#year three

But Ebizawa’s nicer than him. Shoulders past like it’s fucking Tuesday or something and puts those soccer team reflexes to good use, snatching that kid mid-tumble before hauling him right back to his feet. It’d be impressive, if Kamitani hadn’t been hoping for a more concussive solution to crowd control.

“Walk much?” Ebizawa lifts his hand, ready to give this stiff breeze passing for a third year a real clap on the back, the way the team captain used to when Kamitani was an underclassman— and then clearly thinks better of it. Good idea; there’s paper that crumples under less pressure than Usokawa. “You gotta look where you’re going, or else we’re all going to find out what sort of band-aids this place has in their first aid kit.”

“Ranger Five ones, for sure.” Kamitani stifles a groan. Saginuma couldn’t pick a rhetorical out of a line up even if it stole his lunch money. “They’ve got the new movie playing on three screens, so I bet they have a bunch of tie-in—”

“I was!” Funny hill for Usokawa to try and die on when thirty seconds ago he was one missed connection away from being able to give a full report on the gum situation beneath all these seats. “It’s the low light in here. They’ve done studies on it, you know, about how it messes up depth perception for people who—”

“Can’t see already?” Ebizawa offers, so easy it takes a minute for Usokawa to parse.

“Hey! I can see perfectly fine!”

It’s not that Kamitani’s trying to pay attention to Inomata— she’s behind him, for one, and these idiots in front of him are making a big enough scene to win awards, for the other— but she keeps bobbing in and out of his peripheral, radiating anxiety, distracting, and—

“—it’s a real, observable, scientifically significant fact—”

—this is taking too long. “Yeah, yeah.” Kamitani plants an encouraging elbow in his spine and shoves. “Whatever. Just sit already.”

“Hey!” Usokawa squeaks, tugging at the collar of his too-nice polo. “Don’t rush me, I’m visualizing.”

It’s so stupid even Inomata stands still, probably calculating the amount of brain cells she’s lost just listening to this idiot. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Choosing a seat is an art, okay?” The kid takes in one of those deep, meditative breaths— like they aren’t in the middle of a movie theater, making people skirt around a clump of third years hogging the stairs— and squeezes his eyes shut. Yeah, that seems like it’ll really help with this whole visualizing thing. Big step forward in sitting their asses down for sure. “We have to be close enough to see the movie, but far enough that we’re not craning our necks to see the screen. And most importantly, we want to be central to the—”

“Cool story,” Saginuma says as he shoulders his way between them, like there isn’t a perfectly good set of stairs right next to them. “But we picked out our seats at the kiosk, dummy. The same ones we always do, because you can’t see even with medical assistance.”

“Can too!” Usokawa adjusts his glasses, trying to look intelligent or some shit, rather than the kind of idiot whose head rattles when he shakes it too hard. “I just prefer to sit at the optimum distance. Because I have discerning tastes! Not because I can’t, er…”

“See for shit?” Ebizawa sneaks in so mildly that Usokawa nods before his brain catches up to him.

“Hey! I already said that I—”

It’s not that he feels anything— Inomata can’t even bear to say people’s names, let alone touch them to get attention— but there’s a potential of something, a breeze that ruffles the hair on the back of his arm, right where his sleeve sits. Electrons tickling each other, the old hag told him once, when he’d been dragged along to one of his great-grandma’s acupuncture appointments. You’re a science teacher, he’d said, bored out of his skull, you can’t believe in all this bullshit. And she’d said, don’t be rude, and then, there’s a lot we don’t understand about the human body. Maybe this is one of them.

Maybe if she’d sounded more curious, he could have believed it. But it came out exhausted instead, the hag at the end of her rope and willing to say whatever she needed to keep the peace— and he’d been twelve. If tossing his teeth on the roof wasn’t going to keep him from getting cavities, putting needles into magical energy meridians wasn’t going to help great-grandma’s back pains either.

It’s not so fantastic, you know. She’d looked down at him, all slouched in the molded plastic they were trying to pass for a chair, and lifted her eyebrows, like she was going to tell him a secret. The human body has an electrical field all around it. Free floating electrons that we put off just by living. And when we touch— she’d reached out, hovering her finger just above his arm, hair standing on end from anticipation— they tickle each other first.

So maybe that’s what he’s feeling when Inomata steps up, crowding  so close her breath bleeds through the cotton of his shirt, still warm: all her electrons just fouling his up.

“Are they always like this?” she mutters, so soft he hears it more through bone conduction than his ears.

“What?” His teeth catch a shiver between them and clench. “Loud?”

“No, I just mean…” The rubber on her shoes catches on his, a hot burst of air scuttling across his shoulders before she rears back, putting something like normal space between them. “Ah, well…yes. I suppose that.”

 “They’re worse.” His mouth twitches, threatening to sink his whole scowl. “Must be trying to impress you or something.”

The congestion on the stairs finally clears now that Usokawa’s figured out how to put one foot in front of the other, hurrying up to the where Ebizawa and Saginuma are already loitering, phones out and screens at their brightest setting. There’s enough debate going on that it’s got to be about what order they’re parking their asses in; one that’s solved by Usokawa bowling right through them, hurtling midway down the row before he drops, no ceremony at all, into one of the seats. Saginuma sighs, one big slump of his already slouched shoulders, but traipses after him, and—

And Inomata isn’t behind him. No, instead she’s three stairs back where he left her, more skittish horse than girl, all of her too-long limbs ready to bolt back to the safety of the herd. But she doesn’t— she’s all eyes instead, the weird glare of the lights making her eyes more shine than pupil.

“Really?” He barely catches the way her mouth wraps around the word, too busy being pinned to the spot by her eyes. “You think they’re trying to impress…me?”

It’s a stupid fucking question, but his stomach fizzes when she asks, twists— he hadn’t even had any soda today, but hell if his gust are acting like it— and he nearly blurts out something even worse, like, well, yeah, you know girls or whatever—

Only to run right into Kashima. Not his back, which would at least make sense, but straight into his whole shoulder-elbow complex. Because that idiot isn’t ambling down the aisle, like any normal person would be, but just standing there. Hands in his pockets, sneakers snuffling, but there, instead of in a seat.

“What, you need an invitation or something?” he grunts. Glares too, using all the authority the few centimeters his one-eighty plus give him over this human-sized thorn in his side. “Move it.”

He expects the kid’s eyes to be darting around, looking for an exit in this weird confrontation, but instead he just stares at him, all steady as he says, “Did you want to trade seats with me?”

“What, you somehow get stuck next to Usokawa?”

Not possible; he’d been watching the kid like a hawk when they’d been buying tickets. Hadn’t planned to— not his business which of their idiot friends Kashima rubs elbows with— but Inomata’s hands shook as they stood in line, breaking out into a full-body tremble the closer they got to the kiosk, and he could just tell every bit of her was primed to fuck up a single button press. And sure, it would have been funny to watch her twist in the wind if she had, no recourse for shit luck, but Kamitani stood there anyway, watching Kashima poke at some squares on a screen, and picked the empty one next to Ebizawa's. Her fault if she couldn't manage to pick a seat that would let her share that kid's air with only right answers left.

And if she fucked it up, well— it's not like he gave a shit about who he parked his ass next to for the next ninety minutes. Might even be a relief to be seated in movie theater Siberia, not having to put up with any of this nonsense.

“No, I just thought…” He glances over Kamitani’s shoulder, weird flush breaking out over his face, and shakes his head. “I mean, have you checked your…? Er, never mind.”

Last time he checked, people were supposed to finish the sentences they started, but he’d learned long ago that Kashima didn’t so much speak but loop together a bunch of questions he’d hope would answer themselves. Helped him lay flatter when he did his impression of a doormat, and all.

Doesn’t mean it’s not annoying. “What, you think I have a fucking opinion about where you fart for—?”

He doesn’t even know Inomata’s behind him until she pinches him. Not all cutesy the way other girls do, eyelashes fluttering as they tugged at his sleeve soft enough a stiff breeze could blow them away. No, she digs in with those talons of hers, aiming for flesh instead of cotton and twists.

