Frozen Lakes and Failed Spreadsheets

By Jamie F. Bell

After a catastrophic failure involving a jam-packed laminator and the CEO's lunch order, Joey flees to the frozen sanctuary of the city park, only to find his solitude interrupted by the firm's most intimidating junior associate. Amidst the biting winter wind and bruised egos, a shared bench becomes the unlikely setting for a spark that melts the icy veneer of corporate rivalry.

> "Relax, Joey. I am not here to evict you. merely to observe the wreckage."

Introduction

The narrative presented in "Frozen Lakes and Failed Spreadsheets" operates as a sophisticated study in contrast, juxtaposing the sterile, high-pressure environment of corporate capitalism with the messy, entropic reality of human emotion. At its core, the chapter explores the intersection of professional competence and personal disaster, utilizing the tropes of the Boys' Love genre to dismantle the facade of the "perfect employee." The central conflict is not merely Joey’s fear of unemployment due to a laminated sandwich, but rather a deeper existential crisis regarding worthiness and visibility within a system designed to erase individuality. The tension that defines this moment is a complex blend of neurotic anxiety and a latent, simmering erotic friction, where the power dynamics of the office are suspended in the liminal space of a frozen park.

We are introduced to a protagonist, Joey, who embodies the archetype of the chaotic underdog, vibrating with an anxiety that is both comedic and deeply sympathetic. His internal monologue reveals a psyche under siege, not just by the wind, but by the crushing weight of expectation. The narrative establishes a "meet-cute" scenario that is predicated on failure rather than grace, setting the stage for a relationship dynamic rooted in the acceptance of flaws. The arrival of Simon, the embodiment of order and success, serves as the catalyst for the chapter's emotional pivot. The text invites the reader to look beyond the humor of the situation and recognize the profound loneliness that plagues both characters—one drowning in noise, the other suffocating in silence.

Ultimately, this chapter serves as a microcosm of the "Opposites Attract" trope, elevated by a keen awareness of psychological defense mechanisms. It posits that in a world of "gray suits and gray minds," the attraction between the two leads is not incidental but necessary for their survival. The narrative thesis suggests that true intimacy begins where the performance of perfection ends. By stripping away the layers of professional decorum—symbolized by the removal of a glove or the admission of an inability to ride a bike—the story argues that vulnerability is the only currency that matters in an emotional economy, transforming a scene of potential humiliation into one of profound connection.

Thematic, Genre & Narrative Analysis

The narrative voice is anchored firmly in Joey’s perspective, a choice that colors the world with his specific brand of catastrophic thinking. This limited third-person viewpoint is unreliable in its self-assessment; Joey perceives himself as a "solitary figure of tragedy" and a "disaster," projecting his internal shame onto the external world. The wind "prosecutes," and the trees point "accusatorially," revealing a consciousness that feels fundamentally at odds with its environment. However, this perspective also creates a blind spot regarding Simon. Because Joey views Simon through the lens of the "Golden Boy" mythos, he initially fails to see the man beneath the suit. The narrative cleverly uses this perceptual gap to heighten the impact of Simon’s tenderness. The reader is privy to the disparity between Joey’s self-loathing and Simon’s obvious fascination, creating a layer of dramatic irony that is central to the genre’s appeal.

On a moral and existential level, the story grapples with the dehumanizing nature of the corporate machine and the rebellion inherent in being "human." The "macabre waltz of capitalism" and the "disinterested gods" of the financial district paint a bleak picture of the setting, suggesting that the characters are trapped in a system that values spreadsheets over souls. The act of laminating a ham sandwich, while ridiculous, becomes a symbol of Joey’s desperate attempt to impose preservation on a perishable world—a "valid psychological response" to the fear of entropy. The narrative suggests that in such a sterile environment, being "chaos" or "neon paint" is not a failing but a moral imperative. It is an assertion of life against the "morgue" of the office.

Furthermore, the genre mechanics of this piece sit comfortably within the "Office BL" tradition, yet they subvert the typical power fantasy. While Simon possesses the status and wealth typical of the *Seme* archetype, the narrative does not valorize his power as the ultimate good. Instead, it exposes the stifling nature of his perfection. The story suggests that love acts as a disruption to the status quo. The "wreckage" that Simon comes to observe is not just a pile of metaphorical debris, but the only interesting thing in his line of sight. The overarching theme is one of recognition: the idea that to be loved is to be seen clearly, not for one's utility, but for one's distinct, vibrating humanity.

