duplicity

Yale Blue

"Ha, funny," Pete shifted in his seat, pulling himself closer to his desk. "I'm not you." He glanced behind him towards Porsche who cleared his throat with an embarrassed grin, clearly remembering the time that he'd gotten caught doing exactly that—looking at porn on a work computer.

"Then why can't I see what you were looking at?" Porsche leaned against his desk, grabbing a red stress ball that Pete had sitting off to the side, squeezing it in his hand.

Pete tossed a furtive glance towards Mr. Vegas, but the man had walked off and disappeared. He let out a slight sigh and turned back towards his computer, clicking aimlessly at the screen.

"It wasn't anything. Just... thinking of repainting something at home." Pete excused off the top of his head.

Porsche made a slight face, looking down at him in puzzlement. "Don't you live in an apartment? Are you allowed to paint?"

Pete blinked, inwardly cursing Porsche for being so smart with some things and so dumb with others.

He smiled, giving a small laugh. "I mean my grandparents' house. Last time I visited, the place was looking a little run-down. I was thinking of giving it a redecoration."

"That's nice—maybe I should do the same at home. Wonder if Chay would want to paint his room. We've always had white. That's kind of boring, right?"

"Right, boring." Pete agreed, catching sight of the time and saving his work. "Lunch. What're you doing?"

"I was going to go down to the caf—" Porsche's phone buzzed in his pocket and he stopped himself, reaching in to grab it. Pete watched as he stared at his screen for a moment before straightening up and dropping the stress ball back onto Pete's desk. "Actually, I have to go. K—Mr. Kinn said he has to talk to me about something. Don't want to keep him waiting or anything. Maybe tomorrow we can eat at the cafeteria together? Catch up? It's been a bit."

Pete blinked and nodded, agreeing. Porsche clapped him on the shoulder and then hurried off. Pete shook his head and reached into his bag tossed beneath his desk, pulling out a packet of smokes and his lighter. He stood, shoving them in his pocket and then headed up towards the roof.

His mind was still full of that Yale Blue, slender wrists peeking out from the shirt, a simple chain-link necklace sitting against exposed flesh of the chest. He didn't understand why Mr. Vegas' fashion sense was the only thing he could think about currently.

Pete shook his head, feeling slightly dizzy from the heat. It was hot outside, but at least there would be air movement, so he pushed the door to the roof open and stepped outside—only to come to an automatic pause as the door slammed shut behind him.

His heart lurched in his chest as Mr. Vegas turned to stare at him, his phone pressed against his ear, a cigarette held between his fingers on his left hand. Pete's grip tightened slightly around his own pack of cigarettes and he took a small step back, meaning to quickly leave and get out of his boss' hair, but the man held up a hand, signaling him to wait.

Pete froze on the spot like a man captured by Medusa's snakes. The heat of the sun blazed down on him, causing his shirt to stick to his skin. He could practically feel the sweat spots forming, trying to cool him down.

Perhaps coming outside was a mistake. He wanted nothing more than to turn heel and run back to the safety of his desk. Being near Mr. Vegas sent panicked alarms blaring through his head, but he couldn't move—not when Mr. Vegas basically ordered him not to.

So he stayed still, neither moving closer or leaving, feeling almost as if he were forming roots to the roof beneath his feet.

Finally, after what could've been a minute or an hour, Mr. Vegas hung up his phone and stuffed it back into his pocket, turning towards him as he took a drag of his cigarette.