Work Text:
At first, it seemed like the best way to keep a remembrance of that day with him, no matter where he is. The painting he keeps, of course, but he knows his luck and a certain coworker’s tenacity well enough to know that if he keeps it in his office, sooner or later, Celestine will find it, and the ensuing conversation is not one he is, or honestly will ever be, ready for.
Especially if she sees fit to tell his mother.
No, when it comes to his personal life, he is barely able to hold the onslaught of their combined inquiries at bay as it is. The added fuel from a painting, especially one as intimate, as easily misunderstood, as that one, would only serve to create an inferno that he has no hope of controlling. An inferno that would surely consume everything, including these first, tentative buds of something more than just a friendship, than just a work relationship, in its path.
And yet he still cannot bring himself to remove all traces of it from his office. Not when the warm autumn sunlight bathes his room in gold, when colorful leaves dance outside the window in the cool breeze. When, if he closes his eyes, he can still feel the soft weight of her head on his shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of her chest…
When he knows that moment will be, when he wants that moment to be, imprinted in his memory forever.
And so, he saves it to his tablet, a carefully taken picture capturing that warm afternoon so indelibly etched into his mind, that immediately transports him back to that bench, with the young couple and the gentle sunlight and her, soft and sweet and serene. It is his secret, this wallpaper, safe from the prying gazes of conniving firm co-founders and desperate parents and anyone else who might treat him differently for it. A small keepsake for his eyes and his eyes only.
Or, at least, so he thinks.
He doesn’t even realize at first. In the time since he’s saved it, she has visited his office, has bent her head over the tablet screen, many times, a constant confirmation of her skill, her hard work and dedication as his junior partner. And with each time, he slowly, gradually, relaxes, forgetting his anxiety over her potential discovery until…
“Mister… Mr. Wing?”
It takes a moment for her voice to register and he raises his head from his notes, blinking to dislodge the scribbles still swimming in his vision. She was studying the interview transcript, searching for any clue they might have missed so far in the investigation, but suddenly…
Suddenly, she has fixed her gaze on him, and rather than the focused, or even excited, expression he might expect, there is hesitation, or perhaps embarrassment, flitting across her features, as she shifts her attention from him to the tablet in her hands, its screen dark.
“What is it?” The question falls naturally from his lips but he doesn’t need to wait for her answer. He knows the answer, he knows, because it was inevitable, because it is only logical that at some point, the screen would go dark or one of them would turn it off or she would find it lying around, or a thousand other clearly very plausible scenarios that he somehow managed to forget about.
Perhaps he should be thankful that it is now and her, rather than a different day, a different coworker.
Except it is hard to convince himself of that in this moment, not when she is visibly struggling to meet his eyes, her cheeks colored a vibrant red, and he abruptly remembers her reaction when she first saw the painting, her discomfort and mortification at their pose, at the concept of being so intimate with him, all evident in her voice, in the changes to her face. And now, he has put the image before her again, only this time, it is a thing of weeks past, a distant memory of hers, perhaps, brought back to vivid, humiliating life.
“I…” Her voice is a lifeline in his rapidly swirling thoughts and he clings to it desperately despite what he knows she must be feeling, even as she offers him a small, awkward smile. “I accidentally let the screen go dark and I can’t get back in.”
He clears his throat, tugging gently at his tie in an attempt to release some of the pressure around his neck.
It doesn’t work.
“Uh. Right.” She makes no comment as he shifts the screen closer, though he does not fail to miss, could not possibly fail to miss, the speed with which she shrinks away, as though she is suddenly nervous to touch him. As though she suddenly is no longer comfortable around him.
Not that he can blame her, of course. Not after that.
Barely managing to repress a sigh, he keys in the passcode, mentally releasing a slow breath of relief as his wallpaper is replaced by the document she has been perusing.
“Here.” It’s too loud in the silent office and he can feel her jump, just a little bit, though whether it’s in response to the volume or just him, he can’t say. Then again, if he’s being honest with himself, he’s not entirely sure he wants to know.
“Oh! Thanks.” Instead of turning her attention back to the transcript, however, she continues to watch him, a hint of a blush still dusting her cheeks and fingers nervously toying with a loose strand of hair.
“Is something the matter?”
