Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Money is powerful.

Those that have little of it only need more, scraping every last penny they can possibly garner with sheer-bone wrists of which have been hastily bandaged with dry, crackling skin; picking out teeth to sell for lilliputians of cash, begging for ease with their bloodied fingers that ooze crimson liquid all the way down to the indented crevices of their fortune-fated palms. It’s a necessity to them; the epitome of oxygen in a tank that keeps them all breathing. As the prices get higher and higher, the steep gets deeper and deeper. The shift is nauseating, and the oxygen is beginning to run out; being sucked up all the way to the very bottom of the tank until there isn’t an ounce of bottled air left to breathe.

Those who have a lot of money only need more. A primal, carnal desire that flows through their veins. A toxic intuition that trails deep into their DNA and controls the very corners of their minds. It’s the drug that keeps on giving, swaying those that can get their grubby little hands on loads of green—plunging hungers into their skin like a vaccine—intuitions to crave more. Hoard more. Indulge in more. Pleasure in more. Soon, they will overdose on it. And they’ll die with a stream of foamy green dollar bills bubbling out of their blue-lipped jaw agaped mouths. Another victim to the insanity of desire.

Money is what keeps the world spinning round.

But to Gepard Landau. Money is a form of payment. Something you use to buy things with, to invest in things with, to save in a bank account with. It’s simply by definition to him, and it always has been.

Yes, money puts food on the table and places a roof over his head, shielding him from food insecurity and the harsh winters of the city’s colder months. But that’s all it’s ever been to him. He’s never felt a pang of proclivity to that tempestuous dollar bill with a president’s familiar face stamped smack dab in the middle of it.

Which is pretty ironic for him. Considering he’s a millionaire. And millionaires are known for their greed, for their desire for more and more and more until they’re drowning in dollar bills.

I guess you could say that him and money simply don’t have a relationship outside of work.

He doesn’t flinch when the number drops in his bank account (it’s not like a dent in his wallet is such a big issue anyway, considering how high his cash is in the place value chart; a few hundred thousand dropped here and there is replaced within the next few hours to a day at the worst). When he hands the cashier a hundred dollar bill, he doesn’t feel the urge to snatch it back out of the poor worker’s hand and shove it deep into his pocket and walk out with it.

Have I mentioned that he’s not the biggest fan of money?

Perhaps the daunting and exhausting job of a CEO to a company that never loses its more than steady flow of income has really tainted his view on the very thing that keeps him afloat. However, the idea isn’t something he dwells on often.

Not that he minds being a CEO. Sure, he’s always having to sit through meetings with bumbling morons who blindly throw their money into ideas that pertain to their self-absorbed fantasies. And he has to constantly be subjected to brainless investors who beg for outrageously high shares of his company.

And the paperwork…don’t even get him started on the paperwork. It’s a nightmare from the deepest depths of hell. The devil’s spawn, if you will. Stacks upon stacks of formidable foes that contain words that he struggles to uphold the energy to read—terms and conditions. Little complaints and concerns. Suspiciously sketchy stuff that’s been specifically printed in a really small font that he’d only be able to notice after his third or fourth read through.

Despite all that, and the way his spine aches for a massage after sitting hunch-back in his chair from the moment his work day begins up until the very moment it ends. Gepard likes his job.

It’s honorable. It’s rewarding. It’s made everyone around him treat him with the utmost respect.

And, sometimes, it’s maybe even a little bit fun.

Only when he allows himself to relax, of course. His job is only one for relaxing every so often since he’s always needed for something somewhere.

But he does have fun.

He doesn’t know why though.

Maybe he’ll figure it out one day.

♔

“Gepard,” his father clears his throat, slowly raising his head up to look at him with those piercing blue eyes that make him feel paralyzed under his gaze. Gepard stands before him, dressed in an appropriate suit and tie. Sewn and seemed and stitched to perfection by the hands of an esteemed master of their craft; a master so highly praised and decorated head to toe in riches and diamond jewelry of their own design. His fathers office is big, and with so much space, he has little to occupy the negatives that surround it. It feels uncomfortable and extremely unwelcoming. Giving off a sense of dominance and parvenu to those of which he could buy out their whole neighborhood. Which is exactly what his father aimed to achieve. He was one to constantly flaunt his wealth whenever he got the chance. Not flipping to the next page of his book to read the room; reminding people of how well-off he is even in the most awful of times. It was just how he was. It gives Gepard a disgusting feeling that lingers on the bottom of his tongue.

“The time has come for me to step down from my position as CEO and hand over my ownership of the company to my kin,” his father methodically thumps his pen against his empty notepad, not a single word written upon those perfectly straight lines. The silence that dances around them is awkward and strained and nervous. The last two are mainly on Gepard’s behalf. Or perhaps, even all three of them. Only Gepard seems physically unnerved. His father, on the other hand, wears that poker face of his like he always does. He swears he hasn’t seen his father smile in the last ten years. Perhaps he’s devoid of all emotion, losing it and becoming a hollow husk of a man as he aged and silvered. Although, he isn’t that old.

“Yes, father,” Gepard musters out as quickly as he possibly can and as seriously as well. His hands moist with sweat, clenching and unclenching in placement of deep and labored breathing—an unprofessional behavior in this circumstance. The next best thing is to send that energy elsewhere, to make sure he’s quiet when he’s supposed to be and be as respectful as he possibly can. His father deserves the utmost respect. And he’s going to give it to him.

“You are to not screw this up.” Gepard’s father’s hands slither over to the edge of his luxurious, custom-made wooden desk that’s  a sedona red in stain. Lanky, devilish fingers reaching down and grasping at the space underneath the edge just before it hits the long front of the desk. “You are aware of how affluent this company is. And if you somehow find a way to fumble the bag, under any circumstances. I won’t hesitate to ruin your life. Am I clear?” His words are horrid and vile, promising a future so eleglacial and desolate. The thought of a fate as depressing as that makes him want to succumb to a lachrymose-induced state then and there. But his father would surely criticize him and demand he grow a pair. He’d strip him of his newfound title of CEO before he could even get his hands on it as “little pansy snowflake girls aren’t capable of handling a company that is so highly admirable and substantial.” Those are words his father has told him before, by the way. He’s said that to him at least ten times within the last week. Yes, he counted. He’s said stuff like this so many times that he’s memorized all the words of his copy and paste rants of misogynistic bullshit. Berating those he concludes are inferior to him constantly. It’s the only thing that makes him feel any emotion inside of that empty, smth heart of his. And of course the only thing he feels is poshfulness.

