The balloon had a bright red color. Shiny surface caught the light. Because it dangled from Arthur Penn's chair arm, which fit his posture just right. Arthur stood by the doorway, eyes locked on it. The thing floated slightly in the cool breeze, like it was laughing at him. Glitter glue bright, wavy letters spelled out CONGRATS across its shiny side. Arthur noticed a small jerk starting under his left eye. "It destroys the visual symmetry of the aisle," he muttered to himself. "It introduces a variable of chaos." He headed to his desk, set the briefcase down just right exactly how he liked it, then pulled out tiny scissors from inside. Without hesitation, he cut through the ribbon cleanly. Slowly, the balloon floated up, ending near the top alongside floating specks of dust. Arthur took a seat. Then he breathed out. The office seemed off today. Normally, quiet ruled, everyone looked down, lost in stacks of old reports. Not now. It was as if the whole space had turned into a set, everyone playing parts without knowing the script.
Mrs. Higgins, who works at the front desk, passed nearby, she flashed a quick thumbs-up his way. Dave from Accounting strolled by, gave a quick wink. Even the cleaner, someone who barely talked except to his mop gave Arthur a nod, then tapped his ring finger. Arthur glanced at his hand. The metal ring weighed it down, almost like cold chains dragging through water. He checked his mailbox. Inside, where it's normally bare aside from job stuff, everything was packed.
Subject: Wedding Registry?
Subject: Bachelor Party Ideas (Vegas?!)
Subject: So Happy for You!!!
Arthur shut his eyes. Because he wanted tea. Yet quiet felt just as urgent. While reaching out to the one who shared this mess seemed unavoidable. He grabbed his phone. Because he'd stored Cleo's number as: Asset: Moss.
To: Asset: Moss
See you at half past five. Spot's The Hourglass Café on 4th Street. Grab a notebook before coming; we've got to lay down how things work.
From: Asset: Moss
Got it. Is it okay if I use earphones? It's super noisy here right now. Folks won't stop wondering whether I'm expecting a baby. Seems like everyone thinks that's why couples rush into marriage.
Arthur shuddered.
To: Asset: Moss
Negative about the headphones. Got tasks piling up. With your dad showing up soon, things could get messy. The Hourglass Café? That's where Arthur always wound up. Not many folks came here that's what made it perfect for him. Old Mr. Cobb ran the place; he had this thing for ancient wall clocks. Every inch of the walls held one a cuckoo, a swaying pendulum, sea-weathered timepieces from old ships. The air carried a mix of burnt coffee and sharp lemon wax. Yet what stood out wasn't the scent - it was the noise.
Hundreds of timepieces clicking at once, wild but somehow steady. Most found it unbearable. For Arthur, though, it blocked out life's messy human chaos. Arthur took seat 4 the spot near the entrance, away from cold air. He'd set things up already: Earl Grey in two mugs, one waiting for Cleo. Index cards piled neatly beside a new notebook, its cover made of soft leather. At 5:32 PM, the doorbell sounded.
Cleo Vance entered. She seemed more clumsy than sneaky, like someone pretending to be a secret agent. The oversized trench coat she wore was cinched awkwardly around her hoodie. As she stepped inside, her gaze darted across the space. A wave of noise smacked her, her eyes jumped open wide. She twitched. Her eyes jumped from the clocks to Arthur. Moving fast, she reached the table, slid into the seat like something was chasing her.
"It sounds like a bomb factory in here," she whispered, clutching her tote bag.
"It is the sound of order," Arthur corrected. "It is consistent. Unlike the office."
"The office was a nightmare," Cleo said, her voice trembling. "Linda from the cafeteria asked to see pictures of us. She wanted to see 'couple selfies.' I told her my phone camera was broken."
"Good improvisation," Arthur nodded. "But unsustainable. If we are to survive 364 more days, and specifically, if we are to survive your father this weekend, we need a system."
He slid the worn notebook across to her.
"The Marriage Manual," Arthur declared.
Cleo looked at the book. "You want to write a user manual for our relationship?"
"Precisely," Arthur said. "We are two incompatible systems attempting to interface. Without a protocol, we will crash. I have taken the liberty of drafting the Table of Contents."
Cleo flipped open the pages. Her brother's scrip tight, jagged, yet oddly neat stared back at her.
Section 1: Public Conduct & Physical Proximity
Section 2: Data Synchronization (Backstory)
Section 3: Crisis Management (Family)
Section 4: Termination Clauses
Cleo grabbed a pen from her bag "Alright," she said. The pen sparkled, bright purple, one of those smooth-writing ones. Arthur gave it a side glance, didn't comment though. "First up, the dad situation." His visit lands this Saturday
"Saturday," Arthur repeated. "That gives us four days to prepare. Tell me about the target."
Cleo dropped into her chair. As she sat, her hands tore at a napkin small pieces piling up. A quiet jitter ran through her fingers.
"His name is Professor Liam Vance," she said. "He's a botanist. A leading expert in aggressive plant adaptations. He's efficient. He believes that if you aren't optimizing your life, you are wasting oxygen."
