a. wake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nonfictional) wrote2024-10-01 03:04 pm
nonfictional) wrote2024-10-01 03:04 pm
Spring, 1998.
Nᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ
Bᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ
♫
Nᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ
Bᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ
♫
—moon, a hole of light
She doesn't even mind the huge hollow building, the way every step echoes and the elevators sit, empty and expectant. The human force that churns this place into life is gone, but there's something patient in it, as if the bricks and metal know that, come morning, these halls will be filled, phones will ring, deals will be made and broken and argued over.
It's not the lateness that bothers her, it's the knowledge that as soon as she steps outside, the light will go from dim to dark, and she'll suddenly feel small, a breathless, petrified thing hiding from an encroaching shadow, like a mouse in a cornfield.
Putting it off won't help, but it's such a human thing to do, to grasp at a chance to put off the inevitable. So when she finally comes down and into the yawning openness of the lobby and sees the night watchman there at his desk, she angles her steps toward him instead of to the door. ]
Somehow I always forget I'm not actually the last one here.
[ She re-settles the strap of her bag on her shoulder as she comes to the desk; as she smiles at him. It crinkles up the corners of her eyes, warm. ]
It's Alan, right?
no subject
The second best part about the job is the blonde. She walks by his desk exactly three hours after he starts his shift, every day, always giving him a quick glance. Alan's not exactly a smiley individual, but he can't help reciprocating.
She's beautiful, for one. Classically so, but never coming across as above it all. There's a grounding sense to her, or maybe he's just reading too much into it--all he knows is that for the months since he's been working here, Alan has begun writing her into his stories.
Little things, of course--her hair colour. The way she smiles. The scent of her perfume he catches on occasion that makes his knees a little weak like he's a kid with a first crush. Alan's always been driven to think of nothing but his work, passionate about writing, and the last thing he wants to do is bother her or be some sort of pest. So he's content from watching from afar, for the most part.
It's when she decides to speak to him that he's a little thrown off. It's a pleasant kind of thing this time, feeling off-guard and imbalanced in a delightful way. He sets the pen down here he'd been writing in his notebook, offering a winning smile. She's approaching him. This is great. This is more than great--this is fantastic. This is an opening. ]
Here until 6AM. Yeah--Alan.
[ Now's his chance. He reaches out to shake her hand. ]
You're Alice. Burning the midnight oil?
no subject
She'd just been making an excuse to keep from going out into the dark, but as he smiles at her and shakes her hand, she has to admit this was well worth the detour. ]
Something like that... it's okay, though. Honestly, I get more done after everyone else has gone home, you know?
[ She's walked by him dozens of times, and almost every time, he's been bent over the desk, his hand moving over something she couldn't see. The image stays with her on her way home; more than once she's considered bringing in her camera, talking a photo of him there, tucked away behind a desk in the silent lobby, his head down. It niggles at her, the desire to capture the tension between the empty lobby and the darkness outside and the way he ignores it to focus on whatever it is he's creating, sitting there in the puddle of light that's all that's available from the building's energy-saving measures..
She casts a glance at the desk now — huh. A notebook. Looks like he's been using it for a while, based on where he's at in the pages, filling it up with longhand writing. ]
What're you working on?
no subject
Alan's heart skips a beat as he realizes the last time he's felt this strongly about a woman was his very first crush. He didn't know what to do. He still doesn't, but while that feeling is coming back full force it's being knocked aside by sheer force of will and Alan's alarming amount of confidence.
He'll make it work. ]
I'm a writer. [ He leans back, taking the beat up notebook in one hand, half-waving it. ] Keeps me occupied.
[ A beat. This is his opening, isn't it? A chance to get to know her a little more, even if this is just mild conversation. ]
Is that a new jacket?
no subject
[ But he keeps going — probably finely tuned to the many usual questions people ask someone who says they're a writer (what do you write? have you sold anything? fiction or nonfiction?) — which is fine; understandable, even. It's what he says that has her eyebrows flickering upward and slightly in toward each other. Alice tips her head, inclining it slightly to the side like a curious dog as her lips twitch towards something that's either a smile or a bemused frown without landing on either. ]
Are you keeping track of what I wear?
