Headquarters
Atlanta, GA
United States of America
December 2016
The Monday after it happened, Mack came to work bearing a violet scarf snuggly-wrapped around his neck. He second-guessed at first, wondering if it would be suspicious if he wore it the entire day; but then again, the weather had been growing colder and it was Christmas season. Mack didn’t have an excuse to not wear it—it would look completely inconspicuous.
Or at least, that’s what he had thought. Aether had also been wearing a scarf of her own—red as wine—when he arrived at the office, sipping at her usual mug of coffee and leaving a light lipstick stain on it. “Cold day,” she commented, green eyes spotting the scarf. “I thought you weren’t the cold type?”
“It’s almost below ten,” Mack defended. She nodded slowly and took another sip from her coffee, Mack approaching the coffee maker to pour himself his own mug. “How was your weekend?”
“It was good.” Aether gave a small smile, “Went Christmas shopping. The company party is in one, two weeks? I thought that it was best to be prepared. Mathieu and I went together, he had to get gifts for his friends also.”
He threw her a cheeky smirk. “Did you get him something, or did you just get some ribbons? If you know what I mean.” Mack chuckled at the sight of her cheeks reddening and narrowly dodged a crumpled paper thrown his way. “Touchy, I didn’t know that you were the type.”
“I never said anything,” Aether muttered. She ducked into her coffee, attempting to hide the blush on her cheeks until Peters entered the room with a yawn. He stopped in the doorway and spotted both of them in scarves, then snorted.
“Amateurs,” he mocked. Aether gave him a look to which he went on, “It gets down to thirty-nine back in New York.” And to their confused looks, he added, “That’s four or five in Celsius.”
“Don’t be too smug. When the latter half of the month rolls in, you’ll be just as cold as the rest of us.” Peters shook his head at this and was nearly about to walk and get some coffee himself, but stopped in front of Aether. Mack watched in curiosity as he looked at her only for a grin to spread across his lips. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He stopped next to Mack and picked out a blue mug, “It’s just a little odd that both of you are wearing scarves. Did you two plan this out or anything?” the two English people exchanged looks.
“Literally nothing you’ve said this morning makes sense,” Mack noted dryly. He drank from his mug of coffee, “Just leave Aether and I in peace. The last thing we need is for her to brutally murder you and for me to cover her tracks.” Externally, he gave off the impression that he gave no fucks—as usual—but internally, he was melting down the slightest bit and wanted Peters to move on from his suspicions as soon as possible. For his sake and maybe Aether’s, if she was wearing a scarf for the same reason he was.
(Granted the redness that stayed on her cheeks, though, it did seem like she was wearing the scarf for a common reason.)
Thankfully, though, Peters raised his arms in mock-surrender before pouring himself coffee. Aether huffed and left the common room, Mack following her out. Their mugs remained half-empty and discarded on one of the tables. “Honestly,” he heard her mutter, “he should mind his own business. Peters is too nosy for his own good.”
“I feel the same way,” he sympathized. Mack’s eyes fell on the scarf, “but I’m inclined a little bit to agree with him on that last part. I never pegged you as the scarf-type.”
“I’ve got some at home,” she started, tugging at it lightly, “but…you’re right. I’m not really the scarf type.” They stopped in a more secluded area of the floor, which was this time less vacated due to it being early morning. Aether sighed and loosened the scarf, revealing a seemingly bare neck. Mack blinked and squinted, mouth forming an “o” eventually when he saw the mild marks discoloration around the right. “Concealer does wonders,” she said dryly, “but isn’t a complete miracle-worker.”
Mack was impressed. “You really don’t like others knowing, do you?”
“I don’t mind others knowing.” She started to readjust the scarf, “I just—I’m just not much a fan of showing the marks. I don’t know. I’m not ashamed of Mathieu, I—I’ve just got a little bit of pride. And you know how Peters is.” He nodded and then she looked at him, “Okay. That’s my story—who are you hiding?”
Mack wondered whether he should lie or not. There were a couple of excuses swirling in his head, but then again, it was Aether. There was no reason not to trust her, after all.
Resigned, Mack loosened his own scarf. Aether’s eyes widened at the sight of a strongly colored hickey; he only had one, but it was already something that needed to be covered. “Shit,” she breathed. “You had a good weekend.”
“So did you.”
“You already know my relationship with Mathieu, so you spill. What happened to you?” they sat down by one of the tables, Aether regarding him curiously. “You stayed later than usual at the bar. Tadashi wanted to bring you back, but you promised that you’d make it on your own. Did you meet someone?”
Mack sighed, nodding. “I might have. I might have ridden home with the cute bartender you guys kept teasing me about.” Her eyes widened more, “I stayed until everyone else left and had a little too much. He brought me back home, one thing led to another, and…” he gestured awkwardly at the hickey, “That happened. Amongst other things.”
She hummed. “Have you texted him or anything? How was it the following morning?” Mack visibly cringed and her gaze softened. “Oh, no. Did he do anything? I swear to God, Mack,” she started, but he shook his head.
“He didn’t do anything. Well. Unless you count leaving in the morning before I wake up as something,” he admitted. She frowned. “It’s not something uncommon, I know. Some people would rather not face it in the morning, and I understand. I just thought that we’d…that something would happen,” he finished a little bit lamely, kicking himself mentally for how upset he sounded.
It wasn’t supposed to be that way, he knew. Mack never really got upset over relationships unless it was something particularly serious, but now—
“Have you texted him? Maybe you two need to clear this up,” Aether suggested. “Especially if, you know. If it was a great night. Unless he made it clear that he just wanted a one night kind of thing.”
“I did text him—no reply. And he didn’t say anything about just wanting a fling. We were too…” he trailed off and she offered him a small smile, patting his hand comfortingly. It felt good, somehow, telling someone about it.
“Give it some time, Mack. He’ll come around somehow.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
She shrugged. “That’s his loss.” Aether reached forward to fix his scarf and he let her, listening to her hum while she fiddled with it. “But I think he will come around. I have a feeling he will.”
“I hope so. Thanks.” She gave him a smile and gestured to stand, which he did. “We should probably get back before Tadashi or Pete finds us here.”
“God forbid,” Mack sighed. Aether waited for him and they started to walk back together, adjusting their own scarves. She gives him a tiny smile but says nothing, and Mack knows that she said all that she could.
For the rest of the day, he keeps waiting for a single vibration from his pocket.
(It doesn’t come.)
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