The Grounded Partner (The Seme Archetype)

Simon, the Grounded Partner, is a masterclass in the "Ice Prince" archetype, yet his psychological architecture reveals a man desperate for a crack in his own armor. Outwardly, he is the picture of high-functioning repression, armored in expensive wool and an "expression of mild, clinical curiosity." This composure, however, is a "Lie" he tells himself to survive the chaotic ecosystem of Halloway & Prynne. He maintains control through precision—mathematically draped scarves and the ability to navigate the corporate ladder effortlessly. His "Ghost," or the trauma that drives this behavior, appears to be a fear of vulnerability or inefficiency. He has curated a life where nothing surprises him, which has resulted in a spiritual numbness, evidenced by his description of the office as "stifling" and his need to escape the "vibrating" anxiety of his superior.

However, Simon's mental health is balanced precariously on the edge of boredom and isolation. His attraction to Joey is not a fetishization of failure, but a craving for something real. The "Gap Moe" manifests beautifully in his confession about the bicycle. This admission is not a casual anecdote; it is a calculated offering of weakness to equalize the power dynamic. By admitting he finds the physics of cycling "improbable," he reveals a mind that over-intellectualizes existence to the point of dysfunction in simple matters. It humanizes him instantly, stripping away the "Golden Boy" veneer and showing a man who, despite his command of the boardroom, cannot master a simple childhood skill.

Simon’s composure masks a profound need for an external force to disrupt his equilibrium. He describes Joey as "neon paint" in a gray world, an admission that reveals his own world is colorless without Joey’s chaotic intervention. His "hand-to-hand combat with a feral cat" comment, while dry, indicates he has been paying close, affectionate attention. He is the anchor, yes, but an anchor is useless without a ship to tether. Simon’s behavior—bringing the coffee, removing the glove—demonstrates that his "Grounded" nature is actually a form of service. He seeks to protect Joey not just because he is capable, but because Joey’s frantic energy is the only thing that makes Simon feel something other than the cold, clinical detachment of his profession.

The Reactive Partner (The Uke Archetype)

Joey, the Reactive Partner, operates at a frequency of high-octane neurosis, driven by a pervasive Imposter Syndrome. His interiority is a landscape of catastrophic extrapolation; a broken laminator is not an accident, but a harbinger of destitution and social exile. He lashes out and retreats not from a fear of engulfment, but from a profound fear of exposure—the terror of being "perceived" in his inadequacy. His vulnerability is palpable, radiating "waves of failure," yet this very transparency is his greatest gift. Unlike Simon, who hides behind a mask of competence, Joey wears his humanity on his sleeve (and on his scuffed shoes). He feels everything acutely, from the "personal" cold of the wind to the "hotter" shame of his error.

This intense vulnerability acts paradoxically as a weapon against Simon’s defenses. Joey’s inability to be anything other than his authentic, messy self forces Simon to drop his own pretenses. Joey’s "panic-laminating" is a raw, unfiltered human reaction that cuts through the corporate sterility Simon inhabits. Joey needs the stability Simon provides not because he is weak, but because his internal world is too loud. He requires an external regulator, someone to tell him to "drink" and to reframe his disaster as a "public service." Simon’s presence quiets the "vibrating" noise in Joey’s head, providing a container for his spilling emotions.

However, Joey is not merely a damsel in distress; he is the emotional catalyst of the scene. His specific insecurity—that he is a "disaster"—is exactly what draws Simon in. Joey represents the "life" that the office tries to crush. His fear is rooted in a deep desire to be good, to be competent, which makes his failures tragic rather than malicious. He lashes out with self-deprecating humor ("bench activities") as a shield, but his willingness to accept the coffee and the touch shows a brave openness to connection. He craves the anchor because he knows he is drifting, and his readiness to be "caught" by Simon is an act of trust that validates Simon’s protective instincts.

Archetypal Deconstruction & World-Building

The dynamic between Joey and Simon presents a fascinating **Inversion of Power**. While Simon holds all the traditional markers of authority—wealth, status, age-appropriate composure—it is Joey’s emotional state that dictates the narrative pacing. Joey’s distress summons Simon from the tower; Joey’s shivering commands Simon’s attention; Joey’s self-flagellation forces Simon to offer comfort. The "Uke" here is the psychological driver because his chaos is active, whereas Simon’s order is static. Simon is reacting to the weather system that is Joey. The narrative movement is entirely dependent on Joey’s emotional fluctuations; Simon merely navigates the waves Joey creates. This undermines the traditional hierarchy by showing that the stoic partner is emotionally subservient to the needs of the expressive partner.

