Work Text:
The employees of O&D always came to Burt for guidance; where to put whatever tool, how to do whatever task, the name of a painting… But what did Burt truly know?
He knew the outside world in theory. He knew what existed out there, but he hadn’t experienced how it all really was. The realisation came when he talked to Irving, that he did not know anything at all. The ideal small talk might have begun with asking how he was doing. Then, a mention of the weather, and how his night went when he came home from work the night before. Did he have a nice dinner? Did he ever get to finish that book he had wanted to read? He wanted to know more about him, but when he opened his mouth for a question to ask, he realised that Irving B. wouldn’t know the answers to them, either. They had a small existence, in such a vast office, and in an even bigger world.
They would lean against the table of O&D. A lot of the time, that was enough for them. Just talking. Those were their favourite minutes.
His shirt was neatly ironed and tucked into his slacks. His navy tie hung from his neck, the knot created with practiced hands. That was the Irving he knew; the perfect image of the model employee.
But when he laughed and looked downwards, there was a trace of someone. A deep purple mark of someone’s passionate kiss, placed upon the skin of the right side near the back of his neck, barely below the line of his collar. Burt wasn’t stupid, nor did he think that he was very delusional. It wasn’t any of his business, what Irving did.
“Irving,” he said, pointing at his own neck, his fingertips tickling him. “You should be careful. Wouldn’t want you getting in trouble.”
Irving looked confused, placing a hand over his collarbone with a fearful gulp. “What is it?”
“You have… You have a bruise,” he whispered, leaning a little closer to Irving’s ear.
“Oh?” Burt watched the realization dawn on his face. “Oh… Oh- Really?” He panicked, trying to look down at it, but it was out of his line of sight.
“My, I- I- I- But… I’ve–” he struggled to speak, face turning bright red. “This isn’t- I didn’t do anythi–”
“Irving,” Burt calmed him down with a weak chuckle. “I know.”
Irving had looked as if his whole world came crumbling around him. There was fear and panic in his eyes. As if Burt could have ever lost his fondness of him. It wasn’t his right to be upset over what Irving did. His outie or his innie. He wasn’t his to control – his outie wasn’t even Irving’s to control. But he wanted to at least-
Irving was looking at him, with the devastation of his betrayal. He would be torturing himself with this feeling once he returned to his desk, his distant gaze blankly scanning the screen. His coworkers would be whispering amongst themselves by the kitchenette, wondering what had happened. Burt smiled, as kindly as he could, to show him that it was alright. It must be alright. If it weren’t for Irving’s tense nature, he may have even been fascinated by the glimpse into another life of his. If Irving wasn’t Irving, Burt may have teased him a little. But the man only cared about two things, and both belonged on this floor. Burt wouldn’t change that about him at all.
There were so many words that had gone unsaid between them, stored safely in their respective minds, as if not acknowledging it may erase it.
“It’s perplexing,” Irving broke the silence with a sigh. “How distant it all feels. It’s on my body, but it’s not. Does that-”
“I understand.” And he did.
Sometimes when Burt stepped out of the elevator in the morning, he would notice something. There would be a feeling of absence on a part of his body. Around his left ring finger, he would feel an old pressure of a ring that had been worn all day. In the summer he would be sweating where the band would have been. There was the lingering feeling of someone’s love for him every morning – and it felt alien.
Perhaps he always knew someone was there for him, too, but it was a distant person, through multiple layers of fog that will never clear.
Irving is by the book. If he told him, he would surely not think it appropriate to spend time together. He doesn’t really agree. That’s his outie’s husband. Isn’t he? Burt knows nothing about him, and he knows nothing about Burt either. Perhaps that made him selfish.
Besides, it might not be a wedding ring. He didn’t know how much he believed that.
“I’ll walk you back to MDR. I’ve got a painting to replace in your direction.”
“Oh, thank you.”
His outie had a ring. A reminder that he cares for someone and how they care for him in return. He shares a space with someone he feels safe with, and is held when he wants an arm around him. He kisses someone good morning, good bye and good night. He shares all the wonderful and the terrible with another shoulder.
Irving’s outie had someone who made him feel deeply wanted. Deeply needed.
Does the Irving beside him feel any of that intensity with him?
“Here,” Burt said, snapping out of it. It was a tall canvas. He sighed as he stepped closer, lifting one side of the painting, reaching for the other, and not finding the end of the frame. Wordlessly, Irving stepped beside him, and lifted the other side.
“It will be easier if I helped,” he smiled worriedly.
“Thank you.”