“Are you gonna move or not?” The back of his arm burns where she pinched; his fists clench to keep from rubbing at it. “We don’t have all fucking day.”

Kashima just stands there for a minute, staring at him with his too-big eyes, and— and he’d be ready for it if they were all pleading and puppyish, or hell, even just confused. But they’re not; no, they’re steady instead, thoughtful. Unnerving.

“All right,” he says, stepping aside. “Just thought I’d offer.”

*

If there’s one good thing about this stupid seating scheme, it’s that his part of it is over.

Kamitani drops down into the seat next to Ebizawa, ignoring the slack-jawed stare he skirts down the aisle behind him. There’s probably some slapstick routine going on down there, both Inomata and Kashima struggling to be the most polite, ‘after-you’-ing each other until the lights go down. But that’s not his problem, not anymore— Kamitani can take a girl to hang out, but he can’t make her act right.

That’d been the whole point of this movie thing anyway: putting these two idiots into close quarters without some cockamamie scheme to do it. A pretty foolproof one too, since Inomata can’t even ruin it by doing something stupid, like opening her mouth. And yet here he is, forced to not only participate in another one of her overly complicated setups, but direct the damn thing, just so that she could brush elbows over an armrest.

At least he won’t have to deal with her for the next ninety minutes. Kashima’s going to sit next to him, and then he’ll get a full armrest to himself. That kid’s phobia of taking up space pissed him off, typically, but this— this pays for all those other ‘he said no pickles’ moments in full. All that’s left is to get real comfortable and—

“Do you plan to hog the entire armrest for the whole movie?” There’s not enough light for Inomata to loom, but her glower more than makes up the difference. “You have two, you know.”

Kamitani snorts. Like he’s going to risk bumping elbows with Ebizawa. That kid’s so used to pushy girlfriends he might hold his hand on reflex.

“You do too,” he reminds her, and ha, if she aimed that look at Usokawa, he’d be dead and cremated before the previews were over. But Kamitani’s not about to be intimidated by someone who handed him an open answer essay question about optimum sock height. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Inomata hauls up mid-sit, palms pressed against the pleats at her knees, ass literal inches from the seat, and honestly— it’s impressive. There’s guys in the club who couldn’t hold a squat like that without shaking. And she just does, swiveling that slack jaw over at him like he’s the problem. “You’re the one who told me I could wear anything. You said I could even wear my uniform and it’d be fine.”

“Well, yeah.” Girls might obsess about whether slouched socks were in this year, or whether shorts were appropriate for a group date, but he’s not fucking Usokawa. Kamitani doesn’t give a single shit about they what wear. Usually. “That’s before I know you’d actually wear one.”

“What?” The weight of her glare’s enough to pitch her down into the seat, and for once, Kamitani knows what it feels like to be an English exam. “This isn’t— I’m not— this blouse has a cowl neck!”

His finger flicks out. “Pleated skirt.” It ticks down. “Tennis shoes.” His thumb jerks behind her. “Jacket. All you’re missing is the stupid tie.”

“It’s a cardigan,” she hisses, gripping the sleeve between them. “It’s knitted.”

“It’s June.”

“Movie theaters are still cold!” She folds her arms over her non-existent chest, like somehow that’ll make her less of a grandma. “They try to compensate for the number of people they think will be in the theater, which makes it even worse this time of year, and—”

“Isn’t that what you want?” he grunts, chucking her elbow off the rest. “Some stupid excuse to cozy up to Kashima?”

He’s seen tomatoes less red than the color Inomata turns, every inch between her hairline and that cowl-neck so ripe to burst it nearly makes his skin ache. “A-as if I would stoop to deception just to, t-to receive attention from some, s-some—”

“Ah, Inomata-san…” 

She wrenches around so fast that she nearly spears him with one of those deadly weapons she passes for an elbow. “What is it?”

Kashima’s been all smiles since he caught on that the plus-one to this little shindig was the school’s winner of Worst Personality for three years running, playing polite and attentive host so hard his personality’s practically leaking out of his ears to keep it up. But even his sunny disposition gets a little dinged bearing the brunt of Inomata’s attitude, sunny smile flirting with a grimace before he says, “It seems we have a few minutes before the movie starts, did you want me to get something for you from the concession stand?”

Her back may be to him, but even still, he can tell: she frowns. Scowls, probably, because there’s no way she can’t look constipated with that stick so far up her ass. “Why would you do that?”

Kashima blinks. “Oh, well, I mean, I am on the end, so—?”

This is the sort of train wreck Kamitani would usually be happy to watch in slow motion, savoring the crash, but instead he slouches into seat, low enough that his sneakers brush the back of the one in front of him.

“Popcorn,” he grunts, eyes fixed to the ad on the screen. “And a coke. Biggest they have.”

The thing is: Kashima’s got everyone convinced he’s some mild-mannered doormat, ready and willing to flatten himself for their convenience. And he is— hard to deny it when he lets that hag of a headmistress order him around like he’s Saikawa Part 2, only without the eight-digit paycheck— but the second his brain parses just how many calories Kamitani’s about to shove into ninety minutes, the mask cracks, a furrow burying itself right between his eyebrows. “Kamitani!”

“What?” His shoulders hike high enough to bump his jaw. “You asked.”

The kid’s got himself all wound up, ready to lob a slow ball right down the pitch, the sort of dressing down Kamitani could knock right over the bleachers before it passed the plate, but—

“What do they…I mean, are there…?” Her neck tenses, trembles, chin half-turned like she’s going to look at him, like somehow he’s going to tell her something besides, don’t admit you’re too much of a loser to know what they sell at movie theaters. “I’ll come with you.”

“Oh.” Kashima’s eyebrows bounce against his hairline before they settle for a more confused slope. “You don’t have to! I’m sure I could carry anything you two might—”

“Hey, are you getting snacks?” The theater’s dead silent, but shame’s never stopped Usokawa from shouting before, and it sure won’t now. “Hold up, I’ll come with you.”

Kashima grimaces. “Oh, that’s really not—”

“Too late,” Kamitani snorts, watching Usokawa nearly trip into the seats in front of them. “Enjoy babysitting.”

*

Usokawa’s mouth is moving a mile a minute when they disappear behind the entryway, grilling Inomata before they’re even in sight of an exit. Hell knows what they’re talking about— probably her taste in movie snacks (non-existent), or if she’s ever had soda (doubtful), or whether sock length was a good measure of a girl’s personality (hell no), or whatever else boneheads like him talk about when their single brain cell is bumping around, making enough static to mimic a whole thought. Kamitani stopped paying attention fifteen minutes ago, after that idiot took one look at the movie posters lining the wall outside and asked if they thought a girl climbing out of a TV was a deal breaker or not.

At least he doesn’t have to deal with that sort of shit right now. Sure, Saginuma might swing out of left field with some stupid question, but without Usokawa egging him on, he’ll be happy just reading the vintage trivia on the screen until the lights drop. And Ebizawa— well, he’s a guy who knows how to keep his mouth shut. The kind of kid who stays in his own lane, who wouldn’t just turn around and ask—

“Not to make too much of a point out of it,” Ebizawa mutters, shifting in his seat. “But what the hell were you thinking?”

It takes Kamitani a whole minute to realize this kid is talking to him. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” Ebizawa fixes him with a look so flat even Usokawa would have trouble tripping over it. “Bringing Inomata-san!”

“What?” His shoulders dig into the padding behind him, braced. “You got some problem with her or something?”

“I-I didn’t say that,” the kid sputters, hands already up and waving, too obvious. The kind of not-subtle that was already drawing Saginuma’s attention. “It’s just…well, you know…”

“You didn’t say you were bringing a girl!” Saginuma drops his voice on that last bit, so quiet Kamitani has to strain to hear it— and instantly regrets he even tried.

“I didn’t bring a girl,” he grunts, glowering at the screen. “I brought Inomata.”

Ebizawa stares at him like he’s the one being ridiculous. “Inomata-san is a girl, Kamitani-kun.”

He snorts. “Barely.”