The **'Why' of the Seme's Attraction** is rooted in a desire to possess and protect the "spark" that Joey embodies. The valorized quality here is not Joey’s competence (which is non-existent) or his physical beauty (though implied), but his *vitality*. In a world of "disinterested gods" and frozen lakes, Joey is burning hot with shame, fear, and life. Simon, who suffers from a coldness of spirit, seeks to anchor himself to this heat. He wants to protect Joey’s capacity to feel, even if that feeling is panic, because it is the antithesis of the numbness Simon feels in the "morgue" of the office. Simon needs Joey’s chaos to prove to himself that he is still capable of engaging with the unpredictable nature of humanity.

Regarding **Queer World-Building**, the setting functions as a partial **"BL Bubble."** While the external world is hostile (the weather, the capitalist machine), homophobia is notably absent as a threat. The tension is derived entirely from professional hierarchy and internal neuroses rather than societal bigotry. The "Presence of the Female Counterpart" is entirely absent; instead, the "Other" is the office itself—Mr. Henderson, the laminator, the spreadsheets. These elements act as the friction that pushes the two men together. The external environment—the frozen, hostile park—dictates their need for a private world. The cold forces them to share heat, literally and metaphorically, creating a "us against the elements" dynamic that solidifies their bond in a way a comfortable office setting never could.

The Dynamic: Inevitability & Friction

The architecture of Joey and Simon’s relationship is built on the physics of complementary forces: entropy versus enthalpy. Their energies collide not in conflict, but in a necessary equalization of pressure. Joey is a high-pressure system of anxiety, while Simon is a low-pressure vacuum of calm. When they meet, the rush of air is inevitable. Their neuroses fit together like a lock and key; Joey’s fear of being too much is met by Simon’s capacity to handle everything. Joey’s belief that he is a "wreckage" is countered by Simon’s hobby of "observing" and fixing. This is not just a romantic pairing; it is a functional psychological symbiosis.

The power exchange is fluid and distinct. Simon acts as the **Emotional Anchor**, providing the physical and mental weight to keep Joey from flying off into the stratosphere of his own panic. Conversely, Joey is the **Emotional Catalyst**, the spark that ignites Simon’s dormant humanity. Without Joey, Simon is a statue; without Simon, Joey is a puddle. Their union feels fated because they provide the antidote to the other’s specific poison. Simon’s rigidity cures Joey’s flailing, and Joey’s vibrancy cures Simon’s stagnation.

The friction in their dynamic comes from the resistance to this inevitability—Joey’s disbelief that he could be wanted, and Simon’s reluctance to admit he is distracted. However, the narrative frames this friction as the heat generated by their proximity. The "performance review" line is the perfect encapsulation of this: Simon uses the language of their disparity to bridge the gap, turning a tool of judgment into an instrument of flirtation. They are inevitably drawn together because the narrative universe they inhabit demands a balance between the frozen lake and the burning shame, a balance only achieved when they are side by side.

The Intimacy Index

The "Skinship" in this chapter is deployed with surgical precision, utilizing the contrast between extreme cold and searing heat to convey desperation. The removal of Simon’s glove is a moment of high erotic tension, stripping away the layer of leather that separates him from the world. When his bare hand touches Joey’s cheek, the text describes the skin as "shockingly cold" but the touch as something that "seared." This sensory contradiction highlights the intensity of their connection; it is a burn that comes from the shock of contact in a numb world. The touch is not merely comforting; it is possessive. Simon is checking the temperature, yes, but he is also claiming the territory.

The "BL Gaze" is a dominant force in the narrative. Simon does not just look at Joey; he "processes" him. His eyes are "dark and dilated," signaling a physiological arousal that contradicts his calm demeanor. He watches Joey drink with an expression that is "possessive, but soft." This gaze reveals a subconscious desire to consume and contain Joey’s chaos. Joey, in turn, avoids the gaze initially ("buried his face," "didn't look up") because to meet Simon’s eyes is to be fully exposed. When he finally locks eyes with Simon, the "physical impact" knocks the wind out of him.