Halfway through shaking her head, she pauses and he has to actively force himself to keep his face impassive at the way she worries at her lip. “Not really. I just…” She visibly steels herself, drawing a deep breath, though her gaze remains focused on a point past his shoulder, out of sight. “I was thinking that it might be easier if you sent this to me? We can both look over it that way and…”
She trails off, but he doesn’t need to hear the rest of it to know what decorum is stopping her from saying. “Of course. Besides, I’m sure you have other cases to work on. And I’m sure you…” He pauses, watches the way she continues to studiously avoid his gaze, and clears his throat. “Um, I mean, my apologies, I didn’t mean to keep you.”
At that, she smiles at him, and his chest tightens at the glimmer of something resembling relief in her eyes. “Thank you. And it’s fine. I’ll just…”
He is already reaching for the tablet when she does; their fingers brush and he jerks away without thinking, an apology on his lips, but before he can, she catches his gaze again, cheeks darkening as she chuckles, a quiet, nervous noise.
“My apologies. I… Umm.” She shakes her head, sending her bangs flying past her eyes. “Go ahead.”
He swallows the words on the tip of his tongue with some difficulty, instead settling for unlocking the tablet and pushing it towards her. “Here, you can do it.”
“Oh.” Her eyes catch his before darting away again, but her hand is faster, pulling it to her and tapping at the screen quickly. “Thank you.”
He knows he should wave it away, should say something, anything, in response, but now she’s smiling, a small, shy curve of the lips, as she hands the tablet back to him, and suddenly, despite her earlier discomfort, despite the awkwardness of the past few moments, all he can focus on, all that he knows, is the warmth in her eyes, is the light blush on her cheeks.
Is her.
She is back on her feet and most of the way to the door before his brain manages to catch up, and her name is out of his mouth before he can think better of it.
“What is it?”
“I…” Soft green eyes narrow at him with concern and he tugs at his tie again, swallowing a sigh. He’s made yet another mistake, stopping her like this, and he knows it, but then again, it seems like he’s always fumbling around her at times like these, when the line between work partners and… and whatever their relationship is has been crossed.
“Mr. Wing?”
Even her voice is worried now, and he has to consciously smooth his face out of its frown, to consciously release the tension between his brows. Instead, he smiles, though he doesn’t need to see it to know that it is tinged with that familiar helplessness he feels, that he so often feels, at his own predicament.
“It’s nothing. I just… I wanted to apologize, if it made you uncomfortable.” There is no need to say what it is—he can see it in her eyes, in the way her gaze darts to his tablet before fixing back on his face, and he takes a deep breath, pressing on before she can interrupt. “I promise nobody else has seen it but I know you didn’t really like it when you first saw it so I can change it and delete—”
“No!” His jaw nearly snaps shut at her vehemence and even she looks taken aback as she shakes her head. “I mean… I don’t mind. I’m happy. I mean, I really enjoyed it.”
He blinks, though he’s not sure if it’s in response to her words or the way her face is slowly turning brighter. Regardless, she seems to notice, if the sudden panic in her expression is any indication.
“No! Not the part where I fell asleep on you! Just helping them and the studying and just… thank you. For that day.”
“Oh.” His throat is strangely dry at the sincerity in her expression, at the trust and admiration he’s not sure he deserves, and he swallows. “There’s no need for such formality. Besides, it’s the least that I could do for you.”
“Mr. Wing?”
His brain catches up with his mouth a heartbeat too slow and he suddenly finds himself unable to meet those piercing green eyes, to see if he has finally pushed her too far out of her comfort zone. “I mean… We are partners, after all.”
“Right. Partners.” Is it his imagination or is her response strangely flat? But it must be his imagination, because the next minute, she laughs and shakes her head, a familiar spark of focus tightening her expression, settling onto her shoulders as she shifts back into work mode. “I guess I better live up to that, then.”
“You are already doing more than enough.”
She shakes her head, mouth set in a stubborn line. “Not compared to you.”
He opens his mouth without knowing entirely what it is he wants to say, but before he can, she flashes him another quick, nervous smile, small but still blinding, all-encompassing, shattering his thoughts into oblivion. “Thank you. Again. For, um, everything.”
She’s gone before he can get his thoughts back in order, before he can even think to ask what she is referring to, and he is only left staring at the closed door in her wake, left wondering whether he has finally, finally overstepped his bounds, whether he has finally managed to push her away for good.
Given the speed with which she left the conversation and vanished from view, he rather suspects that it isn’t a bad guess.