“Yes, father. I will not let you down. I swear on my life.”

“Good. Because if you do, by my word you will not have a life to swear on,” his father threatens him with a witch-like finger pointed at him in his direction. With those disgusting, yellowing nails of his that he refused to take care of for reasons that you can piece together by now.

He understands this company is important. His great, great grandfather built it from the ground up. Making a surface to stand upon from absolutely nothing but cheap dirt and grainy soil. Spending days and nights in the summers scorching sun and the winters numbing breath. Breaking his back, laboring away for a lucky penny or a shiny dime that he’d throw into his jar labeled ‘DREAMS’ in big, red, scrappy lettering. Praying to God with ten fingers coated different colors from all the different jobs he’d work through throughout the week to simply stay afloat in such a hard-living world. Knees digging into the creaking floor boards as he clasped his hands together on the edge of his bed, head held high towards the open window uncovered with fluttering shabby curtains that displayed the solemn light of the midnight moon while his wife would yell at him from down the hall to give up his aspirations and think realistically as she held their only child. A child who sobbed hysterically, never endingly vocalizing their hunger in their poverty. Despite her words and their son’s cries, he never stopped praying. Praying that one day, he’d strike gold.

One day, he did.

And the rest is history.

With a mere design of a coat on a simple piece of scrap paper in one hand, and a decently put together vision come to life reluctantly sewn by his tired wife in the other; the Silvermane Guards became a company of rank, affluence, and influence in the drop of a hat. Rivaling other corporations, and even giving some a run for their money. And today, it stands tall as one of, if not the best, outerwear company in the world. Ranging from suits, to dresses, to show wear, to socks. And of course, what they’re most known for, their winter coats.

Every rich person in New York City can be seen strutting the cigarette-budded sidewalks in their Silvermane Guards. Flaunting their wealth in the form of luxurious fur coats that have beautiful trims and are decked out with perfectly placed, glamorous buttons. And of course, that perfect little SG stitched in a fancy style on the bottom of the right sleeve. (Just to get something clear, the fur on all of their clothing is faux. Specifically tailored to mimic real-life animal fur. This was because his great grandfather didn’t want to deal with protesting hippies holding up signs in front of his building with their “showerless-stink”. Do not be fooled, he did not do that out of the kindness of his heart. He didn’t give a damn about any animal. But everyone agrees that the change was for the better, anyway. It may cost an extra penny for production, but is that really an issue when you’ve got enough money to build an island from the ground up in your wallet?)

The point is. With a company as serious as this being placed in your hands. The pressure is high.

And being told not to screw anything up. The pressure is even higher.

But it’s okay. Gepard was bred for the sake of continuing the company’s legacy and filling in his bloodline’s ginormous shoes. His mother told him that. That was his purpose. And he was going to fulfill it. He wasn’t going to let anyone down!

His father holds out his hand, veins covered up by wrinkles cover up the entirety of his skin. He looks his son in the eye, and this time, Gepard’s gaze is unwavering and serious. Looking back into his fathers eyes as he reaches out his own hand and slides it into his fathers. One of the few times he’s ever held his fathers hand.

And with a solid shake, the deal is made. The deed is done. And Gepard’s life is changed forever.

“Congratulations, Gepard.” His father clears his throat, quickly moving his hand back and away from his sons. He readjusts his tie for no reason in particular. “You are now the CEO of one of the richest companies in New York City.”

Gepard smiles. “Thank you for trusting me with the company, father. I am honored to uphold the legacy of Silvermane Guards.”

No sweat.

Right?

♔

Gepard stands in the middle of his new office. It was his fathers old office, and where he used to spend most of his time so he could be away from his family and dismiss his duties as a father and husband. He didn’t see his father much during the early years of his childhood, as he used to live in his office. His father only took interest in him once he was old enough to be manipulated into liking the company and wanting to work for it. Unlike his older sister, Serval, who was cast aside by the family after their attempts of convincing her were unsuccessful. Once his father found out he was latching onto his words, only then did he see him frequently and engage in conversation with his only son to try and boost up interest, not just because they’re of the same blood and they’re family.

Needless to say, he got to work changing the office immediately. The walls once painted an odd beige were now coated in black paint that made a statement for anyone who stepped foot inside. It looked serious, giving off a sense of cogency and a distaste for messing around. That was Gepard’s intention, though. And to be fair black simply works with everything, so above all else, he knew black would make everything look good.

A nice, sleek desk that’s comfortable and long. But not too long. A relaxing, cozy chair with wheels for easy movement. Simple remote-powered blinds to cover up the huge windows that overlook the bustling city below. Big black shelves housing random books he found from his grandmother’s basement a few years back. He wasn’t going to read them, it was merely for decoration to make the office feel more welcoming in contrast to the dominance it emanates at a first glance. As well as fill up some negative space that he despised whenever he visited his fathers workspace. And, of course, last but not least. An assortment of fake plants placed in different areas of his office. He wasn’t the best at keeping his plants alive. He didn’t want plant carcasses to influence the perspective people would have on him. Incompetence, forgetfulness, immaturity.

That would suck.

Placing down one last fake succulent on the edge of his desk, he places his hands on his hips and huffs with dignity as he looks around at his new and improved workspace where he’d spend the next forty years or so wasting his life, losing his sanity, and wondering where everything went wrong to lead him up to this point… with pride!

Taking a step away from his desk, he whips his head around to take the rest of the scenery in. And as his eyes scan each and every trinket and sprinkle of personality in his room, he spots a door. A door left untouched.

The secretaries office.

When his father first started off as the company’s CEO, he threw a crap ton of money away to make an addition to his already gigantic work space; an office for his secretary. An office that could only be accessed through his own office. Yes, the two offices are connected. In theory, this is a pretty smart idea. That meant the CEO and their secretary were always close together, and things like communications and plans were always easier and faster to get over with since there was no need to run all over the building to find each other.

But his father’s secretary was an extremely attractive woman. And you can probably already see where I’m going with this.

Nevertheless, Gepard needs to give that medium-sized add on a makeover as well. It’s only fair.

Oh crap.

He just realized.