"He sounds intense," Arthur noted.
"He hates mediocrity," Cleo said. "When I told him I was working in the basement of an archive, he called it 'stagnation.' He wants me to be a research fellow at a university. He thinks I'm wasting my potential."
"And now," Arthur deduced, "you have told him you are marrying a man he has never met."
"He thinks you're a distraction," Cleo said, looking down at her tea. "He thinks I'm throwing my life away for some guy. He's coming to inspect you."
"Inspect me?" Arthur straightened his tie. "Like a specimen?"
"Basically. He's going to quiz you. He's going to judge your career, your ambition, your genetics."
Arthur's gut tightened, icy. His job? Bringing worn-out paper back to life. The past pulled him forward - never what came next. To someone always chasing efficiency, he'd seem like something dug up from an attic.
"We need a strategy," Arthur said, tapping his pen on the table. "We cannot change who I am. I am a man of precision, not ambition. However, we can frame my existence in a way that appeals to a scientific mind."
"How?" Cleo asked.
"We present our union not as a passionate, chaotic romance," Arthur said, "but as a symbiotic partnership. A logical alliance for mutual benefit."
"He might respect that," Cleo nodded slowly. "He likes symbiosis. Like lichen. Algae and fungus working together."
"Exactly," Arthur said. "I am the algae. You are the fungus."
"That sounds romantic," Cleo deadpanned.
"It is functional," Arthur said. "Now, write this down. Rule 14: In the presence of Professor Vance, we emphasize stability and logic over emotion."
Cleo jotted it using purple ink.
"Now," Arthur said, flipping a page. "We need to synchronize our databases. If he asks me about you, or you about me, we cannot hesitate. Hesitation implies deception."
Arthur pulled out a bunch of index cards from his pocket.
"I have prepared a dossier on myself," he said, sliding a card across the table. "Memorize it."
Cleo grabbed it right away.
SUBJECT: ARTHUR PENN
D.O.B.: 14th of March. Yep, that's Pi Day.
Allergies: dust mites - go figure - shellfish, or penicillin.
Routine: Up by 6:30 AM. Sips tea around seven. Heads out by half past, usually on foot.
Hobbies: fixing clocks, mixing tea blends, also enjoys quiet moments.
Dislikes: Sudden bangs or claps that startle, sticky tables you can't touch without grimacing, instant shock moments outta nowhere, rude eaters spilling bits while chewing wide open.
avorite color? Beige, Pantone 14-1118, to be exact.
Cleo looked at the card. Her eyes narrowed, beige? That's what you pick?
"It is a soothing, neutral tone," Arthur defended. "Now, you. I need your data."
Cleo picked up an empty card, then began scribbling. As she gnawed the tip of her pen, ideas slowly came.
Alright," she said while passing it across.
Arthur fixed his glasses, then started reading.
SUBJECT: CLEO VANCE
D.O.B.: 31st of October - same day as Halloween.
Allergies: sunlight, well, not exactly, but skin burns fast when outside. Plus, dealing with people? Tough. Not a fan of chatting much.
Routine: Get up fast once that loud alarm goes off. Sip coffee, bitter, thick stuff. Ride to work with steady rain noise in my ears. Sit at a dim desk doing tasks.
Hobbies: studying mushrooms, also into making terrariums, plus I like reading manga.
Hates glare, big groups, loud sounds, also can't stand how velvet feels.
Favorite hue? Moss green, it just works.
Halloween," Arthur said. Seems right
"Pi Day," Cleo countered. "Predictable."
"We have four days," Arthur said. "I will quiz you every day at lunch. You must know my tea order. You must know the name of my cat."
"You have a cat?" Cleo looked up, surprised. "I thought animals were messy."
"His name is Archimedes," Arthur said, a rare softness entering his voice. "He is a rescue. He is old. He sleeps twenty hours a day and grooms himself obsessively. He is a clean variable."
"I like cats," Cleo smiled. "Can I meet him?"
"Rule Number 2," Arthur pointed to the book. "No entering each other's apartments."
"Yeah," Cleo dropped down. "Any exceptions?"
"Only in emergencies," Arthur said. "Or if your father insists on seeing where we live."
They both froze.
"Oh no," Cleo whispered. "He's definitely going to want to see where we live."
Arthur glanced at the café walls. Time pieces clicked harder than before. Fear hit him fast, sharp, heavy. His breath froze. No escape. His place felt like a display room. Just one seat inside it. No warmth from someone else around. Kinda gave off vibes of a murderer fixated on clocks. Cleo's place, though? He pictured a musty hole packed with mold plus leftover containers.
"We need to sanitize the environments," Arthur said, his voice rising an octave. "If he visits my home, he will see I live alone. If he visits yours, he will think you live in a compost heap."
"Hey!" Cleo protested. "It's a controlled ecosystem!"
"We need to stage the sets," Arthur said, standing up. He couldn't sit still anymore. "We need to buy couple things."
"Couple things?"