[ Is that creepy, or is it flattering? She thinks it over for a moment before tentatively settling on the latter. The guy sits here all alone all night long, maybe it's not so surprising he keeps an eye on the few people he sees regularly.
She glances down at the jacket she'd picked for today, then back up at him. That tug at the corner of her lips quirks a little more strongly in the direction of a smile. ]
Not new. Just haven't had a chance to wear it since last year.
[ She lifts her eyebrows at him again, this time lightly teasing. ]
You like it?
no subject
It looks good on you. [ Anything looks good on her. Alan's smart enough to keep that thought to himself, though, and leans over just a little too far on his elbows from his desk, closer to her. ]
Hey, I know this is sudden, but I was wondering if you were--
[ The lights flicker. Alan looks up and at the bulbs just in time for the whole building to be plunged in darkness. ]
no subject
Her harsh, indrawn gasp of fear sounds too loud; so does her pulse, hammering frantically in her ears. She can't move, she can't— the darkness has her by the throat with velvet fingers, and terrifying in its blankness. She can almost feel it gathering itself behind her, around her, a maw like a black hole yawning open to swallow her whole. Her breathing picks up, shallow and rapid and easily audible in the dark.
A frantic thought beats at the back of her head, at the place where her brain has frozen in fright: she's not alone. No matter how it feels, she's not alone.
Her voice is higher than before, breathless. She's petrified; even this one word wavers as she gasps it out into the gathering shadows. ]
Alan?
no subject
Hey. I'm here-- [ because he is, grabbing a flashlight from his desk, switching it on with a practiced click, opening the little booth to step out and round the corner towards her. ]
It's a power outage, I think.
[ The light illuminates her, and Alan unconsciously moves forward, stepping into her personal space to reach out. He touches her lightly, fingers brushing against her wrist. ]
You okay?
no subject
— and then there's a rustling sound and a click and light floods out of the little booth. A flashlight. He has a flashlight. ]
Yeah.
[ It's certainly a power outage; one quick glance at the windows is all she needs to know that. It's liquid black out there, not a hint of light. She shivers and moves a little closer to Alan as he comes around the corner of the booth. His fingers slide against her wrist, and it's nice, it's good, it grounds her in herself, and she takes a deep, shaky breath. ]
I'm better, now. The flashlight helps.
[ She tries for a smile, but it comes out unsteady and nowhere near her eyes. ]
I know it probably seems silly, but... I've always been afraid of the dark.
no subject
[ Alice's smile is there, sure, but even with the long shadows across her face it's clear to Alan that it doesn't reach her face. It's a pity - she has one of the nicest smiles Alan's ever seen. What she needs, he thinks, is comfort. It's a good front, a brave front, and one he wants to respect so Alan keeps his smile soft and eyes warm. ]
Um---here. [ He slides his hand down to grab at her hand, opening it, pressing the flashlight in it for her. ] There's another one in the booth. Lets get you sitting and away from the big shadows, yeah?
[ Alice isn't an invalid, but Alan leads her if she needs it, hand protectively curling between her shoulders as he ushers her into the little booth. There's a camping light, too, because power outages have been plaguing them for a while. ]
You're okay.
no subject
She's aware, with a sense of perfect clarity, of how pathetic this could look. She isn't a child; she should play it cool. ]
Wow, you take this whole 'guard' role very seriously, huh?
[ But her the way her hand shakes, sending the light that beams from the flashlight scattering over the wall and floor in an erratic glow, like someone sped the moon up by about a thousand, makes her attempt at lighthearted teasing a lie. He guides her around and into the little booth and she sits without argument, her pulse still rattling in her veins; too fast, too fast. She looks up at him, the light casting his features into a harsh mask of themselves, like they're telling scary stories around a campfire.
But he doesn't look scary. He looks like a hero. ]
This is really nice of you.
[ He certainly hadn't had to do any of this, hadn't had to give her the flashlight she's still holding onto too tightly. ]
Sorry to take your seat.