He needs to hire a secretary… he has no idea where to start.

♔

It was a peaceful morning in someone’s apartment. The window was open just a smidge, making sure only gusts of wind came in and specks of pollen floating around the New York City air. The soft red curtains flowed with the zephyr’s, and the lulling thumps of the gusts against the window left a calming atmosphere in its wake.

The apartment’s owner was sleeping calmly in their queen-sized bed. Their spring blankets wrapped snug against their body, only moving with the cadence of their user’s soft breathing. Strands of hair fell into their mouth as they inhaled, and flew up with the force of their breath as they exhaled. Rinse and repeat every two seconds.

The sunlight peeked over the buildings of the bustling city. The window being open meant the voices of the people down and the smell of pot and random street food from down below made their way up into their room and eased into its four corners. Despite the collection of sounds and smells, the sleeping person didn’t seem to mind or notice. In fact, they were in a deep sleep. Unable to hear the grating, irritating, ear-bleeding alarm going off right beside them on their bedside table.

That is, until they woke up with a jolt and a gasp. Sitting up and frantically reaching for their phone on the table. Fingers brushing up against the plastic protective casing of their phone.

Once they grasp it, they let out a shaky breath.

Reminder: interview today at 9:45 am

In big, bold letters flashed their sleep-weakened eyes. In just a second, they felt the world crumble around him. Buildings toppling on top of each other before crashing down on top of him. Debris flying everywhere with the smoke and the dust.

It was 9:43.

…

“SHIT!”

Chapter Text

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

With a grand, gallowing gasp, the person in bed sits up in a panic. Their back aches at the sudden intrusion and the unwelcoming wake up call as they throw their blanket off of them. The thin blanket floats in the air for a seconds before gracefully landing partially on the bed and partially on the floor as the person in the bed jumps up and out of it with a panicked grumble.

Practically dancing around their bedroom, their fingers scramble to button up the dress shirt they hastily threw on with shivering arms. Their fingers shook violently as they tried to get each and every button to get into their respective holes without looking like a complete mess and frumpying up the entire shirt. The sense of rush and anxiety and their heartbeat thumping loudly only made the disgustingly warm sensation flowing throughout their body even worse. The beads of sweat multiplied as they ripped the nice dress slacks they bought specifically for the interview off of the hanger hanging up on their door. The hanger plummeted onto the ground without a care, skidding across the floor. 

Throwing one leg down the pant leg, they hopped on the other foot trying to get their other leg in. As they hobbled back and forth, the hanger from earlier somehow made a recurrence under their foot. Upon feeling the hanger under their heel, letting out a panicked gasp and trying to stabilize themself before it was too late, they fell onto the floor with an undignified thump. “No-“ they cried out as they fell into the hardwood with an ache and a groan, the hanger skidding and sliding across the floor after having been projectiled thanks to their foot moving due to this trajectory of their fall. 

“Ya gotta be fucking kidding me!” They exclaim with an angered growl. Oh things are just going so great! Rolling back onto their bum, they ignore the throbbing sensation in the back of their head that only gets worse and worse and worse; gnawing at the corners of their brain and injecting a poison as it sinks in its teeth into the smoothless surface. With a grunt, they slot their leg into the previously legless pant leg and frantically scramble to get onto their feet again like some sort of cartoon dog that just saw the mystery killer of the designated episode or something to that effect.

Sliding into the bathroom after getting on their socks, almost taking another tumble and colliding with the nearby wall in the process, they take a look in the mirror to see their horrific bed head and sleazy appearance. That’s not as important as brushing their teeth right now though. Turning on the sink and feeling the cold water assault the skin on their fingers, they reach out for the tube of toothpaste on the side of the sink beside their toothbrush that was propped up on a simple white cloth. Their hand clamps down in the middle of the tube and a flash of minty fresh shoots out of the tube and plops onto the floor. And of course, a bit of it just had to land on their pristine white sleeve.

“OHYOUGOTTOBE- FUCKING - KIDDINGME!” They exclaim as they did once before, trying to get the words out of their mouth between brushes. Some toothpaste, now foamy and everything, dribbles down their mouth and drips into the sink down below.

Spitting out their toothpaste and washing it off as quickly as possible, they take some water they gathered from their open palm under the sink and pour it onto the toothpaste splotch on their shirt, rubbing it a few times before deciding it was good enough. The shirt was white, and so was the toothpaste. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was going to bother them either way.

After that’s done, they look back into the mirror and sigh. Their hair is askew: it’s rising and sticking out in different areas. And their eyes have bags under them. How the hell is that possible? They made sure to get the recommended amount of sleep from nine out of ten doctors to make sure the bags would go away! Does it even work like that- who fucking cares! Oh dear lord, it’s a mess! And there’s no way to cover anything up! Especially not the eyebags! They’re gonna look like a sleaze ball for the most important interview of their life! Or! Currently the most important interview of their life!

They run their hands through their hair. Grimacing and grunting as fingers force their way through painful knots accumulated in last night’s slumber. Not a fan of gel, they result to using some water from their sink to try and shape all the messy flyaways from their horrendous bed head.

They still look like shit, but now they look slightly less shitty, so it’ll have to do. They can work with what they got! They can adapt!

They should’ve put that on their resume, dammit.

Running out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind them, their cat who was somehow sleeping on the kitchen counter unaware of all the commotion occurring around her, perks her head up and meows with delight upon seeing her owner (let’s be real, she was just hungry and wanted to be fed). Jumping off the kitchen counter, she pads over to her owner, who was fumbling to get their shoes on and hopping around simultaneously to grab their stuff so they could get out of the house as soon as possible. Her tail wagged back and forths like a dog, not because she was angry though. She just did that.

“Meow-“

“NOT NOW!” They scream at their cat before checking everything in their messenger bag. “Wallet. Keys. Phone. Deodorant. Perfume. Sanitizer. Mace. Copy of my resume just in case. Wallet. Keys. Phone. Deodorant. Perfume. Sanitizer. Mace. Copy of my resume just in case. Wallet. Keys. Phone. Deodorant. Perfume. Sanitizer. Mace. Copy of my resume just in case- OKAY! I’M ALL GOOD!” They run to the door, almost slipping on one of the many scattered pieces of paper thrown askew across the living room that they promised themself they’d clean up eventually. Not like they’d ever actually do it. They bend inward as they fall into the door, grasping onto the doorknob for dear life.