Sighing yet again, he thumbs his tablet open, contemplating the wisdom of sending her something—a follow-up, maybe, or perhaps an apology?—before he processes the screen before him. Still open to his email, the last message to her is at the top of the screen, complete with… two attachments?
He frowns, tapping at the message before he can think better of it. She should have already had all of the other paperwork for the case, other than the transcript, so, then what—
Oh.
The photo from his background fills the screen in all of its vivid splendor. The paint strokes and colors, now almost as familiar to him as her face itself, dance before him, encased in warm, gentle memories of golden sunlight and autumn breezes.
“Artem.”
He jerks upright, instinctively closing the screen at the teasing, too-familiar voice. Celestine stands with arms crossed over her chest as she leans against his doorway, one eyebrow raised and a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
“What do you want?”
She laughs, shaking a finger at him as though he is nothing more than an unruly toddler. “Now, now, I’m only saying hello and you’ve already got so much attitude. One would think you weren’t just staring at your screen with a truly besotted expression on your face.”
Barely managing to keep his face impassive, he sits up with a sigh. Years of working with her at Themis has taught him that she will only get more insufferable until he has let her say her piece, and he has no doubt that this time will be like every other. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
“Fine.” She pouts, though it does nothing to hide the glint of mischief still dancing in her eyes. “Guess who I ran into as she was leaving your office earlier.”
And of course, she intends to draw the conversation out, no doubt in the hopes to provoke him into revealing something. Shaking his head, he sighs again. “She is my partner, as you well know.”
She waved her hand airily. “Naturally, naturally. It would be strange if she did not meet you in your office. But,” and here she grins, an almost predatory expression, as she walks closer to look down at his thankfully blank tablet, leaning her hip against his desk, “that doesn’t explain why she was so red in the face, now, does it? Surely nothing in the interview could have been so… provoking?”
“Of course not.” He clears his throat, leaning back to meet her teasing gaze with a calm one of his own. “Whatever it is is none of our business.”
“Isn’t it?” When he doesn’t rise to her bait, her face turns more impish. “I believe Professor An—”
“Professor An would probably have more questions about why you are gossiping about your coworkers instead of working on the merger contract that we need to present next week,” he retorts.
Clearly undeterred by the sharpness of his voice, she only raises her eyebrow. “Not if it’s about you.” When he remains silent, she leans over, as though hoping to get a glimpse of the screen. “But stop changing the subject. What exactly were you looking at with such intensity, hm?”
He only barely manages to stop himself from flinching, instead rising to his feet with a suddenness that even has Celestine taking a step back. “Work. Just like you ought to be.”
The disapproval in the click of her tongue, paired with the crossing of her arms, almost seems to echo in his office. “Of course. It’s always work, work, work with you. No wonder at least half of the office is terrified of you. You’re no fun.”
He doesn’t manage to hide his sigh. “Celestine…”
“Fine, fine. I’m leaving. Focus on your work. Keep your secrets. Whatever.” She pauses, halfway to the door, and he feels a sliver of foreboding as she turns to wink at him. “Though maybe she will be more forthcoming…”
“Celestine, wait, you—”
She smirks, checking her conspicuously bare wrist in a very deliberate show. “My apologies, Artem, no time to chat. I have a contract to review, you know.”
Before he can respond, she practically skips out of the room and he is once again left staring at his closed office door. He pauses for a heartbeat, considers the wisdom of hurrying after her and getting to her before Celestine does, but…
But thankfully, rationality asserts itself after another second, because he knows Celestine, has helped her organize and run Themis Law Firm for years and known her for longer still, from when she was his senior in school. And more than that, he knows that, while she might tease and pressure him on occasion—or perhaps more often than just on occasion, she is truly trying to look out for his best interests, and as such surely knows better than to actually interfere.
Not like this.
Sighing, he sinks back into his chair, letting his head drop into his hands. In some ways, he can’t blame Celestine, or his mother. Not when they have borne witness to his hesitance for years, since she first settled in, with her sincerity and determination and boundless compassion, at Themis Law… and into his heart.
Then again, what else can he do, when he is nothing but a coworker, her work partner? Just her strict, straight-laced, boring pseudo-boss.
Or so he thought, at least, but…
Sitting back up, he casts his gaze back on his tablet, absently unlocking it and staring once more at the email. The email and its inexplicable, unbelievable, beloved attachment.
Or maybe, just maybe, he has a reason for hope.