Sensory language amplifies this intimacy. The smell of "cedar and cold rain" on Simon contrasts with the "wet asphalt" of the park, marking Simon as a sanctuary within the desolate landscape. The coffee acts as a surrogate for a kiss—a hot, sweet fluid passed from Simon’s possession into Joey’s body, filling him with warmth. The act of sharing the thermos is an indirect kiss, a classic trope used here to signify the internalization of Simon’s care. The intimacy is built on these small, sensory transgressions of the professional boundary, creating a private language of touch and taste amidst the frozen backdrop.

Emotional Architecture

The emotional trajectory of the chapter follows a steep curve, beginning in a valley of isolation and ascending to a peak of shared intimacy. The narrative opens with a high "emotional temperature" of distress—Joey’s shivering, the "prosecuting" wind, the shame. The pacing here is frantic, mirroring Joey’s heartbeat. As Simon enters, the pacing slows abruptly. The silence stretches "like a rubber band," creating a suspense that arrests the reader’s breath. This shift from chaotic internal monologue to tense dialogue creates a vacuum that demands to be filled.

As the conversation progresses, the atmosphere shifts from hostile to charged. The narrative constructs emotion by layering physical sensations with psychological realizations. The cold of the park serves as a baseline of discomfort that makes every gesture of warmth—the glove removal, the coffee—feel monumental. The emotional release comes not when the problem is solved (the laminator is still broken), but when the perspective shifts. Simon’s reframing of the disaster allows the tension to dissipate, replaced by a "strange, dry amusement."

The transfer of emotion from character to reader is achieved through the softening of the "Seme." When Simon admits he cannot ride a bike, the reader’s apprehension melts alongside Joey’s. The climax of the scene is the touch on the cheek, a spike of high voltage that transforms the anxiety into romantic anticipation. The chapter concludes with a "cooling down" period, a comfortable warmth as they walk back. The emotional architecture is designed to take the reader from a state of sympathetic stress to a state of "contained safety," mirroring Joey’s own journey from the bench back to the building.

Spatial & Environmental Psychology

The setting of the frozen park is not merely a backdrop but an active participant in the psychological drama. The "scarred monocle" of the frozen pond reflects the "disinterested gods" of the skyscrapers, creating a visual echo of the surveillance and judgment Joey feels. The park is a liminal space—a threshold between the ordered hell of the office and the wild, indifferent cruelty of nature. It is a "desolate expanse," mirroring Joey’s internal feeling of abandonment. The cold is personalized; it "prosecuted," acting as a physical manifestation of Joey’s guilt.

The iron bench functions as a stage for the intimate play. It is an island in the sea of gray, the only "bench that isn't currently covered in bird excrement," symbolizing the small, precarious space Joey has carved out for himself. The physical distance on the bench—initially a "polite, devastating two feet"—becomes a metric for their emotional closeness. As the scene progresses, the "gravity" warps the air, and the distance closes. The environment forces them together; to survive the "aggressive force" of the wind, they must consolidate their heat.

Furthermore, the towering glass structures loom above the treeline, constantly reminding the characters of the world they are escaping. However, by the end of the chapter, the return to the "glass tower" is no longer a march to the gallows. The meaning of the space has changed because the characters' relationship to it has changed. The "blinding white" of the winter park is no longer an accusatory void but a blank canvas upon which they are now "two dark shapes" moving in unison. The environment shifts from an antagonist to a witness of their union.

Aesthetic, Stylistic, & Symbolic Mechanics

The prose employs a sophisticated blend of hyperbole and stark imagery to establish mood. The diction oscillates between the melodramatic ("prosecuted," "cosmic punishment," "macabre waltz") and the clinical ("logistics," "protocol," "efficiency"). This contrast mirrors the conflict between Joey’s emotional excess and Simon’s corporate restraint. The sentence rhythm often mimics Joey’s panic—breathless, run-on sentences—before being cut short by Simon’s clipped, precise dialogue. This rhythmic interplay creates a musicality to their interaction, a call-and-response of chaos and order.

Key symbols include the **Laminator**, representing the futile attempt to preserve something fragile (the sandwich/Joey’s dignity) in a rigid system. It breaks because life cannot be flattened and preserved in plastic without consequence. The **Thermos** is another potent symbol—a sleek, armored vessel containing warmth and sweetness. It is a metaphor for Simon himself: hard and impenetrable on the outside, but holding the "best thing [Joey] had ever tasted" on the inside.