“I mean, she’s got all the parts for it.” There’s not much Saginuma applies himself to outside of fucking around, but here he is, looking thoughtful about all this. “Soft skin, long hair—”

“Some girls have short hair, you know,” Ebizawa says, like he’s some sort of expert on girls, and not just the kind of guy who falls face-first into having a girlfriend every few weeks. “I think they’re cute.”

“—nice hair,” Saginuma amends, like he never said anything else. “And of course, a rack—”

“Like I said— barely.” Nothing to write home about, at least, and the damn cardigan wasn’t helping. “What’s the big deal anyway? Her and Ushimaru are always hanging around anyway.”

“Come on, man. You gotta know how this looks right?” Ebizawa’s got a face made for looking like he’d rather be having any other conversation, sweat practically pouring off of him as he mutters, “I mean, it’s not like you’re actually…? Like, you can’t really…?”

Kamitani could die happy not knowing how Ebizawa wants to finish that sentence. “I’m just doing her a favor.”

“What? Hanging out with us?” These idiots only have one brain cell between the two of them, but by the way his brow knits, Ebizawa’s putting it through its paces. “That’s your favor?”

His jaw grits so hard he can hear his teeth grinding. “It’s not like this was my first choice either.”

“Huh, yeah. I guess if it’s a favor, Inomata-san must have asked to tag along.” Saginuma leans his chin on his hand, too thoughtful. “Maybe she wanted to see this movie real bad, or something.”

“Bro, be serious.” Ebizawa's eyebrows bounce right up against his hairline. “You think she wants to see Onibaba’s Curse 2?”

“I dunno, it’s not like I know what Inomata-san is into.” There’s not a hint of shame in Saginuma’s shrug, just a curiosity that sets Kamitani’s skin crawling. The last thing he needs is these idiots asking too many questions, especially ones like— “How’d you end up owing her a favor anyway? She helping you study this semester or something?”

Like that. “None of your—”

“No way,” Ebizawa snorts, settling back into his seat, all confident, like he knows what he’s talking about. “Inomata-san has never let anyone borrow her notes, not even Ushimaru, and they’re friends or whatever. Why would she just hand them over to Kamitani? It’s not like they’re—”

His mouth hauls up to a complete stop, forehead furrowing as he overworks that single brain cell he’s got bouncing around. “Wait…you didn’t bring us on some date, did you?”

“It’s not a date!” Not with him, at least, but he needs their help with Kashima like he needs a hole in the head. “She just—”

“You’re supposed to be on a date?” Saginuma’s mouth could catch flies, even if he couldn’t catch a hint. “And you’re making her hang out with Usokawa?”

Ebizawa casts him a conspiratorial look. “We’re going to be on her shit list forever. For being accessories or whatever.”

“I already said, it’s not a date,” he grits out. “She just wanted to come. Hell if I know why. I wouldn’t hang out with you idiots if I didn’t have to.”

“You don’t,” Ebizawa reminds him, though it’s lost beneath Saginuma’s blaring, “Maybe she likes one of us, then?”

Fuck. Leave it to that moron to trip into the right answer by accident. People really are right about monkeys and typewriters.

“Who?” he huffs, arms folded over his chest. “Usokawa?”

“What? Of course not,” Saginuma snorts, shaking his head. “But girls do like Ebizawa” —ha, like to push him around, maybe— “and Kashima’s popular too.”

It’s an effort not to choke up, not to let any part of him give away just how close that bonehead has gotten to the truth—

But it’s all ruined when Ebizawa snorts, “What if it is Kamitani, though?”

There’s no reason for Saginuma to brighten up the way he does, laughing, like this is funny or whatever. “Oh, you mean since he never knows when girls like him?”

“What?” he blurts out. “I do so.”

Saginuma passes him the kind of look Kashima is always giving the brats in the daycare when they’re explaining some adult thing their baby brains can’t comprehend. “You super don’t.”

“I do.” It’s not like he’s blind or something. There’s a reason the stands are never empty during practice, and it’s not because they care about how Midoriyama’s fast ball is coming along. “I just don’t care.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say, man.” Ebizawa hooks his hands behind his head, the barest hint of a grin haunting a corner of his mouth. “But if it is you, then we’re all really on her shit list, and—”

There’s a whole stadium’s worth of words trying to elbow their way out of his mouth, practically climbing over each other just to get crushed between his teeth as he grunts, “Shut up.”

Saginuma’s slack jaw is the only warning he gets before an all-too familiar voice from behind him snaps, “What did you say to me?”

Kamitani rolls his head along his shoulders, the sharp edge of his flat look catching Inomata just as she perches at the edge of her seat. Not dainty, like a girl, but wary, like a bird on the wire, ready to take off at the slightest breeze. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Could have fooled me,” she sniffs, settling a snack tray across her knees, one shiver away from shedding soda onto the theater floor.

His soda, to be exact. “You gonna eat all that yourself?”

“What are you—?” He jerks his chin toward the tub on her lap; Kashima must have taken point on order-placing, since it’s almost over-full, kernels generously peeking out of the top. “Oh! N-no! Of course not!”

It’s impressive how much she manages to fumble the hand-off. He reaches out and she shoves, unstoppable force meeting unmovable object, popcorn rustling in the tub, threatening to spill over one rounded side. The butteriest bits too; the kind that gets all that movie theater butter first, soaked right down to the shell and salted to within an inch of its life, and well— Kamitani just bends down. Sticks his tongue out and collects them right off the top of the tub before they can tumble off. Waste not, want not, and all that.

Inomata snatches back her hands like it burns, and he gets to take a whole ass minute to savor the exquisite flavor of her outrage right before she squawks out, “You’re meant to use your hands!”

The kernels crunch between his teeth loud enough to get a flinch out of her. “It’s my popcorn.”

There’s not much Inomata’s good at doing— well, not much that isn’t on an exam— but sneering, that’s one of them. Really gets a good condescending curl going on at one corner of her mouth, the kind she usually saves for gum found under desks, or that kid from the Advance Class that gets nosebleeds every time Kotaro so much as breathes. “I don’t even know how you can eat that much.”

“Talent.” And the three hours of ball practice daily followed by the old hag’s poor excuse for cooking helps keep him in a calorie deficit it’d take five of these to make a dent in. “Kashima usually takes his share too.”

Only after he practically shoves it in his lap, grunting out, are you going to let all this go to waste or what? But it’s funnier to watch this neat freak sit here, torn between abject disgust and the statistical likelihood of her and Kashima casually colliding if they reach into the same bag.

“Well, I suppose I could keep it at my seat. If it would keep you two from reaching over me during the movie,” she says, all reasonable, like somehow she’s the one doing him a favor, and not the other way around. Wrinkles her nose for good measure, too, before adding, “As long as neither of you do…whatever that was.”

Ha, like Kashima putting his mouth that close to her wouldn’t make her full-body vibrate with excitement. But there’s no use in arguing that— not when they both know that kid is more likely to apologize to the theater employees for dropping a single kernel than lick one right off the top of the tub. So Kamitani cedes the high ground and shoves her arm right off the rest instead.

“Hey!” He doesn’t know how she’s allowed to walk around like this, with literal weapons for bones. There’s going to be bruises on him his uniform won’t cover. “This is supposed to be a shared—”

He snorts. “Don’t you have better options?”

That draws her up short, sputtering and stammering, pink from her hairline to that damn cardigan. It’s the sort of overreaction that should annoy him, eyes rolling hard enough to rattle in their sockets, but instead he bites back a grin, wondering just how red she could get if he muttered, nice way to be obvious. Or how much her cheeks would puff out if he grunted, holding his hand would be less desperate. But—

“Excuse me, I think you’re sitting in the wrong seat.”

— Kamitani doesn’t get his chance.

Kashima’s already half out of his seat, fishing his phone from his pocket, frantically flipping through screens. “Am I? I thought— ah, yes, I see, my seat’s actually a couple over. But I’m not sure”—his eyes dart toward Kamitani before fixing back to his screen— “we’re actually not sitting in order, so I don’t know if one of my friends might actually, er…?”