It was easier with another pair of hands, lifting a painting in its frame that would be a little too large to carry by himself, and unkind to his knees. When Irving whispered a count of when to lift, he looked across the artwork to him with thanks.
“You know what troubles me?” Burt asked when they took a moment before they continued their journey to MDR.
“Troubles you?” Irving furrowed his brow, turning his body towards him as his hands remained clasped behind his back.
“You help me so often, but I haven’t been able to do the same for you, with any of your work.”
“Well,” Irving chuckled, head swinging away, shyly. “My line of work is quite individual. There isn’t much for me to ask help for.”
Burt hummed in thought, glancing up at the painting. “Perhaps I could cheer you on, then,” he said. ‘For all your future endeavors, too.’
“I would appreciate it very much,” Irving laughed, his head tilting back. Burt admired how it warmed the hallway that had rows of bright fluorescent lights.
When they resumed their walk, and the distance between them and their destination became shorter and shorter, Burt began to fall behind in thought, which Irving quickly noticed, as it was rare for him. He glanced behind to look at him, slowing his pace to match Burt’s.
‘What did he have?’ The question made his feet heavy.
It took them everything to brush the tips of their fingers against the other’s hand. Irving always looked like he could lose consciousness if he kept his hand anywhere around his. Just the intimate air between them was enough. Anything more could very well kill him. It was part of what made him so sweet; a small gesture could mean the world to him.
Even if Irving became used to their touches, what can colleagues do? He had very few to give him and very few things to do. No one would know that they care for each other when the hour was done – not even them.
“You’re always so kind. I appreciate that you take time out of your day to be with me,” Irving broke the solemn silence.
“No, thank you for being here,” Burt made the effort to make his eyes kind, to not burden him with his own questions.
Irving; how he'd freeze and tremble if he’d cup his face with his hands.
“It’s rare that you walk this far with me,” Irving commented, having let the peace between them sit.
“My job doesn’t lead me here very often, unfortunately. Besides,” Burt frowned. “I don’t think some of your colleagues would appreciate me being around.”
Irving hummed in agreement, a sound that would have been pleasant if it was not the reluctant admittance that he was not welcome. He knew, or tried to understand, that one MDR member’s animosity towards him was for their colleague’s safety. Though, he must know that there was very little energy and power left in Burt to attack anyone. Not to mention that he didn’t have it in him to harm Irving at all.
“I think I should stop here,” Burt said as he came to a halt at the last corner. The rattling of the frames and the squeaking wheels of the cart fell away, and only left the sound of Irving’s shoes scraping on the floor as he turned around. He worriedly glanced at the doorway of his office.
“I think you’re right.”
“You ought to go back before you upset the others. I fear it’s a little later than usual.”
“Oh, is it?” There was so much disappointment in those three words. Burt caught how his own shoulder dropped at the goodbye, as did Irving’s.
“Safe travels, MDR,” he said.
“It’s only a few steps away,” Irving’s quiet, amused giggle still filled the twisting corner, possibly reaching his colleagues.
“Well, you never know.”
Though the door was close, and Irving must have understood the need for him to return to his own work, he hesitated to turn the corner. His eyes scanned the floor from one end to another rapidly, as his feet stayed planted.
“If it were… If it were up to me…” Irving trailed off, tender fingers brushing across his neck. But he never finished his sentence. He never met Burt’s eyes. “I forgot what I was about to say,” Irving smiled as he lied, but Burt didn’t mind.
“You’re getting forgetful, old man,” he teased instead. “We wouldn’t want you to forget any more than what you already have.”
“Yes, I- ” Irving nodded repeatedly, body slowly turning away towards his way back. “I’m sure it’ll come back to me. Bye,” he raised a hand to wave before he quickly shuffled to the door, head hung. Burt caught a glance at his ears, turned pink by his blushing.
Irving’s next visit came as a surprise, having been around half an hour earlier than when he would usually peek his head through the door. Burt called his name in surprise, as Irving nervously stepped forward. “Am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all,” Burt shook his head. He put the pen down on the counter with a clang. “You’re here early today.”
“I reached my goal for the morning earlier than I thought I would, I thought I’d drop by early, to make use of the time.” He spoke with speed, and it told Burt that this was a rehearsed explanation.
“Wonderful. And it's great to be able to keep you for longer. Come, pull up a chair.” His words made Irving look down to conceal his smile. Irving brought a stool from another counter to sit beside him. He left a respectable distance, enough to feel each other’s presence even with their eyes closed—but not to touch.
