Cute, Cozy, Queer Stories

Part 10: Christian

Christian drummed his fingertips to the beat of the electronic metal music flooding his ears. He barely heard the growling words, but felt the beat. As he ran through the lines of computer code, falling into a lock-step, problem-solving rhythm, he didn't realize he was gently shifting back and forth in his chair. Between drumming beats, his fingers fluttered across the keyboard and his eyes ran across the code. His mind was a storm of problems and solutions, one lightning strike after the next.

"Christian!"

He jumped, spinning around in the chair and accidentally swatting his headphones off. The headphone jack pulled out of his laptop as he spun. Raucous metal music flooded the small office.

"I don't want your opinion, I don't need your ideas!"

Christian fumbled for the laptop, searching for the volume button, the mute button, anything. He hit a dozen keys at the top of the keyboard, but the music kept coming.

"Stay the fuck out my face, stay away from me!"

Lynette stood in the open doorway, her eyes wide.

"S-sorry, sorry!" Christian grabbed for the headphones, trying to plug them back in.

"I am my own god, I do as I please."

He scraped the jack against the side of the laptop, trying to plug them back in before—

"Just wipe your own ass, and shut your mouth!"

The music cut off, just after Peter Tägtgren shouted the memorable line to the previously still office.

Face red, armpits soaked in sweat, Christian turned back to Lynette with a grimacing smile. He wanted to die.

A smile spread over her face, though the surprise lingered in her eyes. Christian braced for a chiding lecture about office-appropriate music and volume. Since she had the office next to his, he supposed she had the right. Though he had never said anything about her very audible Christmas music a few months ago, either.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I said your name twice."

Christian looked at the floor. Even if he hadn't had difficulty with eye-contact, it would've been impossible to look at her. "Yeah. Sorry."

"No problem." She chuckled and waved a hand. "I just wanted to let you know that Marcus wanted to talk to you."

The embarrassment turned to dread. "He did? Why?"

Lynette shrugged. "He didn't say. But he'll probably send you a meeting invite soon."

"Is it bad?" The words sprang out before he could stop.

"I dunno. I don't think so." She paused. "I'm sure it's fine. He's probably just checking in."

But Marcus didn't just 'check in.' He wasn't, by any measure, a bad boss or a mean person—and Christian had been well-acquainted with both—but he didn't schedule meetings just to shoot the shit, either. A former Army lieutenant, Bronx native, and company founder and president, Marcus was serious, decisive, and abundantly clear in just about everything he did. If he was 'checking in,' he had a purpose; a question, a critique, or something worse.

Christian knew immediately what it was about. He hadn't talked directly with Marcus about it and he'd hoped he wouldn't have to. The company-wide email he'd sent was painful enough. He hated the thought of so much attention. But he couldn't keep putting on a fake face.

"Don't worry about it."

Shaking from his trance, he forced a quick smile. Glancing once he saw regret, or maybe it was pity, on Lynette's face. She tapped the doorframe as she turned. "You want this closed?"