They open the door, and just before they close it, they call out to their cat: “BYESWEETIEILOVEYOUDON’THAVEAPARTYWHILEI’MGONEI’LLFEEDYOUWHENIGETBACK OKAY BYE! ” And the door slams shut.

…

How exactly does a cat have a party? Well, that’s anyone’s guess. The cat inches towards the closed door, ears flicking upon hearing the click signifying the door had been locked. She swings her tail back and forth against the floor of the apartment, head cast up and gazing at the small peephole in the door.

“… meow.”

◇

It’s 9:50.

They rush through the endlessly-unsanitary streets of Gramercy. Their feet carry them through the sea of people rushing past them; tired people with unfixable slouches and eye bags more that reach the bridge of their noses trying to get to their jobs, families with energetic children who jump around with intertwined hands taking them out to see the big city for a fun little day out (since when was the city ever fun? Everything smells like weed, that isn’t fun at all), the employees who worked in the countless places in the area setting up shop and getting ready to serve cold shitty bagels and expired packs of gum to anyone willing to buy them. And how could you forget the homeless people? Begging- no- pleading for money. Hoping for some relief that slowly forms every few days in the shape of two penny’s, a nickel, and a dime.

It smells like “fresh” food (which was actually just food that’s been in the fridge for two weeks) like always. They can smell Starbucks coffee as they pass by people holding their amazing styrofoam cups that totally aren’t damaging the ecosystem and that famous green mermaid logo on that little cardboard heat blocker thing— whatever it’s called. They like the smell of coffee, but in all honesty, they’re more of a tea person themself.

There’s a few street performers who’ve already set up camp. And as they descend down the steps of the 23rd street station. The sound of a saxophone and a tambourine waft through the airways, sending a spike of energy flowing through their veins. They wake up in an instant, just enough to really understand the sound of a subway’s wheels skidding away on the tracks.

Especially the sound of a subway’s wheels skidding away on the tracks.

…

Oh shit.

They just missed their subway.

Their steps slow down as they make it to the bottom of the staircase, their hand slowly coming off of the railing in shock. Their other hand grabs their phone to check the schedule of their subway.

And the next one comes in an hour…

They take a deep breath.

“OH YOU’VE GOT TO BE. FUCKING. KIDDING ME!” They scream at the empty void in which the subway left them behind, their voice echoing far through the station. Their neck strains as they cry at the top of their lungs in disdain and despair.

…

A woman covered her child’s ears and looked at them in disgust.

◇

Gepard was sifting through the papers on his desk. The air around him was empty and uncomfortable. There wasn’t even a clock around that ticked that he couldn’t get annoyed at as time continued to pass! He’d resorted to clearing his throat and checking his phone every five minutes with the ringer on! He never has the ringer on! Oh the things he did to make awkward silence less awkward. Is it really considered awkward silence though if it’s only one person though? Usually it’s between two or more people, right? Whatever. It doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is that the possible assistant he was supposed to have an interview with still hasn’t shown up! There’s been absolutely nothing from the other end of his phone, and it’s beginning to irk him. He hopes this guy didn’t get hit by a car or something on his way here, because then he’d be mad at an injured person, and he doesn’t want to be that kind of guy. But can you blame him for being upset? He has five more interviews today, all with their respective time slots. He doesn’t want this guy to seep into their time, and he doesn’t want to rearrange things. That’d be too frustrating and complicated, and the whole point of the time slots was that he was trying to avoid that

He sighs, checking the time on his phone one last time. He reaches for his work telephone, about to tell the woman at the front desk to send in the next interviewer, when suddenly, the door to his office slams open. And there in front of it is a man who’s drenched in sweat, his deep blue hair clinging to his face due to all the sweat thanks to all the running he must’ve had to do. He’s hunched over, panting heavily as he leans into the doorframe for dear life as if he’d die if he didn’t. His tired green eyes look over at Gepard, whose gaze is unwavering, mostly unimpressed.

“Are you Sampo Koski?” He asks.

“Yep! That’s the name!” Sampo nods with a confident smile.

“You’re an hour late.”

.

Sampo immediately wants to kill himself.

If only he hadn’t missed that damn subway… if only he’d woken up early…

“I-“

“Please take a seat. I’ll try to conduct this interview as quickly as possible. As I’m sure you’re aware there are other people waiting in the lobby to be interviewed.”

Sampo feels a pit in his stomach, swimming around like some sort of ocean that was transported by a bunch of helicopters and slotted right into his digestive system—that’s a weird way of saying- whatever.

Walking over to the chair slotted in front of Gepard’s luxurious desk, taking a seat in its lush leatherness. He can’t help but feel a lump form in the back of his throat at the pristine, dominating black paint coated around the four walls of the room, making him feel measly and meek amongst the demanding endless color. At least the plants make it feel slightly homey. Even if… they weren’t… real…

Also… this dude is super, duper hot.

“So, Sampo,” Gepard clears his throat, making Sampo’s head turn towards him. “Let’s start off with something nice and easy. Could you tell me about yourself and give me a summary of your background?”

“Well, I uh-“ Sampo fidgeted with his thumbs and clicked his tongue. Obviously nervous about saying where he’s from and his upbringing. “I was born and raised in Brownsville.”

“In Texas or in Brooklyn?”

“Brooklyn.” His leg shakes with unease.

“Oh,” Gepard leaned back in his seat, a neutral expression on his face. It was clear he was thinking about something, probably about how impoverished of an area Brownsville is. He’s hoping that doesn’t set him off. “Please continue.”

“Uh. I don’t know how to continue without making it sound like some sort of party to pity me. I don’t want you to hand me the job automatically because of my struggles-” he pauses. “Well, I wouldn’t mind if you handed me the job automatically-“ Sampo giggles to himself. But when he sees Gepard’s serious expression, he stops immediately; lips pressing into a thin line.

“…”

“I’m going to stop now.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“Next question?” Sampo asks quickly to try and get this thing redirected.

“Also a good idea,” Gepard looks through his list, putting his finger on the second prompt. Which totally wasn’t a list of prompts he printed off of the internet last minute. Totally not. “How did you hear about this position?”