Burt explained what he had been doing. He had been making new labels to replace the old ones on the drawers that had become too old to read. “I thought I’d make things smoother to operate around here.”
“Your care for detail is admirable,” Irving said softly, leaning slightly in to look at the stickers that Burt had written on.
“It’s really for me,” Burt let out an amused exhale through his nose. He adjusted his reading glasses, pushing it up by the bridge.
“Still! I commend you.”
When Burt turned to Irving to thank him, he noticed a bag that he knew well, sitting on Irving's lap. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, and the change in expression wasn’t lost on the man beside him. “I’m still very thankful about the totes,” he said, lifting it slightly to show it to him. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Burt shrugged, to tell him to not give it a second thought. He only used it as an excuse to see him, and it was nothing to be thanked for. “I don’t have anything to give you,” Irving frowned. His cocked head inquired what he would like, but Burt kept his lips sealed. “I don’t have…” Irving mumbled again, defeated.
“You’re here now – your gift of your precious time and company.”
Irving looked down, but sitting beside him, Burt was able to see his wide eyed panic as he adjusted his collar with fidgeting fingers. Stupidly, he admitted further, “And just when I was thinking that I wish I could spend more time with you.”
“Well that’s- ” Irving stammered, which had become a little sign for Burt, that he had been letting his intentions known well. “This is something for us to look forward to, isn’t it?”
“For us to be ever merry,” Burt referenced the handbook—if it’s according to the words of Kier, it couldn’t be so inappropriate to spend time together.
Indeed, this would keep them merry. It would increase motivation. But Burt—and surely Irving too—had objections on just how they were able to spend their time. It was a blessing, he recognised. He had co-workers shielded behind a door in another room while he could talk to someone from another department. Someone he greatly enjoyed being with, even.
But if given the chance, he would have chosen something better than walking the same plain hallway and sitting together discussing the same few topics.
“But we could be reprimanded for the poor use of our time. Less talking, more working.”
“Well, I’m working,” Burt joked, nodding his head to gesture at the labels he had been writing on.
Irving laughed too, looking up at the clock on the wall. He fidgeted with the buttons on the collar point, pulling it closer to the center, making the shirt hug his neck tighter. “I’ve finished what I set out to do already, so I’m already done.”
“That will make me the slacker, won't it? Talking to you.”
Irving rested his arms on the tabletop, pressing down on his palm with his thumb. “Well, I’ll get told off too, if you are.” Irving looks alright at the thought. The idea of landing in trouble was not as nauseating or harrowing, if it was the two of them together.
They could do anything together, and it would be time well-spent. They knew that – but what anything was there? Burt felt himself fall pessimistic, against his usual self, simply by the idea of the other options.
Irving was self-conscious about hiding the mark on his neck from yesterday – that was why. Burt rubbed away at the old lingering feeling around his ring finger. How strange, to find something to be upset about that wasn’t an impossible deadline or broken equipment. They had never experienced that happiness of receiving them, but they were left with the consequences of it, after the joy had been enjoyed and sucked out by their other selves. They had their happiness here sacrificed for something they never get to feel.
“No matter,” he mumbled to himself.
“Pardon?” Irving asked, to no answer.
He didn’t know what it was like to have a stroll in the park, or sit down for a drink at a cafe, to take a photograph of a stray cat to show people, or to give someone flowers that remind him of them. He had to believe that they were not as good as he thought they were. Or he might have even scoffed at the idea of finding happiness solely on the severed floor, and he could not do that, when happiness was there beside him.
“Isn’t it wonderful to be able to sit like this in peace?” Burt sighed, his shoulders falling with the slow exhale. He turned his attention back to his work to hide his emotions. He picked up the pen again, finishing the word he had been writing.
Irving agreed, of course. “It is. As restorative as the wellness sessions. Even more, in my opinion.”
“Even more?” Burt smiled. And though he thought it was disguised well, in the relatively shorter time that they’ve known each other, Irving had picked up on what to look out for to know when Burt wasn’t himself.
“Is something the matter?” Irving asked, voice dripped with worry, as his hand reached to anxiously rub at his own cheek.
Their eyes met.
His brows were furrowed, having rarely seen Burt upset. He tilted his head, flashing him a kind smile. “I hope you find it as healing as I do.”
Healing. What a beautiful word to call this.
Burt set the pen down quietly, and turned his body in his chair to face him. Though not understanding the reason, Irving mirrored him without thinking, his hand gripping onto the edge of the seat cushion.
