There they are. The office lovebirds. My face burns a fierce red as I witness something I shouldn't. Hera, our latest music talent from a small dolphin-only town on the other side of the world, is understandably desirable. She has an uncommon tan, light pink hair and blue eyes full of life. In this city it's rare to find such vibrance, such life. Mariana might be the heart of the entertainment industry, but it's cold and desolate. It's an abyss that most will never climb out of, and only the rich can afford to live comfortably. Hera has somehow managed a full year here without going insane.
I eye the man behind her, his hands roughly grabbing her waist. The broad man has her bent over the recording table, the pop filter from the microphone has been removed and he's biting down on it. He's a lionfish, with dull red-and-white hair that makes me hungry for peppermint. His muscular figure is exposed beneath a tight black t-shirt that is one-size too small to be uniform. It's sickening to think that this man, Terry, is grunting and groaning in there with the same voice that is used to demand we get more analog equipment. Every time I meet him he's grouchy about the sound not being warm enough and other bullshit I know nothing about. He's overconfident and bossy, which I suppose could be a nice tool for Hera, who is still relatively new here.
The two are colliding with primitive rough movements, the table jerking and equipment rumbling with each crude thrust from the man. He pauses briefly to stroke her tail, pressing his fingers into the smooth texture and making it ripple. They're both sweating profusely, undoubtedly due to the temperature within the soundproof studio. I wonder what her cotton candy perfume smells like right now. I feel repulsed and intrigued at the same time, my mind wandering to what it might be like if it was me in there with White? What if it was his cologne mixed with sweat? The bitter smell of cigarettes on his breath as he groans with passion like they do in the movies. What does he look like with his shirt off? What would it be like to be bit by him?
My head becomes light from blood rush and I fumble with my keycard, placing it on the door lock override and swinging open the door. A foul smell permeates the air and causes me to gag before I can get out any words.
"Y-you two are in serious trouble!" I nearly scream, my voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "SERIOUS! Serious trouble!" I'm struggling to stand up straight, I'm leaning against the doorway for support.
Before I had even opened the door the two had been scrambling to cover themselves up. Hera was apologizing profusely and Terry was cursing under his breath. In order to protect my eyes from wandering I've covered them with both hands, as if it somehow absolved me from my earlier crime of lechery.
I can't see it but I can feel Hera burst past me, knocking me over and causing me to fall down on the only-somewhat-clean carpet. I feel Terry step over me and the sound of something being zipped up. When they're gone I'm hurriedly texting the head janitor and informing them of the situation, then updating Papa with a strongly worded text message regarding the future employment situation of the officeplace perverts.
Come 7:00 PM I've showered for the second time today, put on casual clothes, and started the drive to the movie theater. When I arrive I update White via text, complete with ticket QR code and a picture of popcorn. I've booked us my favorite seats, my go-to selection: Middle section, a few rows from the front. It's the best spot to avoid seeing people check their phones or getting up. I'm fully prepared with a throw blanket for my legs, a box of my favorite candy (sour gummy sharks), a large popcorn light on butter, two complimentary cup holder tray tables, and two drinks. A quick online search revealed White enjoyed standard cola, so I ordered one of those and a lemon lime variant to be safe.
When I spot him, 5 minutes after the start of preroll advertisements and approximately ten minutes before the movie truly starts, I wave him over eagerly. He's noticeably perplexed by the situation, with one eyebrow raised and an awkward toothy grin.
"You don't fuck around when it comes to movies," he chuckles, taking a seat beside me and eyeing my setup.
"I like to be on time for things," I correct him, "and be prepared."
He takes a fistful of popcorn, holding it above his mouth slightly and allowing pieces to drop in slowly. I watch his strange mannerisms with intrigue, only for my face to illuminate red as intrusive thoughts from earlier crept their way back into my mind.
"We woulda made it," he shrugs. When he catches me glaring at him, he throws his arm over my shoulders, pulling me towards him.
I instinctively pull back, and I take note of the way he loosens his hold on me, only to then gently pull me in close. He doesn't seem offended by my reactions, nor deterred. I imagine he must act like this with everyone, if he's so free-spirited. If someone pulled away from me when I went to hold them, I'd never let myself live it down.
"You're a little anxiety machine," he whispers in my ear. I'm not certain why, given the movie hasn't started yet. "You work and work, and when you relax you treat it as work. Why not loosen up a bit? Break the rules a bit?"
I gawk at him as though he's an alien lifeform. "I already break rules. I left our meeting early, didn't I?"
My stumped expression is met in kind.
"Anyways, shhh, the movie is starting!"