“My pal Seele works for your company. She found out about what happened to my last job and flew some little birdies to tell me about this thing. And… totally disregarding how ungraceful I am in situations like these, I hopped on the bandwagon anyway,” he gave him some finger guns. “Ayeeeeeeeeeeee,” he tries to alleviate his mental anguish. Gepard looks confused. “… my apologies. I do that when I’m nervous sometimes. Can’t help those good ol’ butterflies, right?” He goes to rub the back of his neck with a chuckle. Sampo, you dumbass.

“Oh totally. I understand completely.” Gepard says, completely genuine in his speech. He smiles in understanding. It’s odd though. For a man such as him, being born into immense generational wealth. When has he ever had to have an interview for a job? And feel nervous about it!? They’d hand him the job the moment he walked through the door because his last name, no hesitation behind it at all.

Oh my god I can’t believe that worked, Sampo mentally sighed with relief before smiling and nodding.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was your last job? And what happened to it?”

“I was a teacher at a highschool for a few years!” He smiles briefly at the very few happy memories from his job. The two kids that cared about his class, and the other fifty who only cared about throwing paper airplanes at each other and watching videos on their phones. “Educating the youth and redirecting the courses of their lives, persay. It was an interesting experience…”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, it was a private school. And for a private school, it wasn’t as nice and as elite as you’d expect for the name and tuition that come with it. The kids sucked, most of the teachers sucked— not me of course. And most of the bathroom stalls had phallic images scribbled on their walls in sharpie…” Sampo coughed. “And reeked of weed- anyways to sum it up it was starting to lose money as more children transferred. And of course no money means I get no paycheck. And because they couldn’t afford to pay us that meant they had to let us go. They inevitably shut down a few weeks later, so unfortunately this guy right here has been unemployed for about a month and living off of the money he saved for any source of relief.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s okay. I was only in it for the money anyway…”

“Just how exactly were you in it for the money if the school had no money?”

“The head of school was a lord in a drug cartel. He was generous enough to give the teachers a lick of the money he made from his drug deals, which was a lot. He was like one of those mob bosses who was a sweet Italian grandpa until you crossed him. Then he became your worst nightmare. Y’know what I mean?”

“If that was the case, how did your school lose so much money?”

“He got arrested. And obviously after that, things plummeted. People were leaving because they didn’t want their kids under the academic guise of a major evil drug guy, which is pretty understandable. And that’s pretty much all I know. My intel is to and fro, and it’s messy. The teachers didn’t get much information, due to obvious reasons. Confidential stuff or whatever.”

“Well, that’s the police for you.”

“I know. Never liked em’.”

Gepard taps his finger to his chin, humming to himself quietly as he thinks of something, as well as ignoring Sampo’s previous comment. Digging into the crevices of his mind to try and pull out some information like an early bird to a worm. His eyes light up once he gets his beak on that sweet, succulent insect. “Did you work at Lincoln Prep? I think I remember reading an article about a situation like that a few weeks ago.”

“Bingo!”

“Why don’t you try to get another teaching job?”

“I dunno. Just don’t wanna ride the wave anymore. Plus, high schoolers are really mean. They hurt my feelings,” he frowns.

“I… see.” Gepard nods, a little confused as to the way Sampo speaks and the way he phrases things. They almost sound like common speech, but when you think about it for more than two seconds, it makes your brain go smooth. He pauses. “We’ve gone off track. Okay, my next question was what type of work environment do you prefer. But after hearing about your previous job, I really think anything will suffice for you.”

“Yeah, consider that a strength or… something.”

“How do you deal in high-stress situations?”

“I try to stay calm. And then when I go home, I cry about it all night.” Sampo says casually, looking at the tips of his well-filed nails.

“…”

Sampo looks back at Gepard as the air sinks into silence. “Too personal?”

“A bit.”

“Please pass that off as a joke.”

“Will do. Now… what are your salary expectations?”

“Just enough to not starve and not end up homeless, y’know? Nothing too fancy.”

“How much is your apartment?”

“Two hundred grand for five hundred square feet.”

“Not bad. Not bad at all.”

“Well, Gramercy is considered one of the cheapest places in Manhattan for a reason. Plus, my landlord isn’t a huge asshole-“ Sampo covers his mouth with his hand. Eyes wide. He just swore in front of an employer. One of the most exclusive employers in New York as of right now. Shit. “I’m sorry, that just slipped out.”

“It’s okay. You’re comfortable. It’s nice. Better than the woman I had earlier who almost passed out from anxiety.” Gepard laughs, it’s soft yet hearty. It’s cute. Sampo’s heart flutters from either the attractiveness of Gepard or the sinking, itching feeling clawing at his stomach from nerves.

“Haha how funny it’s totally not like I’m about to pass out from anxiousness!!!! I mean- uh- next question please!?”

“… how would you deal with an annoying coworker?”

“Well, if they asked me to do something, I’d do it. And the moment I’d finish, I’d walk away. They can’t annoy me if I’m not in their general area of… botheringness.”

“Botheringness is not a word.”

“I exercise the first amendment constantly.”

Gepard sighs.

“Okay whatever. Greatest strength?”

“I’d say I’m pretty sociable. And I perform well in every social setting. I also perform well in last minute scenarios, and I’m quick on my feet.”

“… I think that’s the first normal answer I’ve gotten from you today.” Gepard smiles “Follow up question: what is your greatest weakness?”

“Professionally or emotionally?”

Gepard deadpans. The moment was immediately ruined. “Professionally.”

“I have issues coming to work on time.”

“Trust me, I already know.”

“Damn.” Sampo puts his knuckle to his mouth and grinds his teeth in frustration for a moment. This wasn’t going too well. “Uh- I promise if I get this job… I’ll… change my sleeping schedule…?” He bargains.

“You seem unsure.”

“Well- I’m unsure I’ll get the job.” Sampo reasons.

Gepard shrugs. “Point taken.”

Gepard lifts up one of the pages on his clipboard and scans it quickly. “Now it says here that you majored in economics. And minored in education. But it also says here that you’re… good at coding. May I ask what that entails?”

“My public school somehow had just enough money to get a stem program. Because you know, they don’t want every poor kid to end up working at McDonald’s. And I guess I just had a knack for it. So if you ever need someone to do some epic legit hacking, I’m your guy.” He smirks proudly, imagining a beam of sunlight and sparkles exploding behind him.