The imagery of **Ice and Glass** permeates the text. The "scarred monocle of ice," the "glass structures," the "eyes the color of cold coffee." These surfaces are hard, reflective, and cold, representing the barriers between people. The breaking of these barriers—the steam from the coffee, the warmth of the hand—serves the thematic goal of thawing. The recurring motif of "vibrating" serves to physically manifest anxiety, transforming an abstract emotion into a kinetic state that Simon can observe and scientifically address.

Cultural & Intertextual Context

The story situates itself firmly within the "Salaryman" sub-genre of Boys' Love, which often critiques the crushing nature of Japanese (and by extension, global) corporate culture. It echoes the literary tradition of the "Odd Couple," tracing a lineage from Neil Simon to *Sherlock*, where a chaotic, humanistic character disrupts the life of a high-functioning, sociopathic genius. The narrative also plays with the "Cinderella" archetype—the lowly intern and the princely executive—but modernizes it by making the "glass slipper" a broken laminator and a cup of coffee.

There are echoes of the "Byronic Hero" in Simon—brooding, wealthy, isolated—but filtered through a late-capitalist lens. He is not wandering the moors; he is navigating the forty-second floor. The "ham sandwich" incident serves as a touch of absurdist humor reminiscent of Kafka or Gogol, highlighting the surreal nature of bureaucratic life. The story suggests that in a world where office supplies are sacred, the only true rebellion is incompetence and human connection.

Culturally, the text addresses the millennial/Gen Z anxiety of economic precariousness. Joey’s fear of "faking his own death" over a work mistake reflects a generation’s internalized pressure to be productive at all costs. Simon represents the unattainable ideal of success, yet the narrative deconstructs this by showing his envy of Joey’s freedom to be a "disaster." This interplay speaks to a broader cultural conversation about burnout, the facade of social media perfection, and the craving for authentic, messy reality.

Meta-Textual Analysis & The Fannish Gaze

This chapter is a feast for the **Fannish Gaze**, meticulously constructing an **Aesthetic of Consumption** that prioritizes emotional spectacle over realism. We are not meant to genuinely worry about Joey’s job security; we are meant to relish his distress because we know it summons the Savior. The narrative lingers on the aesthetic details of Simon—the "charcoal wool coat," the "cashmere," the "leather soles"—fetishizing his wealth and competence. This is "Suit Porn" translated into prose. The dialogue is highly stylized; people do not speak in "performance reviews" in real life, but in the BL fantasy, this verbal sparring is foreplay.

The text provides a specific **Power Fantasy** for its audience: the fantasy of being a mess and having the most powerful person in the room love you *for* it, not in spite of it. It addresses the emotional void of feeling inadequate or invisible. The narrative validation comes from the idea that one's "chaos" is actually "neon paint"—that our anxieties and failures make us vibrant and desirable to those who are trapped in perfection. It fulfills the wish for an **unshakeable loyalty** that transcends professional hierarchy; Simon is willing to frame "innocent mailroom Kevin" for Joey, a humorous but significant declaration of allegiance.

The **Narrative Contract** of the BL genre assures the reader that these two are "endgame." This guarantee allows the author to push Joey’s anxiety to the brink of hysteria without alienating the reader. We can enjoy the "wreckage" because we know the reconstruction is inevitable. The stakes are purely emotional—will they kiss? will they hold hands?—rather than logistical. The story uses this safety net to explore the devastating feeling of loneliness, knowing that the genre conventions will provide the necessary salve. The implicit promise is that the "Grounded" partner will always catch the "Reactive" one, transforming the fear of falling into the thrill of flying.

Reader Reflection: What Lingers

Once the plot resolves and the characters return to the building, what lingers is not the humor of the sandwich incident, but the sensation of the cold hand on the warm cheek. The story leaves an afterimage of contrast—the gray world pierced by the "neon" of connection. It evokes a question about our own defenses: How many layers of wool and irony do we wear to keep from being seen? The narrative reshapes the reader’s perception of failure, suggesting that perhaps our "wreckage" is not something to be hidden, but the very site where intimacy can occur. It lingers as a reminder that even in the most sterile environments, humanity can break through like a flower through concrete, or a duck on a frozen pond.