Inomata’s shoulders square as she flashes her phone’s screen, so quick it’s practiced, like she’d been ready for someone to tell her she didn’t belong. “I’m in the correct seat. Have you checked your ticket?”

“It’s not really mine. We got a reservation for our friend, but um” — she fumbles with her phone, flinching under the pressure of Inomata’s stare— “here! E05?”

There’s no arguing with the characters on her screen, but Kashima still stares at it for a minute, like if he does it long enough, the bits might flip to something he likes better. “Haah, right…I think”— Kashima glances back at him again, eyes all wide like he’s some mutt caught on the carpet mid-stream— “I think my seat is actually where you are, Kamitani.”

“Mine’s next to yours.” He’d made sure of that, at least.

“I just followed Usokawa,” Saginuma admits, followed by Ebizawa’s shrugged, “And I just followed Saginuma.”

“Well, I’m sitting where I’m supposed to,” Usokawa insists, phone in hand. “Look, it says right here, seat E10.”

E11, it reads on the screen.

Saginuma coughs on his laugh. “Hey not to make a big thing out of it, man, but uhh, when was the last time you got your eyes checked?”

He blinks, eyes impossibly big behind his lenses. “What are you talking about? You can see it here. One, and then a zero—”

“Bro.” Ebizawa’s too much of a pushover to get angry, but he does get tired. “Are you serious right now?”

“Ah, sorry about this.” Kashima doles out his best bashful smile, the kind that gets even the most level-headed girls in their class to shuffle their school shoes. “If you wouldn’t mind giving us a minute, I’m sure we can get this all sorted out.”

“Oh, um, it’s no problem, really!” Her hands wave between them, cheeks suspiciously pink, and, yeah, looks like this girl isn’t immune either. “Suki’s running late, we just wanted to make sure she’d have a seat when she gets here. Sorry to make you, um…?”

“Oh no, we’re the ones in the wrong seat,” he assures her, all gracious and shit, and the girl just up and giggles, hiding it behind her hand and everything, really getting into this cutesy act, and—

And Inomata pinches him. Right under his elbow, where the skin’s weirdly tender and painful, like it’s his fault that some girl is out here doing a better job flirting with Kashima in three minutes than she’s managed in three years.

“What the hell is your—?” Problem, that’s what he means to say. But he suddenly doesn’t need to, since Kashima gets up. “What are you doing?”

Kashima blinks down at him, like somehow he’s the slow one. “I’m in the wrong seat?”

“Yeah, because Usokawa’s an idiot." Kamitani sinks far enough into his seat that he can put his leg across the aisle, blocking Kashima’s exit. “What’s that got to do with you?”

“Well…isn’t it easier if only one of us moves?” Kashima’s head tilts, and ugh, of course he’s got to be reasonable about this. “Otherwise, everyone has to get up and shift over a seat, and, er…”

Usokawa nearly tripped into row D just getting snacks, and that was without the audience. Now that there’s cute girls to act like an idiot in front of— well, Kashima’s got a point. And it’s not like Kamitani’s in any rush to get up, either, not when he’s just got the seat the way he likes, and—

And Inomata sinks her talons into him.

“I’ll go or whatever.” Even if it means sitting next to freaking Usokawa. A sacrifice this girl won’t even recognize, let alone appreciate. “You can just take my—”

“No!” Kashima’s not a loud kid, most of the time; he’s got his moments— mostly when the daycare brats get some fool idea into their head about just how high they need to climb for their flying super powers to kick in, or when Kamitani so much as breathes in the direction of that old hag headmistress— but this time, the whole theater goes quiet in his wake, a half dozen curious eyes aiming themselves in their direction. “No, that’s all right. You’re the one who brought…I mean, you should, ah”— his eyes dart to where Inomata sits, boring holes into Kamitani like it might make good ideas leak out if she does it hard enough— “I’m fine, really. You should enjoy yourself.”

“But—” Kamitani routinely hits balls that barrel down the pitch at over a hundred kilometers per hour, and yet somehow he misses snagging Kashima’s sleeve as he skirts past. “Wait!”

It’s no use— by the time he’s managed to stumble the word out, Kashima’s already crab walking around Saginuma’s bag, too far away to hear anything over Usokawa’s yammering. Great. He can’t wait for this to be his fault somehow.

Good thing he doesn’t need to; the minute he sinks back into his seat, heat still radiating from where he was sitting before, he’s right in the range of her glare. “What are you doing? Tell him to stay here!”

“What do you think I was doing?” he grumbles, slouched so far down his shoulders practically bump his jaw. “Hes the one who—”

The lights flicker, three times before dim becomes dark, the only light coming from the screen. “We’ll talk about this later.”

She bits off every word, more threat than promise. “What? Like I control what Kashima—?”

“Shh!” Her finger presses to her lips, a poor impression of every stern 2D librarian Usokawa’s ever panted over. “You’re not supposed to talk during the movie!”

“But—”

“Shh!!”

He slouches back down into his seat. “It’s just the fucking previews.”

*

There’s a movie’s worth of trailers before the curtains start to widen, but finally the screen goes black. Not a real darkness, the way rooms get with all the lights out, but projected shadow, bathing everyone in an eerie blue backwash. It’s the kind of trick that might spook a kid, but Kamitani’s skin is too busy burning to crawl. Where the hell does that girl get off telling him they’d talk later? Going around, shushing him like he’s Taka at one of those lame ranger live shows, jawing off about what his stupid zord would look like. He’s doing her a fucking favor, and—

A spur of a shoulder digs into his armpit, practically shoving his arm off the rest. “Is this a horror movie?”

For a minute he just stares at the screen, watching as the stick-thin strokes of Onibaba’s Curse wash away into a doll’s dead eyes. “I thought you weren’t supposed to talk during the movie.”

A huff skitters across his skin, catching at his collar. “I’m just asking a question.”

Sounds a lot like talking to him. “Why? You get scared easy or something?”

Every inch of her stiffens into a full-body scowl, spine so straight his own back hurts looking at it. “Of course not.”

“Good.” His elbow clips her off the rest as he settles back in his seat. “Then we don’t got to talk about it. Unless, you know, you do…”

“I don’t,” she informs him, prim as the perfect pleats in her skirt. “It’s just a movie. Only children would let themselves be scared by this sort of garbage.”

He shrugs. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

He believes her, for a minute. Until the doll blinks, big blue eyes taking up the entire screen.

His ears are still ringing when he leans over, mouth twitching, to ask, “You good?”

She turns to him, all wild eyes and chest heaving, and tells him with feeling, “Shut up.”

*

The plot’s as thin as the screen it’s projected on; after forty minutes of building up this stupid cursed doll, cutting back to her creepy glass eyes every time something even slightly unfortunate happened, some killer guy shows up out of nowhere, playing dark voyeur as Little Miss Honor Roll trips around a conveniently abandoned storehouse. Usokawa might be into this crap: ghost grudges and haunted dolls and the sort of camera tricks that would have that idiot avoiding the mirror for a week; but as far as Kamitani’s concerned, this is ninety minutes of stupid problems being solved by even stupider people— and if he was into that sort of shit, he didn’t need to pay 1500 yen to get his fill of it. He’s got it for free just being friends with these idiots.

It’s not a surprise when Miss Honor Roll catches a knife through the ribs, fear leaching out of her eyes along with her life, but—

But her death rattle is all the warning he gets before a lapful of girl nearly launches herself right over the arm rest.

“Hey!” Inomata’s nails dig into him like a cat caught on a curtain, clawing deeper when he reaches over to pry her off his sleeve. “Watch it!”

Everyone’s pale in the backwash of the screen, but she’s white as a sheet, eyes so dark he could trip into them and never find the bottom.

“What? O-oh!” Her talons retract with a blink, popping off like pins from a corkboard— and with almost as many holes. He’ll be looking like a pin cushion for a week, if he’s lucky. “S-sorry. I didn’t…um…”

Her hand hovers between them, knuckles stark in the blue light, knobby even, the bones along its back and wrist suddenly delicate in comparison. They tremble, trapped between flight and fight, so frail that they must be freezing. Not just the regular kind, ready to warm up with a few good rubs, but ice cold, leaching heat out of him the longer he holds on. “I thought only kids got scared by shit like this.”