“I don’t see how I’d ever be in a situation where I’d need someone to do some “epic legit hacking”. Especially since this isn’t a job where hacking is necessary. But if I do. I’ll keep you in mind.” Gepard smiles softly, making Sampo share one in return. It’s an awkward yet kind smile, and it feels like a warm fuzzy sensation. It’s like the feeling of cicadas buzzing on a humid night as the orange sunset reflects over the water ahead. He doesn’t know how he made that connection. They’re too completely different things, but it’s a nice feeling to Gepard. Maybe that’s why he made that connection. Because he likes both those things. And Sampo’s, admittedly attractive face, makes his heart thump.

Gepard’s overly unnecessary staring was cut short only by the sound of his phone going off. His alarm sings and screams, and he can’t help but sigh as he pushes the dismiss button on his screen. He blinks a few times, quickly snapping out of his trance.

“I was going to ask more… but I have other people to interview.”

Sampo gulps. Right. This job is highly desired. He’s got competition.

“It was nice meeting you, Sampo,” Gepard personally gets out of his chair and leans forward across his desk, holding out his arm where his hand is open, ready to shake Sampo’s own.

Sampo gets up and politely slots his hand into Gepard’s. Shaking it softly. “Same to you.”

They’re like puzzle pieces. Their hands fit perfectly.

They both try to ignore how that is so.

Sampo bids him goodbye and good day before swiftly walking out of the office. As the door closes behind it, his back leans into the repurposed wooden slab and he lets out a breath he knew for sure he’d been holding since the beginning of the interview.

He’s had plenty of interviews in the past. Just how did he happen to fuck this up so horrendously? First, he comes in late. An HOUR late. Second, he acts like a complete dumbass the entire interview. How? HOW!?

Oh he’s definitely remaining unemployed. He fucked up what could’ve been the biggest financial relief of his life. Damn it.

As he walks towards the subway station, there’s a significant slump to his posture.

◇

“So? How’d the interview go?” Seele’s voice is somewhat enthusiastic from the other side of the phone. Sampo stumbles as he opens the door to his apartment, making sure his phone doesn’t slip out of his hand.

“It uh… it was certainly something…” Sampo’s words curl as he closes and locks the door behind him, twirling his keys around his index finger before placing them on the key hanger next to his door.

“… what’s with that tone?” Seele’s voice is rather accusatory.

“… I fucked up.”

.

.

.

“I knew it,” Seele sighed.

“Hey! Don’t-“ Sampo presses his finger into the screen of his phone as if it’d reach Seele and poke her in the eye or something. “If you knew I was going to blow it, why’d you tell me to shoot for this job anyways!”

“Because you need a job!” Seele argues. “It doesn’t matter—what exactly did you do to fuck up so badly!?” She says as Sampo groggily makes his way to the couch, stepping over his cat who decided to run underneath him and almost trip him like cats do. He’s completely spent from today’s little adventure.

“… I-I- don’t know!?!? I was just trying to be myself!” Sampo exclaims as he falls into the plush cushions of his couch, the blanket covering most of the cushions pushing into his back. Some hair falls in front of his face, obscuring his view. He blows some air up towards his forehead, his hair brushing out of his sight.

“…” Seele goes quiet. “Sampo.”

“… yes?”

“You dumbass! You were yourself! That’s why you fucked up so badly!” Seele yells at him through the phone and Sampo thinks he can feel the spit from her words of anger cling to the skin of his cheek. “Did you tell him about the highschool drug cartel!?”

“Of course I told him about the highschool drug cartel!” Sampo exclaims.

“WHYWOULDYOUTELLHIMABOUTTHEHIGHSCHOOLDRUGCARTEL!?” Seele screams at him through the phone. He has half a mind to lower the volume before his ears bleed and the glass around him starts to shatter at the velocity of her voice. She grumbles loudly, vocalizing her displeasure.

“I’M SORRY!” He screams back into the phone. He sees his cat’s airplane ears pinned to the back of her head in irritation. He deflates and leans into the seats, back laid out as he raises his phone into the air with an extended arm.

“I’M TRYING TO GET YOU EMPLOYED! MORON!”

“I SAID I’M SORRY!”

“… you totally blew it.” Seele reminds him.

“Oh well.” Sampo sighs. “I’ll just try for another job is all. Life goes on.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say to your pal.”

“…”

Seele hung up on him.

He lets his arm fall onto his stomach. He lets go of his phone, letting it rest upon his chest. He’s ruined what could’ve been an absolute money maker of a job… fantastic.

His cat meows before he could fall into a slump, thankfully. Her little tongue sticks out of her mouth with big beady amber eyes.

“Oh, right, I didn’t feed you this morning.” He sits up, and his phone tumbles onto the cushions beside him. Getting up, he pets her on the head as she begins to dance around him. Tail lingering around the curve of his calf as he heads towards the kitchen. “So, which one does your tummy rumble for? Fish or chicken?”

“Meow!”

“Sometimes I forget you can’t speak English.”

◇

“… hello. Is this Sampo Koski?” A woman’s voice is stern from the other end of the line. He recognizes it as the woman from the front desk at the super duper rich building where he was interviewed.

“Yep. That’s me!” Sampo exclaimed, trying to sound energetic and upbeat as he grabbed the remote and pushed the pause button, halting the random mindless show he was watching on TV. He hopes it doesn’t sound like he had a mental breakdown and crisis over his source of income only ten minutes ago.

“You have been accepted as assistant to the CEO. You start Monday.” The woman’s voice is quick and the hang up is even quicker. There’s a long beep that follows behind. Sampo’s eyes widen, grasping onto his phone tightly in his hand as the beep continues to ring out for way too long.

…

“What.”

No fucking way.

Chapter Text

Gepard was sitting in his luxurious black leather chair stationed at his sleek desk that reflected off of the lights screwed into the ceiling. His fingers rhythmically thumped against the hardwood as he hummed along to one of the songs on his sisters recent album, bopping his head slightly as a means of leveling himself as he checked his phone with lips as thin as a line to see how many minutes past since Sampo’s initial clock-in time.

The pads of his thumbs, those of which are slightly calloused from all the dutiful work his hands push through throughout his “exuberant” work days, itch at the screen of his phone as he scrolls through the text messages shared between him and his assistant. There was no text from his blue-haired fiendish assistant to notify him about his tardiness. The last message he sent was a goodnight message followed by an outrageous amount of random emojis from the night prior.