Conclusion

In the end, "Frozen Lakes and Failed Spreadsheets" is not a story about a workplace mishap, but about the radical act of witnessing. It deconstructs the armor of the modern professional to reveal the shivering, vibrating human beneath. By framing Joey’s chaos as a necessary antidote to Simon’s order, the narrative validates the messy, inefficient reality of emotions in a capitalist landscape. The chapter asserts that while the wind may prosecute and the spreadsheets may fail, the simple act of sharing warmth on a frozen bench creates a sanctuary that no corporate policy can dismantle. It is a triumph of the personal over the procedural, proving that sometimes, the only way to survive the winter is to let someone else hold your coffee.

Frozen Lakes and Failed Spreadsheets

Two young men in business attire having an intimate moment on a snowy park bench with city skyscrapers in the background. - boys love story, academic rivals to lovers, winter romance fiction, office internship story, slow burn bl, funny teen romance, emotional connection stories, Short Stories, Stories to Read, Boys Love (BL), Boys Love, MM Romance, danmei, yaoi, shounen-ai, K-Boys Love (BL)
Centennial Park in the dead of winter, adjacent to the towering glass obelisk of Halloway & Prynne. The setting is stark, frozen, and painfully cold, serving as a backdrop for Joey's melodramatic exit from the professional world. boys love story, academic rivals to lovers, winter romance fiction, office internship story, slow burn bl, funny teen romance, emotional connection stories, Short Stories, Stories to Read, BL, Boys Love, MM Romance, danmei, yaoi, shounen-ai, K-BL
By Jamie F. Bell • Modern Office Boys Love (BL)
After a catastrophic failure involving a jam-packed laminator and the CEO's lunch order, Joey flees to the frozen sanctuary of the city park, only to find his solitude interrupted by the firm's most intimidating junior associate. Amidst the biting winter wind and bruised egos, a shared bench becomes the unlikely setting for a spark that melts the icy veneer of corporate rivalry.

The wind did not merely blow; it prosecuted. It was a litigious, aggressive force that swept down from the steel-gray underbelly of the sky, seeking out the gaps in Joey’s collar, the thin fabric of his discount polyester trousers, and the very marrow of his bones. It was a cold that felt personal, a direct cosmic punishment for the crimes he had committed against the sanctity of office supplies. Joey sat on the iron bench, his knees drawn up to his chest in a posture that was entirely undignified for a Junior Associate Intern at Halloway & Prynne, and shivered with a violence that rattled his teeth. The park was a desolate expanse of muted grays and aggressive whites, the trees standing like skeletal fingers pointing accusatorially at the heavens. The pond in front of him was frozen solid, a scarred monocle of ice reflecting the towering glass structures of the financial district that loomed above the treeline like disinterested gods.

He should have been back on the forty-second floor. He should have been collating the quarterly projections or staring blankly at a spreadsheet until the numbers began to dance the macabre waltz of capitalism. Instead, he was here, freezing his extremities off, contemplating the logistics of faking his own death and moving to a climate where suits were illegal and laminators did not exist. The laminator. The thought of the machine sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through his stomach, hotter than the shame that burned his cheeks. It wasn't just that he had broken it. Machines broke. Entropy was a fundamental law of the universe. It was that he had broken it by attempting to laminate a ham sandwich.

"It was an experiment," he whispered to the unresponsive ducks huddled on the ice. "I just wanted to see if it would preserve the freshness."

The ducks did not validate him. The wind gusted harder, smelling of wet asphalt, old snow, and the distinct, metallic tang of upcoming snow. Joey buried his face in his hands, his fingers numb and stiff. He was seventeen years old, and his career was over before he had even learned how to properly tie a Windsor knot. The silence of the park was heavy, a suffocating blanket that amplified the frantic beating of his own heart. He was alone, utterly and completely, a solitary figure of tragedy in a landscape of frozen indifference.

And then, the gravel crunched.

It was a precise, deliberate sound. Not the scuff of a jogger or the shuffle of a tourist, but the measured, rhythmic impact of expensive leather soles on frozen stone. Joey didn't look up. He couldn't bear to be perceived, not when he was radiating such potent waves of failure. He curled tighter into himself, hoping to mimic a pile of discarded coats.

The footsteps stopped. The silence stretched, tense and electric, like a rubber band pulled to its snapping point. Joey could feel a presence, a gravity that warped the air around the bench. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"You are occupying the only bench that isn't currently covered in bird excrement."