Her jaw sets, turning shiver into scowl. “I’m not scared. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

His mouth twitches. “Right.”

“I mean it.”

Probably does too; this girl couldn’t pick any emotion out of a line up, let alone her own. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t—” A door slams, the killer right behind it, knife already raised, and Kamitani doesn’t even get to learn what he ‘don’t’— not when his ears are too busy ringing from her shriek.

He leans in as the klaxon fades to a buzz, mouth tugging toward a grin. “You were saying…?”

A glare is his only answer.

*

This movie might be a total waste of time, just a cobbled together mess of curses and creepy dolls and a killer that is someone’s second cousin’s roommate or something that gets fed into some thresher thing just in time for this brain dead group of kids to realize the old lady’s in on all of it, but Kamitani’s got to admit: it’s worth it to watch Inomata white-knuckle her way through ninety minutes.

Her heels have been hovering for the last five minutes, tapping down timidly before some door slam or dark shadow has her jerking them back up again, digging hard into faux leather. Like there’s some ghostly hand that’s gonna reach out with each jump scare and drag her under the seat. He’s tempted to lean over, mutter something about how it’s not even that kind of movie—

But then some monstrous hand does reach out— the killer, suddenly not dead— yanking the bad boy back into paddies. The kid fights it the entire time, fingers dragging runnels into the mud—

And Inomata’s got her feet on the seat, shoving herself so far up and back she has to grab at him to stay upright.

“It’s just a movie,” he grunts, trying to pry her off him, but her fingers clench so hard she practically tears off his sleeve. “Sit down, already, you’re gonna hurt yourself or something.”

“I’m not!” she snaps, and hah, it’d be more convincing if she didn’t nearly vault the armrest as the killer’s knife slashed down, narrowly missing Bad Boy’s vitals. His arm snakes out around her shoulder, shoving down until skinny girl connects with seat, no feet mediating contact. “Hey—!”

“Stop squirming around.” That stupid cardigan is softer than he expects, the difference between sweater and skin prickling where his bare arm slumped against her. “You’re going to crack your head or something, and I’m not walking you home.”

“Like I would—” the doll leaps off a shelf, tangling itself in the hot girl’s hair, and Inomata muffles her shriek into his shirt, eyes screwed shut against his shoulder.

It’s not until she hears porcelain shattering that she dares to crack an eye open, still half hidden behind his shirt and her hands. She’s trembling hard enough to rattle his teeth, but she’s not squirming anymore, and—

Well, not until the door groans open, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. Kamitani bites a grin back to a lifted eyebrow. “What was that?”

Her head lifts, both eyes needed for the glower she graces him with. “Oh, shut up.”

It’d be easy to clap back, to really dig under the nail on this, but—

But Inomata sets her head back on his shoulder and just breathes, her whole body relaxing into his, and—

The warning is growled against your ear as his hand presses more tightly around your mouth. Your eyes roll back, then squeeze shut as you fight back your moans and whimpers. Nathan groans against your neck, his hips slapping against yours at a punishing pace. 

Fuck, you don’t have time for this. The two of you are meant to be on stage for a panel in three minutes. You'd been on your way to meet Jenn when Nathan had grasped your wrist, tugging you into a deserted area backstage. Anyone could walk by, or hear you. It's a stupid, stupid gamble. You reach back, grasping at Nathan’s ass, grinning against his hand as he thrusts with renewed force. You reach up, peeling his hand away from your mouth. 

“Don’t you dare mess up my makeup, you little shit,” You hiss. 

“You worried someone’ll notice how messed up you are? Don’t worry, honey,” Nathan screws his hips in tight, slow circles. “You and I both know they’re only here to see me.” 

You gasp as Nathan’s cock twitches and spills inside of you. 

“Asshole!” You groan, fingers flexing against the wall in front of you. “If you don't make me cum, I’m gonna cut your dick o-off—fuck.” Your jaw drops open as Nathan slips his fingers between your legs, swiping roughly over your clit. Your toes curl at the feeling, hips bucking back against Nathan as you clench down around his cock. Nathan stills as you breathe heavily, resting your forehead against the wall. 

“Do you want your hickey on the left side of your neck, or the right?” 

“Don’t even think about it,” You warn, shoving your elbow into his side, “I will punch you in the throat.”

Nathan snorts as he draws out of you. You bite your lip at the feeling before you crouch down, tugging up your panties and wriggling up your pantyhose, wary of ripping them as you do. You lean back against the wall, squirming at the feeling of his cum beginning to slip out of your cunt. God damn this is going to be a long panel. 

“Left or right,” Nathan repeats. You scoff, pushing around him, but you don’t get far. Nathan hooks his arm around your hip, yanking you back against him. You pull in a gasp as he tugs your dress’ neckline to the left, exposing the slope of your shoulder. He latches his lips on your shoulder, harshly biting the skin before he sucks over a spot that will be out of sight. He holds you steady even as your knees weaken, as you bow over his arm just a little more. 

“Fuck you, you little shit,” You breathe. Nathan just hums, leaning back and swiping his tongue over your heated skin before he straightens the sleeve. 

“Cute of you to get all high and mighty when you just fucked this little shit.” 

You mimic him in a high-pitched, nasal voice as you straighten your clothes. 

“Gimme your phone,” You order. 

"Why?” 

“C’mon, I need to check my lipstick. I had to leave mine in my bag, this dress doesn’t have pockets.” 

“You look fine.” 

“Bullshit. Give me your phone.” 

Nathan huffs, taking his damn time about pulling his phone out of his pocket and passing it over. You swipe open the camera function, squinting at your appearance and eyeing where your makeup is smudge. 

“Can’t believe you said I look fine,” You mutter, swiping at the mussed pigment. 

“I’ve seen you look worse.” 

“I should break your phone. I’ll throw it.” 

“I’ll invoice you.” 

You roll your eyes, shoving his phone into his chest and pushing past him. It’s a moment before he’s catching up to you, following you toward the stage. 

“Am I gonna see you later?” He asks. 

“If you’re lucky.” 

“You got somewhere better to be?” 

“Anywhere’s better than with you.” 

“Hey!” Jenn flags you down, striding toward the stage. “Hi, Nate. Oh—not to alarm you, girlie, but part of your skirt is tucked into your pantyhose.”

“Oh, fuck,” You hiss, backing yourself against the wall to fix it. You reach down, wincing at the acute feeling of the fabric tucked in. 

“Nice catch, Jenn,” Nathan comments, patting her lower back as he passes her. You huff, wiggling your hips as you smooth the fabric down. 

“Am I good?” You ask. Jenn peers around you. 

“Yep!” 

“Thank you. That…” You glance after Nathan. “Jerkoff didn’t say anything.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he would’ve. Maybe he just didn’t see it.” 

“I highly doubt that.” 

“C’mon, he’s not that bad.” 

“He’s the fucking worst.” 

“He’s fine!” 

“You think he’s hot and he’s funding the company, so of course you think he’s fine,” You mumble. 

“Hey, he pays your six-figure salary, too, and you know it. It was his idea to give you a raise.” 

You roll your eyes, straightening up. 

“It was your idea,” You argue. “He just approved it.” 

“...Guilty—But, he did approve it.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“You do good work, he sees it. Can you quit hating on him and at least give the guy that?” 

Oh, sure. He sees something. 

“Come on,” Jenn urges without waiting for your answer. She hooks her arm through yours and steers you toward the stage as the MC announces the two of you. “We’re gonna miss our big entrance.” 

--  

He always takes you from behind. 

You can’t help but think about that as you force ponderous expressions, trying not to squirm in your seat as you feel Nathan’s spend dripping into your panties. Nathan never looks at you when you’re fucking. You don’t kiss one another anymore—you haven’t since that first night. 

It’s a fight with Nathan, and a good fight at that. It would be alarming if he just suddenly cuddled up to you like a needy little puppy. He’s not gentle or careful with you, and you prefer it that way. In your third year of working at Sc(ai)le, you’re more antsy than ever to get the fuck out of there. There are some days when you’re so tired you can hardly move, when the weight of balancing your position and your friendship with Jenn damn-near crush your skull in. 