He grumbles at the lack of communication, his bottom lip stretching close to the side of his face as he places his phone down onto his desk; its back facing the ceiling. Ever since the two started working together and coexisting in tandem, Sampo’s only been late a handful of times. He’s sure if he counted, his fingers wouldn’t reach past his first hand. He’s always been very diligent and observant when it comes to making it to work on time, ever since that fateful… obscure interview. And whenever Sampo was running late, he was always quick to inform Gepard that he would be as such as to not cause any trouble.

But there was nothing today.

No longer humming one of Serval’s beautifully written masterpieces gifted to mankind, he stares outside his wide windows with an unsatisfied expression. Disappointment glazes his eyelids as they droop halfway down his peepers, watching the occasional pigeon fly past the shiny windowed buildings of the city in which he was sure other companies were having their meetings and whatnot; he saw one flying with a big pretzel in its mouth. That staple of NYC was probably swooped up by some poor city-liver or some tourist schmuck. It’s happened to him before. Some damn bird took a chunk of his hotdog when he wasn’t looking. Ever since then, he’s kept a keen eye on his food as he walked through the dirtied, overly impoverished streets of the city.

He grumbles at the memory.

Five more minutes pass. Of course, it feels like time passes as slowly as humanly possible and it’s like an hour of his day was ripped right out of his hands. But Sampo finally burst through the (already opened) door. A big smile on his face, wrinkles forming around the sides of his eyes as he enters the room with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. The aroma wafts through the four corners of the humongous room, and Gepard could get lost in the smell of freshly brewed coffee and swim in its dark brown wafts of water till the end of eternity. Coffee was a necessity- a life source even.

“Sampo, you’re late.” Gepard’s tone was supposed to come off as stern and intimidating. But whatever he had going for him dropped the instant he felt a smile itching at his lips. A much happier tone weaving through his words as they came out of his mouth with a friendly smile.

“I know, sorry dude. I just so happened to get myself into quite the pickle on the way here,” Sampo apologizes quickly, placing down a cup of coffee onto Gepard’s desk. He takes his own coffee and presses it to his lips. Taking a sip, he makes an expression of discomfort and disgust, moving the coffee away from his lips, he looks at it in confusion. His expression softens in realization as he eyes the coffee on Gepard’s desk and slooooooooooowly switches them out when Gepard has his back turned for a brief moment.

“What exactly would said ‘pickle’ be? If you don’t mind me asking.” Gepard chuckles at his peculiar choice of words.

“Some chummy kid thought it’d be a glaggle to record himself jumping onto the train tracks for internet clout. Like a dumbass,” Sampo sticks out his tongue as the memory plays out in his mind. Some teenager, not above the age of fifteen, jumping onto the tracks, phone in hand. Horribly lip-syncing to some song that came around when he was younger that had a sudden burst of popularity once more a few weeks ago. With a grumble, he eyed the kid as he smirked, trying to seem appealing to the masses. Meanwhile, some older woman yelled at him to get his ignorant ass off the tracks before he got hit. Although they were concerned for his safety, they weren’t concerned enough to help him. Besides, they weren’t going to risk their fleeting humanity for some kid who decided to make some dumbass decision all on his own. Sampo told himself if the kid got hit, that was entirely his fault.

And then, when the kid ended up delaying the train for an hour because he wouldn’t get off the tracks. He told himself it really wasn’t worth it to stick around anymore and he could’ve been at work by now if he didn’t stand around for so long.

With a sigh, he walked up the steps and disappeared into the foot-trafficked streets of the city.

“I’d question your claim, however,” Gepard takes a sip of his coffee. Unaware of what transpired before the coffee swap and completely unknowing of Sampo’s germs swirling around in the black coffee liquid. “Knowing today’s generation, is it really that surprising?”

“Not at all.”

Gepard shakes his head with an oldened expression. “Children these days are so ignorant and glued to their phones. It’s like the internet is in their DNA.”

Sampo rolls his eyes. “Oh please. You speak as if we wouldn’t behave the same way if we were their age. Also, stop making us sound old. I’m only twenty-four, don’t make me think in fifty-three,” he shivers in distaste as the latte in his hands warms up his palms. “And people our age act the exact same way they do, only with strings attached. You know how it is. Big fancy new stuff brings in the masses. Only the old-school’s protest against it.” He shakes his head as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“That also makes us sound old.”

“Let’s just change topics, shall we?” Sampo desperately says as to not be reminded of his youth floating away by the second. “I uh. Hope you like your coffee.” Is the only thing he can scramble for in his mind and put out into a metaphorical plate to be devoured by conversation.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Sampo.” Gepard says softly. “I wonder how you know my order so well.”

“I’ve been getting it for you the past two years. If I didn’t have it down by now, I think I’d have a problem with my noggin. Besides, it’s straight black coffee. How is that a difficult guy to memorize?”

“Fair enough.” Gepard shrugs.

“You’re so basic. Stereotypical big-strong-scary-CEO-guy kind of coffee,” Sampo scoffs playfully before taking a sip of his own. Smiling to himself at the way Gepard’s expression falls into something not-so-short of offended.

“Hey! I’m not scary! And I am not basic!” Gepard reasons, pouting at the outrageous and entirely false claims. He narrows his eyes as Sampo laughs at him, like always. With all the teasing Sampo does, it’s a wonder he doesn’t lay him off already. But he cares about Sampo way too much to let him go. He’s his first best friend that’s truly felt like a best friend. And not some asshole kid who wanted to hang out with him so they’d be popular because they hung out with a rich guy and get good holiday gifts or something. Sampo wasn’t like that though. It all felt genuine. And that makes Gepard’s days just a little bit brighter.

“I’m hoping the coffee suffices for my tardiness today? And what I just said?” Sampo bargains with a sheepish smile to try and really sell it. Hoping Gepard would be oh so kind as to sweep it under the rug and throw him off the hook.

Gepard rolls his eyes. “I suppose it can. But only this once. First of all, no more making false claims and slinging my name in the mud in front of me only for the sole purpose of riling me up. And the next time you’re running late, please inform me. We run a tight business here, and we always need-“

“All hands on deck as soon as possible so things can run on schedule. Yeah yeah yeah. You say that mumbo jumbo all the time. Doesn’t your mouth get tired saying all that?” Sampo teases, leaning over to flick the tip of Gepard’s nose with a chuckle. Over the past two years they’ve been working together, Sampo’s really eased into a comfortable rhythm with Gepard. They get along well, and Sampo just loves to bust Gepard’s balls and push all of his fancy little expensive-ball-gown-party-going buttons sewn against the curvature of his spine. It’s a fun little hobby of his.