The voice was low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm. It was the voice of someone who understood spreadsheets on a spiritual level. Joey cracked one eye open. Standing before him, looking like he had just stepped out of a high-end catalogue for winter funerals, was Simon. Simon, the Golden Boy. Simon, who was technically the same age as Joey but possessed the aura of a forty-year-old tax attorney. He wore a charcoal wool coat that probably cost more than Joey’s entire internal organ system, a scarf of pristine cashmere draped with mathematical precision around his neck, and an expression of mild, clinical curiosity.

Joey scrambled to sit up, his limbs clumsy and frozen. "I… I was just leaving. I mean, I wasn't leaving, I was sitting. But I can leave. If you need the bench. For… bench activities."

Simon didn't move. He stared at Joey with eyes the color of cold coffee, unreadable and intense. "Relax, Joey. I am not here to evict you. merely to observe the wreckage."

Joey blinked. "The wreckage?"

"You," Simon clarified, finally moving. He swept the back of his coat and sat down on the far end of the bench, leaving a polite, devastating two feet of space between them. "You look like you have been engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a feral cat. And lost."

"It was a laminator," Joey muttered, staring at his shoes. The leather was scuffed at the toe. Another failure. "And for the record, it was a tactical retreat."

Simon turned his head, his profile sharp against the white sky. He didn't laugh. Simon never laughed. He just… processed. "The incident on the forty-second floor? The ham sandwich protocol?"

Joey groaned, sliding down the bench until his spine was a curved question mark. "Everyone knows. Of course everyone knows. I’m going to be fired. I’m going to be blacklisted. I’ll have to work in… I don’t know, retail. Or data entry."

"Data entry is what we do now, Joey," Simon pointed out, his voice devoid of mockery but rich with a strange, dry amusement. "And the rumor mill suggests it was turkey, not ham. The specifics matter in legal."

"It was ham," Joey snapped, a sudden flash of defensive heat cutting through the cold. "Honey ham. On rye. It was supposed to be my lunch, but then Mr. Henderson started shouting about the integrity of the document, and I panic-laminated. It’s a valid psychological response!"

"Panic-laminating," Simon repeated, testing the phrase on his tongue like a sommelier sampling a particularly vinegary wine. "Unique. I suppose it displays a certain… commitment to preservation."

Joey risked a glance at him. Simon was looking at the frozen pond, his gloved hands resting perfectly still on his lap. He looked like a statue, beautiful and untouchable. It was infuriating. How did he do it? How did he exist in the same chaotic, high-pressure hellscape of an internship and remain so impeccably unbothered? He was the Grounded one, the anchor, while Joey was the ship flapping uselessly in the storm.

"Why are you here, Simon?" Joey asked, his voice cracking slightly. " shouldn't you be networking? Or alphabetizing the partners by blood type?"

Simon sighed, a small puff of white vapor escaping his lips. It was the first sign of human frailty Joey had ever seen from him. "The office is… stifling today. The air conditioning is set to 'morgue', and Henderson is vibrating with stress. It is unpleasant."

"He's vibrating because I broke his laminator," Joey whispered miserably.

"He is vibrating," Simon corrected, turning his gaze fully onto Joey, "because he is incompetent and relies on seventeen-year-old unpaid interns to manage his entire existence. You provided him with a focal point for his generalized anxiety. In a way, you performed a public service."

Joey stared. The wind whipped a lock of hair across his eyes, and he brushed it away impatiently. His heart did a strange, traitorous little flip. Was Simon… comforting him? In his own robotic, terrifying way?

"I don't feel like a public servant," Joey muttered. "I feel like an idiot."

Simon shifted. For a moment, the distance between them on the bench felt charged, the cold air thickening with something that wasn't just winter. Simon removed one of his leather gloves, slowly, finger by finger. The movement was mesmerizing. His hand, pale and elegant, rested on the iron slats of the bench.

"Intelligence is not defined by one's ability to operate office machinery," Simon said, his voice dropping an octave. "I, for instance, cannot ride a bicycle. I find the physics of it… improbable."

Joey’s jaw dropped. "You can't ride a bike? You? Simon the Perfect?"

"Do not call me that," Simon said sharply, though there was no real bite in it. He looked down at his bare hand, watching the red creep into his knuckles from the cold. "And yes. I fall. Every time. It is a humiliation I keep private. Unlike you, who broadcasts your disasters with theatrical flair."

"I don't try to!" Joey protested, feeling the blood rush to his face again. He was suddenly hyper-aware of Simon's proximity. He could smell him—not the generic office smell of toner and stale coffee, but something crisp and expensive, like cedar and cold rain. "Things just… happen to me."