Nathan isn’t around all the time, and you usually have to make do with your vibrator, but when he is there—when he shoves you face-down into the mattress, or against the wall, or against the backseat of his car—you’re left boneless and sated, and don’t have to think about who’s doing the screwing. You don’t have to think about the fact that his little ‘offer’ is the reason you hold your tongue around Jenn most days, the reason you can write your own ticket at the next job going forward. For as many bad things as Nathan has caused in your life, he’s given you good things, whether he meant to or not. 

Your student loans are gone.

You own your apartment. 

Your future is, for the most part, secure. 

So where the hell are you going? 

-- 

“You could extend, you know.” 

Nathan brings it up. He’s getting dressed, and you’re ready to head to the shower—to scrub off the shameful sweat that you feel practically drenched in. You push yourself up on your slightly-shaking arms, scooting your ass along the bed and grabbing your dress from where Nathan unceremoniously dropped it. You glance toward him before you turn to head to the bathroom. 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” You call over your shoulder. 

“Yes you do.” 

You don’t grace him with a response. You just step into the bathroom and crank on the shower. You eye yourself in the mirror, hesitating as you reach for the fabric. Why do you always get dressed between the bed and the bathroom? Why do you always feel so frighteningly bare in front of Nathan after you’ve fucked, and don’t give a damn about it during?

You reach down to tug it off again, and still as Nathan drifts to lean in the doorway. He adjusts his glasses before he folds his arms across his bare chest. 

“Can’t find your shirt?” You ask, gaze drifting over him. 

“You know what I think?” 

“I don’t care what you think.” 

“I think that under all of that, you know,” Nathan pushes himself off of the door frame, “Under all of that push-back and bullshit—” 

“Just because someone disagrees with you doesn’t make it bullshit—” 

“—You actually like what you’re doing.” 

You choose to blame the way your face goes hot on the mounting steam from the shower and not from the rising indignation. Nathan presses up against your back, his fingers curling around the hem of your dress. 

“What’s the matter?” He murmurs against the shell of your ear, holding your gaze. “Worried I’ll make another move on you if you’re naked again?” 

“Course I’m not worried about that. You could hardly get it up the first time.” 

“Then explain the second time.” He keeps his eyes on yours in the mirror as he turns his head, nuzzling your jaw, “Or the third.” 

“Don’t you have someone else to annoy, some conference-panel-techbro to circle-jerk with?” 

Nathan smiles almost maliciously as he begins to inch the hem of your dress upward. 

“You afraid to be naked in front of me?” He teases. “Not as if I haven’t seen everything you have to offer before.” 

“Fuck off,” You scoff, “Of course I’m not afraid of that.” 

“Good.” 

You hardly have a moment to argue or react before he’s shoving the dress up and over your head. You grunt in discomfort at the feeling of your arms jerking upward, then jolting as he yanks away the fabric. You hear the hiss of it dropping to the floor, and try to ignore the prickling of heat beneath your skin. The steam, it’s just the steam. It’s not the half-clothed man crowded against your back and watching for any sign of discomfort. 

“You like what you’re doing,” He insists again. 

“I like helping Jenn.”

Nathan’s smile widens to something sharp and malicious before he pats your hips. 

“I await the day,” He declares as he turns away again. 

“What day?” You frown, “The day my contract runs out?” 

“The day you stop using Jenn as a shield.” 

Before the full force of your embarrassment and inevitable anger swells, Nathan presses a kiss to the mark on shoulder before he pulls away. His words sink in as he steps back, and you wait and watch as he disappears into your hotel suite, then makes his way to the front door. He doesn’t look at you again; he doesn’t so much as glance, or wink. You just listen to the door close behind him before you sag forward a touch, fingers tightening around the sink. 

Fuck, forget it, just get into the shower already. You’re wasting so much water just standing there. 

-- 

“Hey! You got a minute?” Amelia asks as she falls into step with you.

“Uh..." You hardly look up from your phone as the two of you turn the corner together. "A minute’s about all I got, what’s up?”

“There’s been some um…Chatter, and a few of us are wondering if it’s true. We figured if anyone would know, you would, and—” 

“If anyone knew what, what’s the chatter?” 

“That Bateman’s joining the board?” 

It stops you in your tracks. It’s like you’ve been hit over the head with a frying pan. Your brow furrows; your mouth works wordlessly for a moment before you manage to shake yourself from it. 

“I haven’t heard anything about that,” You admit. 

“At all?” 

“I mean, it’s something Jenn floated, like, a hundred years ago, before Bateman even came on as a backer. I haven’t heard anything about it since then.” 

“Okay! So, maybe,” Amelia shrugs, “It could just be, like, the usual rumor mill bullshit.” 

You nod slowly before you mutter, “Yeah. No, probably, yeah. Could you excuse me?” 

“Sure!” 

You give her a quick smile and nod before you step around her, striding down the hall and raising your phone, hurriedly moving the meeting that you’re meant to be on your way to. You pick your pace up, rounding through the maze of halls and work spaces before you make your way to Jenn’s office. You knock on her open door, hurrying in when she waves you in. 

“‘Sup, girlie?” 

“You’re bringing Bateman on the board?” 

You see a flash of panic before she smooths it to a neutral expression, even as color rises in her cheeks. 

“Where did you hear that?” 

“Apparently a bunch of people have heard it. It’s being pumped through the rumor mill.” 

“Nothing’s official.” 

“But you’ve asked?” 

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s not like he hasn’t had a hand in what we’ve been building here.” 

“You’re seriously set on giving him real power? Internally?” 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jenn rolls her eyes, “It’s not like I’m handing him the keys to the kingdom.” 

“Remember when I told you that this was like a business-y 3.5 carat pear cut diamond on an infinity band?”

“Yeah, but that was like, the first date, and this is, like, three years of business-y dating! We’ve had a super long courtship, I wanna make that shit official! I wanna put a ring on it.” 

“Jenn, you don’t wanna do this.” 

You know that it’s a mistake as soon as you say it. Jenn’s expression hardens, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“Look,” She speaks in a low, measured tone. “I get that you have whatever beef that you have with him, but this isn’t about that. In a few months, you may not even be here. You’re free to leave once your contract is up—But Nathan will be here, because Nathan fucking believes in what we’re doing here.” 

“I believe in what we’re doing here, it’s just—” 

“Honestly, I don’t wanna hear it right now, okay? This is my company, and I’ve appreciated your help, but I’m getting a little fucking tired of you acting like you know my shit better than I do.” 

Your stomach twists with irritation and shock, and you force your mouth closed. You nod twice before you turn away, leaving without another word. You’ve been waiting for this other shoe to drop—for the tension of working for Jenn to overwhelm the reward. But at the start of your full-time position, you figured that the clash would be over practices, company direction—not over who she was trying to get in bed with…Especially while you were already in bed with him. You turn into your office, setting your things down and looking around, still stewing. 

Maybe this is good. Actually, maybe this is exactly what Jenn needs—what you both need. You don’t want to stay at Sc(ai)le, and your contract is six months away from being up. You may as well start planning your next move, and extricating yourself from all of this. Drawing out of Sc(ai)le will get you away from Bateman; it’ll let you get your friendship with Jenn back on track. You sit down at your desk, messaging your assistant to clear the rest of your day and not to disturb you unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

-- 

It doesn’t get easier overnight. 

You don’t leave your office that night with a job offer from another company and a 20% signing bonus. You have to work out where you want to go—up, or down. Do you want another C-Suite position? Or would you be comfortable moving to a position of middle-management? If you shift down, what would that mean for your job prospects in the future? Despite the fact that your contract is coming to an end, there’s no straightforward easy out. You signed an NDA and a fucking non-compete. Moving to another company like this, they may expect you to bring a few clients along. You already know that you can’t lean on the contacts that you’ve made in the last two and a half years. 

By the end of the day, you have a game plan. You have to: 

Court new business contacts without bringing them on board to Sc(ai)le. You need to find a way to keep them ready, waiting in the wings, an added value prop wherever you plan on going next. 

