.

"I made shitty coffee." I can't do anything right.

"You don't need to make coffee. I can make you coffee," he trails an arm down my back in what must be a reassuring gesture.

"What if I want to make you coffee?" I think this is a valid concern. He seems to enjoy coffee I think. I want to be able to give him something that isn't well, a part of the end of the world. It's stupid. I simply cannot shake the feeling of uselessness that plagues me.

"Then, I will drink it." His arms cinch tighter around me, drawing me even closer into him. His lips brush against my shoulder, sending tingles up my neck and stealing away my breath. I can't think quite very well right now I don't think. "You should come over tonight. If you want." The words that fly from his lips shoot arrows through my heart. There is a rush to them, a spontaneous and impulsive desire blurted in a moment of vulnerability.

"Yeah." I would like that very much actually. You have a nicer bed than I do. Actually, a nicer home than I do. When did I start to see yours as a home that had a place for me in it?

"Maybe you can make me coffee tomorrow morning," he suggests, fingers tracing patterns along my spine.

"Even if it looks like bog water." But as quickly as the words leave my lips, the moment shifts. His fingers cease their gentle movements along my spine, and the warmth of his touch recedes. I feel the absence of his weight against me like a sudden chill, leaving me yearning for the closeness we shared just moments ago.

His eyes, usually bright and all-encompassing, now seem to gleam with a dark intensity, and a smile graces his lips. In an unexpected gesture, he dips his head again and presses a chaste kiss against my lips—a fleeting connection that leaves me breathless, as he always does.