@kingofdirtandnothing​ asked: [Hey Alex, here's your reply. It's an ER selfie, Brooklyn ball cap pulled low over his eyes and not hiding his smile. Or the sling on his arm.]
[msg 11:38] i mean you’d think by now people would have a better grasp of simple keynesian economics
[msg 11.38] a THIRD-GRADER could comprehend that when people can’t work, they can’t buy things. is it too much to understand that a grown man do the same???
[msg 11.39] the only thing i haven’t tried is drawing him a picture and that’s only because i have about as much artistic skill as he has common sense
[msg 11.40] maybe you could draw one for me. i’ll staple it to his fucking forehead
[msg 11.40] laurens, it’s imperative you talk shit with me about this imbecile
[msg 11.41]Â il est bĂŞte comme ses pieds. je te jure, j'en peux plus, la.
[msg 11.46] alright, what’s going on? you never miss an opportunity to talk shit in french
[msg 11.46] it’s the middle of the day, i KNOW you’re not sleeping
[msg 11.49] i pour my heart out to you and you can’t even send me that stupid winky emoji??? i’m hurt
Alexander huffs a frustrated sigh, and jams his phone back down onto the desk, drumming his fingers against the keys of his laptop as he watches the screen. Sure, John is a less... prolific texter than he is. He’d rather call than send a message, or better yet just turn up at Alexander’s door. Not that Alexander has a problem with that, per se, it’s just that when he’s stuck at a desk for another—he checks his watch—five hours, a message would be quicker.
If he has to save all this balled-up frustration until the end of the day, he might crack under the pressure and just start saying these things to people’s faces. Which, probably not a great idea; it’s hardly the most interesting or challenging internship in the world, but it’s what his resume needs.
He pulls open the briefing he’s been asked to look over again, and tries to quell the rage that still boils his blood from his first reading. Here’s the thing: when they ask an intern to look over a briefing, they mean check it for minor errors, fill in any necessary links or pull the appropriate supporting documents. They don’t mean rewrite it with a much firmer grasp of economic theory and the current administration’s response to unemployment and spending.
Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? He gets a slap on the wrist but they keep him around because he’s clearly got potential, and everybody loves a plucky underdog. Right? And at best, they fire this idiot and give Alexander his job because he’d be about ninety-six times better at it than him.
His phone buzzes half a second before Alexander hits the backspace key, like some divine intervention.
“Typical,” he snorts, seeing 1 NEW MESSAGE: LAURENS slide across his screen. John probably has a sixth sense that tells him when Alexander is about to do something stupid. He flicks the message open idly with a finger. The first thing he notices is John’s smile, the dimple pressed into one cheek among his freckles. Alexander can’t help but smile too, at the sight.
Then the rest of the picture registers, and his smile fades fast, hardens into a frown.
“What the fuck,” he says out loud, dumbstruck, and realises that he’s already stood up, chair rolling back unchecked to hit Ben, his fellow intern, in the back.
“What the fuck what?” Ben asks, interest plain in his voice, all too eager to find something that’s not his spreadsheets to engage with.
“I have to go,” Alexander says faintly, still staring at his phone. He’s off before Ben can so much as ask why. He practically slides into his boss’s office, hand flinging out behind him to knock somewhat after he’s already pushed through the door.Â
“Uh, sir? I have to go. John’s in the ER and I have no idea what happened and I’ll make up the time to you next week I swear—”
“Alexander,” the man interrupts with a frown, clearly not best pleased at having an intern fling himself into his office to babble at him. “I’m sorry to hear that your friend is unwell, but you have a commitment to this internship.”
Alexander bites down on an expletive. Of course he has a commitment! He’s been putting in hours at this stupid financial consulting firm for two months now. Longer hours than most of the damn consultants! John is hurt. Sure, he’s smiling in the picture, but John could crawl out of an eight-car pile-up laughing as he coughed up blood. Alexander blurts out the first thing he thinks of that might cut this argument short.
“He’s not my friend. He’s my boyfriend, and I’m seriously worried about him, and he doesn’t have anyone else to go get him.” All bullshit, but he watches the man’s face change a little, considering. “Please.”
“Fine. I’ll need the hours next week.”
“Yessir, next week, I promise,” Alexander throws over his shoulder already taking off towards the elevators, not bothering to stop for his jacket. He’s got his phone and his wallet, anything else is a waste of time. He hits John’s contact name and presses the phone to his ear as he jabs at the call button for the elevator.
“Which hospital are you at?” he demands, the second the call connects. And then, for good measure: “you absolute asshole. You’d better not be permanently maimed, John Laurens.”