This means not only planning on bringing in clients that are looking for AI solutions, but clients that are looking for direct to consumer, Software as a Solution, anything that you may wind up pivoting toward. 

Find a position in a company that, preferably, isn’t in direct conflict with Sc(ai)le. For your conflicts, you know that Jenn still has love for you. It’s just currently buried under her interest in Bateman, your entanglement in the company, and the pile of money that that ultra-wealthy asshole is sitting on. 

Find somewhere that you can interview with soon that’ll be willing to wait for your contract to end. 

Is two weeks notice standard? Yes. 

Is it required? No. 

But you do not want to sign with a company that needs you tomorrow. Signing with Sc(ai)le was one thing, but signing with a company that you don’t already know the inner-workings of, or may not entirely agree with the direction of is something entirely different 

You’ll do your research and look for red flags during the interview process, but you can’t catch everything 

You leave the office with three prospective companies, one planned interview, and a helluva lot of determination. 

--  

He doesn’t ask about it right away. The little looks that he gives you should be clue enough—stray glances during the odd in-person meeting, the press of his lips into a purse as he watches you straighten yourself up or redress. But you should know better by now: he won’t ask the question when you’re ready for it. He waits until you’re off your game, at his side in a room full of colleagues and strangers: 

“You leaning more toward Dell or SituSpend?” 

It’s half-murmured in your ear, and shouldn’t be the slap that it is. With how well-connected Nathan is in the tech community, it’s no wonder that the fact you’re on the hunt for a new job has reached him. You manage to maintain your straight-face, something that you’ve practiced carefully over the last two and a half years, and clap genially as another agency goes up to the podium to accept an award for the most creative pitch of that year. 

“I’m not sure that’s an appropriate question, Mr. Bateman,” You mumble.

“We’ll save it for later, then.”

“There won’t be a later.” 

--  

There is a later. It comes up again as Nathan drapes himself across your naked, sweat-dewed body, nipping at an already tender mark on your hip. You’ve started to shake off the urge to cover yourself from him. He’s right—you don’t have anything he hasn’t seen. You take him in for a few moments, eyeing the shine of drying sweat on his face, and the flush of exertion that’s risen in his cheeks.

“So?” He asks.

“So, what?” 

“Dell? SituSpend?” 

“What’s it matter to you?” 

“It’s interesting, you know? Might help me work out where Jenn goes next.” 

“Now who’s using her as a shield?” 

“No shielding, just curiosity.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I know.” 

He lets your truths hang in the air, and he waits. You huff softly, knowing that he’ll keep pressing.

“I don’t know,” You admit. “Both seem pretty good, but, um…Leaning toward Situ, I guess.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s got more growth opportunity. Dell is good, but not what I’m looking for.” 

“What are you looking for?” 

“An environment that’s quieter than this.” 

“This job has given you everything you could want.” 

“That doesn’t mean I wanted it.” 

“So SituSpend.”

“Mhm.” 

“What do you gain, what do you lose?” 

“Why do you care?” 

“I don’t.” 

He doesn’t seem to even think as he answers; his gaze bores into yours as he waits. Then, seemingly unable to help himself: 

“I like to know where people go after me.” 

“I’m not going somewhere else after you. I’m going somewhere else after Jenn.” 

“You’re in Jenn’s company because of me. So?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek as you consider lying to him. Then you draw in a deep breath, clearing your throat. 

“SituSpend is still pretty contained,” You admit, “Minimized coverage.” 

“Doesn’t have anything to do with Jenn’s work.”

“That’s a pro.” 

“I thought so.” Nathan tips his chin toward you, nuzzling your belly. You can’t help but smile at the sensation as you smooth your hand over his head.

“You think you know me so well,” You tease.

“Better than you like to admit.” 

“Well what would you have me do, knowing what you know about how I feel about the place?” 

“You care about Sc(ai)le, and Jenn. You won’t let it fail while you’re attached to it.” 

“It’s only fair that I take care of it while I’m here, regardless of how I got here.” 

“Is that beyond Jenn?” 

“Yeah, it is. I don’t like doing a bad job.” 

“Would you do a bad job if you worked for me?” 

Your brow furrows; you push yourself up onto your elbows, trying to get a better look at him. He’s putting you on, isn’t he? He must be. 

“...Hypothetically, no.” 

“Hypothetically.” 

“Yeah.” 

“So if I hired you out from under Jenn’s thumb, brought you over to BlueBook, you’d do just as good a job?” 

It’s a trap. It has to be. Bateman wouldn’t try to bring you on to BlueBook. He knows your disdain for him, and your favor for Jenn. You can’t imagine her taking that well, especially considering your outright disinterest in working with him over the past three years, not to mention her move to bring him onto the board. 

“...Hypothetically,” You finally offer. “But I’d never join BlueBook.” 

“Why not?” 

“You know why.” 

“Say it.” 

You flounder. You can’t. Well, you can—you shouldn’t. 

“I’m not gonna fuck my boss,” You sputter.

“But you’ll fuck your banker?” 

“As it stands, right now, you are like, one level removed from the things that I do on a day to day basis.” 

“My name is on the checks.” 

“Jenn’s name is on my checks.” 

“Sure, but you and I both know who gave her that money.” He shifts, climbing over you and grasping your hands, drawing them up on either side of your head. “You’re living in a fantasy land, sweetheart.” 

“Okay, first of all, you are not our only backer—”

“Just your biggest one.” He punctuates it with a roll of his hips. 

“And the company is in the fuckin’ black now, alright? Maybe you got us started down the path, but we are working with more efficiency than we ever ha—” 

Your argument is silenced as Bateman’s lips press to yours. He spears his tongue past your parted lips, squeezing your hands and groaning as you struggle against him. You sag back against the pillows finally, pressing your chest up against his. Nathan hum, dipping his head and nuzzling roughly against your neck. 

“Come work for me.” 

“You’re crazy.” 

“What, you don’t think I could handle it? Huh?” He shakes one of his hands free from yours, snaking it between your body. You hiss as he cups between your legs. “Don’t think I could stay away from this cunt? You’re not as irresistible as you think.” 

“I’m not answering to you anymore,” You insist, even as your hips shift, your tender flesh chasing the heat of his palm.

“One year contract.” He nips your earlobe. “50% raise, 20% signing bonus.” 

“You think you can fuck me into working for you?” 

“I think,” He draws back to meet your eye. “That you’re more intrigued by the prospect than you’d like to admit. And I know—Ah ah ah, look at me,” He tsks, your eyelids fluttering as he eases his middle finger into your pussy. He raises his other hand, grasping your jaw to redirect your gaze to his. You swallow roughly, lips parting to draw in a greedy breath as he grinds his palm against your sensitive, throbbing clit. “I know that even if you really wanted to do it, you wouldn’t tell me, because you like pissing me off.” 

“When has my disposition ever impacted you?” You grit out. He huffs softly, shaking his head. 

“Don’t play dumb.” 

“You’ve never taken me into acc—ount,” Your breath hitches as his fingers scissor and curl. Nathan’s gaze sweeps across your face, tongue darting out to swipe across his lips. 

“If you really believe that, then you’re right,” He agrees. “You shouldn’t work for me.” He draws his fingers out, and you yelp as he lands a solid slap over your pussy. You scramble back, kicking a leg out to catch him as he slides off of the bed. He just chuckles and takes his clothes up, beginning to dress. 

“Think about it,” He adds, drawing his pants up over the swell of his ass and buttoning them up. “50% raise, 20% signing bonus.” 

“Position?” 

“Collab and Documentation, Knowledge Management.” 

“And how do I know this isn’t some fucking prank, something you’re offering to get your jollies off?” 

“You don’t.” 

You suck your cheeks in and bite down, eyes narrowing as Nathan picks his shirt up and draws it over his head. He pats his pockets down, then strolls over to where he kicked his shoes off. 

“You oughta know, though,” He adds, “This offer has an expiration date.” 

“Which is?”

“You have one month to decide.” 