"They certainly do," Simon murmured. He looked up, locking eyes with Joey. The intensity of the gaze was like a physical impact, a punch to the solar plexus. Joey stopped breathing. The cold vanished, replaced by a sudden, consuming heat that started in his chest and radiated outward.

Simon leaned in, just an inch. It was a microscopic movement, but in the stillness of the park, it felt like a landslide. "You are shivering, Joey."

"I—I'm fine. It's winter. People shiver."

"You are vibrating," Simon countered, echoing his earlier description of their boss. "It is inefficient. You are burning calories simply trying to remain solid."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Joey’s voice was high, breathless. He felt pinned by Simon's attention, like a butterfly on a board.

Simon reached out. The movement was slow, deliberate, giving Joey a thousand years to pull away. He didn't. Simon’s bare hand brushed against Joey’s cheek. The skin was shockingly cold, but the touch seared. Joey gasped, a sharp intake of air that tasted of snow. Simon’s thumb grazed Joey’s jawline, a feather-light pressure that made Joey’s entire nervous system light up like a switchboard.

"Your skin is ice," Simon observed, his eyes dark and dilated. "You really are a disaster."

"Takes one to know one," Joey stammered, his brain short-circuiting. The banter felt weak, a paper shield against a nuclear blast.

Simon’s lips twitched. It was a micro-expression, a glitch in the matrix of his composure. "Perhaps. But I am a disaster who brought coffee."

With his other hand—the gloved one—Simon reached into the deep pocket of his wool coat and produced a thermos. It was sleek, black, and looked like it could survive a tactical airstrike. He unscrewed the cap, steam billowing out into the frigid air, smelling of dark roast and something sweet, like vanilla.

"Drink," Simon commanded, holding the cup out. "Before you hypothermia yourself into a lawsuit I have to draft."

Joey took the cup. His hands were shaking so badly that the liquid sloshed dangerously near the rim. He took a sip. It was scalding, bitter, and the best thing he had ever tasted. The heat bloomed in his stomach, spreading to his frozen limbs. He looked at Simon over the rim of the cup. Simon was watching him drink with an expression that was almost… soft. Possessive, but soft.

"Thanks," Joey mumbled, lowering the cup. "I… I thought you hated me. You never talk to me at the office."

"I do not hate you," Simon said, reclaiming his hand but leaving the ghost of his touch burning on Joey’s face. "I am… distracted by you. There is a difference."

"Distracted?" Joey squeaked. "By me? I'm the guy who laminated a sandwich."

"Precisely," Simon said, and this time, the corner of his mouth definitely lifted. It was a smirk, sharp and dangerous and devastatingly handsome. "You are chaos, Joey. In a building of gray suits and gray minds, you are a splash of neon paint. It is… difficult to look away."

Joey stared at him, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He didn't know what to do with this information. It didn't fit into his worldview. Simon, the stoic, the untouchable, was watching *him*? Finding *him* interesting?

"I think," Joey said, his voice trembling with a mix of cold and adrenaline, "that might be the weirdest compliment I've ever received."

"It wasn't a compliment," Simon said smoothly, standing up and brushing invisible dust from his coat. "It was a performance review."

He looked down at Joey, and the intensity was back, the mask of the professional sliding back into place, but the eyes—the eyes were still warm. "Finish the coffee. Then come back inside. Henderson has forgotten about the sandwich. He is currently yelling about a missing stapler. I believe we can frame the mailroom guy."

Joey laughed. It was a startled, rusty sound that scraped his throat, but it was real. The crushing weight of the day, of the failure, of the loneliness, suddenly felt lighter. Manageable. He wasn't just a cog in the machine. He was chaos. And apparently, chaos was interesting.

"You'd frame innocent mailroom Kevin?" Joey asked, grinning up at him.

Simon extended a hand to help him up. "Kevin steals my yogurts. It is justice, Joey. purely justice."

Joey took the hand. Simon’s grip was firm, grounding, pulling him up from the frozen bench and back into the world of the living. As they stood there, hands lingering together for a second too long, the wind howled around them, but Joey didn't feel the cold anymore. He felt seen.

"Let's go," Joey said, stepping closer to Simon than was strictly necessary. "I think I left the laminator plugged in."

Simon groaned, a human, exasperated sound. "God help us all."

They walked back towards the glass tower together, two dark shapes against the blinding white of the winter park, the distance between them closing with every step.