No Tricks for Good Boys [+18]

Halloween I

Pete spent three whole weeks telling anyone with ears about his Halloween party plans. It was going to be "the Halloween event of the century" the big show, he was sure about it.

A haunted house setup, a fog machine, and a gallon of fake blood. Basically, the ultimate experience that would surpass Disneyland's Haunted House. Pete never liked Disneyland's Haunted House.

But here was the problem: his big plans got canceled. His friend Porsche, the one who was supposed to lend Pete his 300 square meter mansion he shared with his ridiculously rich boyfriend caught mono. Yeah, the kissing disease. Pete didn't even have to ask how that happened.

That's why Pete found himself slumped over the sad little table of the break room, stirring his coffee like his spoon was weighting 75 kilos, and sulking in the bear he didn't have about how unfair life was, about how his friend Porsche was such a walking cliché and how he was now going to spend his favorite night of the year sprawled on his couch like a starfish watching Hocus Pocus for the twentieth time. Alone. Eating the candy he was supposed to give the kids doing treats or tricks.

No treats for the naughty kids this year, he thought, taking another gulp of his now room temperature coffee.

Pete is officially the brand coordinator at a marketing agency, which means he is in charge of coming up with BBI. Not to be confused with BBC, of course, but that's mostly for his friend Porsche. BBI, It's to say "Big Bold Ideas" for very rich and important clients who don't understand anything to Pete's job which is, in short, make boring brands look cool.

According to his boss, he is not far from becoming the "creative spark" of the team.

According to Pete, he is just the guy who have to find new ways to make tomato soup look trendy and Pinterestable. And Pete always hated tomato soup.

He spends half his time brainstorming, finding very avant-garde ideas and talk about it to his manager. And the other half presenting to clients who nod, and sometimes clap, but still don't understand shit.

His favorite part of the job? When he comes home. Which means basically never, he even has his own little folding bed next to the coffee machine. The rest of the team jokes that he is in fact the company's "mad scientist", the one who stay up late to save everyone asses, minus the lab coat and test tubes. And honestly, Pete wouldn't mind having a lab coat. Pete kind of have a thing for lab coats. And people who wears them.

To be honest, on paper, his job sounded pretty glamorous and at least he didn't have to worry about money. But this Halloween party was his only chance to blow off some steam after months of crazy hours and sacrifices. He was planning it for weeks, imagining all the details in his head like a kid waiting for Christmas. So yes, it wasn't his fault if he felt disappointed and a little bit frustrated.

"Don't tell me you're still depressed about your Halloween nonsense," a voice coming from the doorway woke Pete up from his thoughts.

Pete looked up to see Arm walking in with that half-smirk, half-facial paralysis expression that always drive him crazy. Arm made his way to the coffee machine, looking completely unbothered by Pete's tragic loss.

"You just don't get it," Pete muttered, resting his head over his arms on the table.

"What do you want me to get?" Arm said, not bothering to look at Pete, focus on filling his stupid mug with the dumbbell handle and "Do you even lift, bro?" inscription on the front, the one that made Pete's teeth itch. His own mug, a gift from his grandma, was pink and cute with a cat face and an inscription that said "I meow you". Much more reasonable.