Your gaze drops to the mussed bed sheets. One month. That’ll give you three weeks out from your official contract end with Sc(ai)le, and one week out from your yearly review with Jenn. 

“If I say yes?” 

“We’ll talk through whoever you’re ready to bring on.” 

“And if I say no?” 

“You’re dead to me.” 

You laugh at first, but it peters off as his brows raise. You’re not entirely sure that he’s kidding. 

“One month,” He repeats, raising a finger before drifting out of your hotel room. You slouch back, listening for the inevitable close of your door before you flop back completely. One month. One month? On the face of it, it seems like enough time. But you have work, and other responsibilities. You hardly have enough time to maintain your own personal life. To have this decision on top of it? Hell, you can’t imagine you’ll find the time. 

Best case scenario, the clock runs out on the offer before you have time to think about it. 

Worst case scenario, it occupies your attention to the point of complete distraction. 

--  

You try to compartmentalize. You block off time in your calendar specifically for this, separate from your meetings, to game it out. You look into market rates, whether or not Bateman would be paying you what you’re worth. The fact of the matter is, he’s offered you more than he ought to. He could always change his mind, of course—nothing’s been put on paper. 

You consider bringing it up to Jenn. It could be a mea culpa, an insistence that you’re coming around on Nathan. But you worry that Jenn may take it the wrong way, that it’ll seem less, I see it your way and more I’m jumping ship to join my archnemesis.

--  

“Do you have a minute?” 

“If this is about Nathan joining the board, I don’t think I do.” 

“It’s not,” You insist, shaking your head. Jenn’s lips press into a thin line before she nods, waving you in. You step inside, shutting the door behind yourself before you drift deeper inside. Jenn continues typing, glancing up at you every few moments before she finally pushes her keyboard back. 

“So, what’s up?” 

You clear your throat, bracing your hands on the back of the chair. 

“I., uh…You know that my contract is coming up soon.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I won’t be extending.” 

Jenn nods slowly, but says nothing. You clear your drying throat again, shifting on your feet.  

“I have a couple of offers, but one of them is…Supposedly,” Your hands flex on the back of the chair, “From BlueBook.” 

Jenn’s brow twitches, and your stomach flips. 

“BlueBook,” She repeats. 

“Yes.” 

“They contacted you?”

“Nathan issued it verbally, and I don’t have a history of…Trusting him. But,” You lean into it before Jenn can ague, “Over the past couple of years, I recognize that I…Perhaps haven’t given him the credit that I should’ve. He’s been good for the company, and he’s been good for your professional development…Even if he is a smug, snippy little jackass.” 

Jenn seems to smile in spite of herself, her gaze dropping to the desk as he nods. 

“So are you…Asking for me if you can go to BlueBook?” She hedges. 

“I mean I’m not coming to you with my permission slip, you’re not my mom. But, you know,” You step around the chair and settle down in it. “If I took a place at BlueBook, um…How would you feel?” 

“How would I ‘feel’?” Her brows inch up further. “Since when are you my therapist?” 

“Jenn,” You groan. “I know we haven’t been seeing eye to eye for a while, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re important to me…Or the fact that I know Bateman is important to you. I’m just…I don’t wanna step on any toes here.” 

Jenn nods, raising her hand to comb through her hair as she glances around. 

“Can I think about it?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, of course,” You nod, pushing yourself out of your chair. 

“Kay. Thanks for bringing this to my attention.” 

“Thanks for your time.” 

You make it all the way to the door, and have your hand on the knob when she pipes up: “Do you have any other offers?” 

“Uh…” You turn to face her. “Two, yeah.” 

“Okay. When do you need my answer by?” 

“Uh…” You wrack your mind, “End of week, if that’s workable?”

“Okay.” 

“Door open? Closed? 

“Open.” 

“Sure.” 

You leave the office with the door open, tucking your hands into your pockets as you head back to your office. In truth, you’d expected the conversation to have gone far worse than it had. You’d expected a snappy confrontation, but Jenn had presented you with a level-headed consideration. Maybe it was unfair of you to assume. You’re not the only one that’s grown during your time at Sc(ai)le. 

--  

Your going away party is a far larger send-off than you’d expected. You’d known that Jenn was planning something, but when you’d walked into your favorite restaurant and had been met with a raucous yell of, “Surpriiiiiise!”, you’d nearly shat your heart out. The invite list hadn’t included the entire company by any means, mostly the people that you’d worked with closely for the last three years. 

Maybe that’s why seeing Bateman among the crowd shouldn’t be quite as shocking as it is. 

He keeps catching your eye across the room, raising his brows or shooting you a wink now and again. You can’t help your swelling amusement, averting your eyes and turning away from him whenever you can. You keep your distance at first, but you can’t manage it all night. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

“I’m trying to.” 

“Ouch.” 

You roll your eyes openly, unable to stop the smile that blooms on your lips. You lean heavily against the bar, waiting as the bartender makes your drink. 

“Surprised you made it out,” You comment. 

“Well, Jenn promised a helluva party.” 

“Is it living up to your expectations?” 

“Eh,” Nathan shrugs, looking around. “It’s alright. I’ve been to better. Hell, I’ve thrown better.” 

“I’ll make sure to mention your kind words to her.” 

“Careful,” He chuckles. “Don’t wanna make an enemy of your boss.” 

“Jenn’s not my boss anymore.” 

“I meant me.” 

“That’s not for another couple of weeks.” 

“Hey, you signed the contract. I became your boss the second you did.” 

“Well. I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mm. I was thinking of inviting you over later.” 

“You still could.” 

“I told you, Bateman,” You lean in a little, your voice dipping to a murmur. “I’m not gonna fuck my boss.” 

Bateman’s cocky expression flickers, his tongue sweeping across his lower lip before he turns away, shooting the bartender a smile and ordering a beer. You reach out, taking your drink and sipping it. You fight back a shiver as Nathan shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. 

“Maybe I walk the whole boss thing back,” He offers, “For a couple of days.” 

“Oh?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Interesting.” 

“Maybe a week.” 

“A week,” You scoff a laugh. 

“Maybe.” 

“Jenn said you were heading back to your facility for tomorrow.” 

“I am.” 

You glance up at him, raising your brows when you find him watching you expectantly. 

“...No,” You shake your head. 

“You could.” 

“There are a lot of things I could do. I could jump off of a cliff, that doesn’t mean I’m going to.” 

“You’re such a fucking drama queen.” 

“I’m not going up there.” 

“Why not?” 

“For what? A bang trip?” 

“What else?"

“You want me to take a plane to see you for a bang trip.” 

“No. I want you to take a plane, a helicopter, and a hike for a bang trip.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Say yes.” 

“You think I’m that easy?” 

“I know you are.” 

You flash him an irritated glance. He just grins, raising his beer and taking a sip. 

“Watch it with that,” You warn. 

“Alright, alright,” Jenn’s voice breaks in behind you. “Whatever the conversation is, let’s put the gloves back on.” 

You shift, turning to face her with a small smile. 

“They were never off,” You insist. 

“We’re just having a friendly conversation,” Nathan adds. 

“What I just heard didn’t sound very friendly to me,” Jenn arches a brow, looking between the two of you. You shrug a little, glancing toward Nathan. 

“Well. We have different definitions on that score, I guess.” 

--  

“You gonna miss it?” Jenn nudges your shoulder with hers. You sway for emphasis before nudging her gently in turn. It’s nice and cool on the restaurant’s back patio. The sounds of the party drift out toward you. You peer down at the champagne flute in your hands. 

“I’m going to miss seeing you,” You offer, “And…You know, I’ll miss some of our other coworkers. But, um…Honestly, Jenn,” You laugh a little nervously. “I think we need the distance.” 

You can see Jenn nodding slowly out of the corner of your eye. 

“I know that Sc(ai)le wasn’t what you wanted, you know. Bateman backed you into a corner with me.” Jenn turns her head, smiling at you. “But I’ve appreciated your help.” 

You reach up, patting her cheek gently. 

“I’m still going to haunt the hell out of your office,” You warn. “And make sure you’re eating lunch.” 

Jenn chuckles, nodding. 

“You better.”  

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