He had innocent eyes. He had a pure passion for their work. He was adorable when he shimmied his shoulders sometimes when he made a joke. His presence was incredibly healing.
Burt wanted to spend time with him, without having to worry about the mark, or the ring. The quota, the bosses, the cameras spotted every now and then in the hallway. Something drew him to Irving. Burt pulled his chair in, closing in on that few inches of space, until their knees touched.
“I do,” he replied.
“Then what’s-” Irving stopped himself from asking further, his smile faded, suddenly frozen by the heavy eye contact. He picked at his nail once, before balling his hands into a fist on his lap, reminded that he shouldn’t. His lips tightened together. Burt leaned in slightly, and found himself reflected in the deep brown of his eyes.
The clock on the wall ticked, and it was the only sound in the room until Burt broke the silence. “May I…?” The question was faintly spoken, the raspiness of his voice scratching the air. Irving nodded stiffly. Burt knew better than to think that the clenching of his jaw was from unenthusiasm or disgust.
He brushed the back of his index finger along Irving’s cheek, grazing it downwards.
Irving opened and closed his mouth, grasping for a word. A response. His eyes were transfixed on Burt’s, stuck in a state of surprise that made his eyes widen, holding stars in them.
“I- “ Irving stuttered, and lost his words again. But what he could not say, he showed. Burt could feel the distance closing in, breath by shaking breath, as Irving leaned ever so slightly into him. But there was still the shy hesitance that showed he was trying very hard to move the smallest inch.
Burt quickly moved his finger away from him, as if he had burnt himself on his cheek. It still lingered in the air, inches away from Irving’s skin, where a slight sway will have them brushing against each other again. There was a line of what was appropriate workplace conduct. He ought to not cross it in public, at least.
“Something. On your face.” It was Burt’s turn to lie.
“Oh,” Irving suddenly looked embarrassed, becoming aware of himself. “Thank you.” He straightened his jacket, using the hem to pull it down as he whipped around in his chair to turn forward again. He cleared his throat nervously, eyes glued to the shadow cast on the table. His eyes speak twice as much, Burt thought.
But the quiet never lasted long there, where the people were sent to work.
“Irving B.! There you are! A surprise to see you here. So early, anyway.”
Their attention turned to the interrupting voice from the door. Milchick had been standing in the hallway, with an overly friendly look in his eye. His hands gripped around the handlebars of his cart, the contents of which were out of view. Irving stood up to say hello.
“Mr. Milchick,” he said, with a twinge of nervousness underneath.
“I didn’t expect to… See you here,” Burt added, folding his reading glasses away to tuck into his breast pocket.
Milchick shrugged, turning his body to the two of them. “From one place to another. There’s so much to do, I have to keep moving today.” They had not noticed when he turned the corner to walk down their hallway, that they wondered from when Milchick had been there.
Burt glanced up at Irving, who showed the concern much more visibly.
“But, Irving, I came to pick you up. Dylan reached a milestone on his file. We’re celebrating his progress with a little something.”
“Oh,” Irving muttered, glancing down at Burt, disappointed that their time would be cut short. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Come along with me.” Milchick invited him, but his voice was firm, offering no option to decline. “We can’t let Dylan wait, can we?” His voice shifted back into a familiar tone, flashing his teeth as he smiled.
Irving swallowed, looking apologetically down at Burt, who had no option but to smile encouragingly. “Have fun,” he said, already missing him.
“I’ll- I’ll try to come back,” Irving whispered, before he scurried to walk beside Milchick, who had been watching their goodbye with a sharp eye and an unmoving smile.
And Burt was left alone, to write things down again. It couldn’t have been any more than seven minutes of him and Irving together, and it felt like three.
Irving did not return that day.
He saw him again, the very next morning, however. “How are you?” he asked the only question that Irving could answer.
“Very well. Even better now, thank you,” he smiled.
“I hope you won’t be stolen from me again.”
“I worked twice as hard yesterday, so I can stay for longer, this time,” Irving smiled proudly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come back. But it was for today.”
First name Irving, last name initial, B. He was in Macrodata Refinement, working in an office a four minute walk from his. He was younger, though the exact number was unknown. He was a fellow lover of Kier, and his newest favourite artwork was The Discipline, hung between the third and fourth corner from O&D’s door, on the way to MDR. He was an incredible employee and a hard worker. He was shy, but smiled often and beautifully. There was so much that Burt knew, but there were plenty that were unknown, and he would never learn. They could have all the time in the world and it would not have changed that fact.
Burt smiled at Irving’s reply.
He was worth the mystery.