"Toothbrushes," Arthur listed, counting on his fingers. "Matching mugs. A throw blanket. Maybe a photograph of us together."
"A photograph," Cleo groaned. "We don't have any."
"Then we must manufacture one," Arthur said. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"To the park," Arthur said. "It is golden hour. The lighting is optimal for a deceptive selfie."
The park felt quieter all of a sudden. As daylight faded, golden light spilled across rooftops and streets. Could've been nice except Arthur was busy wiping his phone's camera with a damp cloth.
Stay right there," Arthur said, jabbing a finger at the patch beneath the cherry tree. "That greenery hints at slow days."
Cleo moved into place, slow and quiet. As if she were standing before a line of soldiers ready to shoot.
"Closer," Arthur said.
Cleo moved just a tiny bit closer, shifting slowly in his direction.
"We need to appear as if we tolerate each other's physical presence," Arthur sighed. "We must touch."
Cleo breathed in slow. "Alright. Side by side?"
"Shoulder to shoulder," Arthur agreed.
He stayed close beside her. From her hair came a scent like wet stones after storm, yet somehow warm too. Not clean rain, more like moss under trees. Kinda wild. Honestly? Nice change from sweet perfumes. Felt real, you know. Arthur lifted his phone. Then he flipped the camera around. On the screen, they seemed awkward. Arthur came off as lifeless. Meanwhile, Cleo appeared trapped.
We looked awful, Cleo said while watching the screen.
"Imagine the Rig," Arthur commanded. "Imagine the rust eating your clocks. Imagine the vibrations destroying your mushrooms."
Cleo's eyes popped open. Then she snatched Arthur's sleeve, gripping the rough coat material. A shaky grin spread across her face.
"Wow, that's harsh," Arthur said, staring at the display yet it made sense
He shifted closer. Then he attempted a grin. A spot-on cup of tea came to mind. His lips began to rise. Arthur put the phone down then checked the picture right away.
"Acceptable," he declared. "The lighting obscures the fear in our eyes."
"Send it to me," Cleo said. "I'll make it my lock screen. In case my dad checks my phone."
They stayed put a bit past when they should've moved, beneath the branches. Sun sank low, touching the edge of the sky. Quiet crept into the park, replacing the day's noise.
This feels draining, Cleo said, slumping into the bark. Faking it burns through every ounce of strength
"It is a second job," Arthur agreed. He checked his watch. "6:45 PM. We have completed the objectives for today."
"I need to go home," Cleo said. "I need to water my ferns."
"And I need to feed Archimedes," Arthur said.
They headed back to the subway side by side. Not touching, yet moving at the same pace. Step after step, one foot then the next. Each stride matched without trying. When they got to the station gate, Cleo looked his way.
"Arthur?"
"Yes, Cleo?"
"Thanks for the manual. And for the ring. And for helping me with my dad."
She glanced at her shoes below.
"I know I'm weird," she mumbled. "Most people don't get the mushroom thing. Or the silence thing. It's nice not having to explain it to you."
Arthur blinked. A weird feeling hit his chest, not heartburn but something different. Like knowing someone from before. He'd always tried making folks understand how stuff had to be done just right. Like winding clocks only at set hours. Or skipping noisy eateries when eating out. People kept saying he was rigid, dull, like a machine. Cleo passed. Instead, she took it like info.
I find your odd habits. Well, they actually make sense," Arthur said, his way of giving a real compliment.
Cleo grinned. Tiny, yet true.
"See you tomorrow, fiancé," she said.
"See you tomorrow, asset," Arthur replied.
She vanished among the busy travelers. As she left, Arthur kept his eyes on her. He stuck his hand in his pocket, then took out the little card she'd handed him.
Favorite color? Moss green, it just stands out naturally.
Routine: Get out of bed once the alarm blasts.
He brushed his thumb across the purple ink. He headed back to his place. Once inside, quiet hit like a wave. Time moved slow, sound of gears turning. Most times, this moment beat all others. Yet now, after tossing his coat aside and spotting that lone chair in the room, the quiet seemed off. It seemed kind of hollow. He moved his head from side to side.
"That doesn't make sense," he said quietly. Being alone is what matters.
He went into the kitchen to fix dinner. Then he stuck the small card on the fridge using a magnet that looked like a clock. He got just four days to learn everything about her. A few short days before facing Professor Vance. Arthur Penn, someone who hated disorder more than anything, was slowly seeing that he'd pulled trouble right into his world. Yet oddly enough, he still hadn't looked for a way out. He stared at the picture in his hand, same old grin, nothing real. One hand clung tight, like he might vanish any second.
Symbiosis," he murmured to Archimedes, the cat brushing up on his calf same as lichen does
Archimedes meowed.
Arthur dumped the cat food. "Yep, that's it, a team-up."
Yet when he headed to bed that evening, making sure doors were locked and temp was set, something made him run through it again in his head. October thirty-first. The night kids dress up. A shade like forest leaves. Coffee without cream or sugar. He dozed off saying them, almost like a plea to push the Offshore Rig far behind.