Gepard huffs as Sampo’s finger leaves the tip of nose. Sampo sticks out his tongue with a rather obnoxious giggle. As Gepard holds out a fat folder brimming with paperwork out to Sampo with an unimpressed expression, Sampo winks as he flicks his wrist to take it from him. Turning around, he heads straight for his own office. Which was only accessible through Gepard’s. He always thought it was odd how the two offices were connected, but he already knew the reason why. So he didn’t question it much anymore.

☕︎

Sampo closes the door to his office with a soft, tired, yet happy sigh. Leaning up against the door, he takes everything in. Everything that is so wonderfully his and feels homey in the sense that only he would understand.

The walls to his wonderful little office are a soft brown, with dark brown accents coating the edges like coffee colors. The windows are of a medium size, not too big to cover a majority of the wall like Gepard’s windows. But not too little to bring in a sliver of light. They’re the perfect size that brings in just the most adorned amount of illumination through the usually closed cream-colored silk curtains.

There’s a decently-sized brown desk made out of a familiar brown wood, stained a dark brown. It reaches a majority of one of the walls, covering a quarter of its… not-so-lengthy length. Again, it’s a small office! It’s only intended for one or two people! Which, again, knowing the only reason why this office exists is because it’s intended for two people is… disturbing. But it doesn’t matter anymore because this office only serves the purpose of being his office! And nothing more!

Getting back on track, he has a few trinkets scattered around to make the place feel more like him rather than some soul-sucking, capitalistic nightmare of a jail cell dragging him down to the fiery pits of hell (no disrespect to Gepard, of course).

There’s a wall entirely dedicated to minimalistic shelving housing cute little items he didn’t feel the need to have rotting around and collecting dust in his apartment anymore. Giving them a new home here. Plus, a few pictures of his cat. Because the thousands of them in his phone simply aren’t enough for such a beauty as his feline.

There’s a few (fake) plants as well. Gifted by Gepard. Because who else would give you a fake cactus as a gift out of nowhere when you didn’t ask for one and had no intent of owning one but you kept anyway because you thought the gesture was kind and you were too excited to admit that someone thinking about you in a purchase or just in general makes your heart flutter?

Yeah.

.

That’s pretty much it, besides the basics: a computer or two, a printer, a copy machine, a fax machine even though nobody faxes anymore. Do they? Whatever.

And that’s it. Everything he could possibly need for a job such as his.

And he loves it. It’s a home away from home.

Done admiring his office, he slinks into his office chair and opens up his computer. The background is a picture of his cat, of course. She’s playing with a toy mouse. One that he specifically remembers containing catnip, which she went crazy over for three hours straight. That was the first time she ever tried catnip. It’s a memory he’ll have forever.

Finally done with the reminiscing, Sampo plops the hefty file down onto his desk and stretches out his arms, feeling his spine pop back into place and easing the ache’s residing in the bone as he finally starts to get to work. Doing what he’s getting paid pretty well for and doing it with ease.

☕︎

‘New Look at the IPC’s Deep Dive Into the Fashion Industry: CEO Skott Bassett Shares his Secrets and Upcoming Looks!’

Gepard stares at the screen of his computer, eyeing a rather peculiar tweet. He gazes into the big bolded letters of the news headline with a particularly unhappy huff and frown. Grinding his teeth, he narrows his eyes as he reads through the rest of the article.

The IPC. One of the only corporations that comes close to rivaling Silvermane Guards. They manufacture and sell a variety of items, popular to obscure, to clothing to kitchenware. Anything you can name, they’ve probably got something with their name branded on it or stitched into the side. Everything is low quality, made to last a few years at best. Even if you take care of it. So when it goes out, you have to buy another one of their items. And their items aren’t cheap. It’s a cash grab with a stupid name on it.

And it’s a genuine threat to everything his company stands for, especially if they’re starting to go for the Silvermane Guard’s field of expertise with their cheaply made, expensive-looking coats. His first idea was to sue them and get it over with. But he can’t do that because they don’t even look like his company’s designs! And suing a company because they’re a threat to your own usually doesn’t end well for you publicity-wise. Especially since the IPC is just as popular and widespread as they are…

Fuck. This is going to be a rough one.

“Hey, Mr. Boss Man!” Sampo opened the door of his office and slipped into Gepard’s own. Holding an empty file in his hand with ease, unlike before when he struggled to hold it with two when it was filled to the brim.

As Sampo approached Gepard’s desk, he sighed. Finally letting himself go from the news article. “Don’t call me that, please. If you’re going to be the slightest bit professional, at least refer to me with my last name.” He asks lightly. He knows how Sampo is, and he’s not going to do that. He wasted a pinch of energy on that one.

“Mmmmmmm… nope!” Sampo pops the ‘p’ with a smile as he places the empty file onto Gepard’s desk. “I guess you could say this case is closed.” He chuckles at his own ignorant humor. He only finds himself funny. Gepard rolls his eyes.

“Nice job,” Gepard nods as he takes the empty file and slips it back into one of the drawers in his desk until further use. There’s no need to get rid of something he can reuse multiple times.

“Why thank you, my esteemed associate. I appreciate it when you sing my praises!” Sampo declares goofily. Then he’s back to normal. “I sent every digital document to their respective locations, don’t worry. And I sent you a few files as well, just for your keepsake.” He pauses. “As per usual.”

“Thank you, Sampo.” Gepard sighs. “What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably.”

Gepard deadpans. “I doubt it.”

“I doubt your doubtings.”

“Are you going on break soon?” Gepard crosses his arms with an unimpressed expression, words irritated.

Sampo frowns dramatically, letting a tear fall down his cheek for an exaggerated affect. How he was able to cry on command was something short of a gift. “You want to get rid of me?” He sniffs.

Gepard rolls his eyes and smiles. Oh Sampo. He always makes him feel better effortlessly. It’s like magic.

Getting out of his chair, it swivels around in his desk as he walks up to Sampo. “Let’s go get lunch together?”

Sampo smiles. The act is dropped and the tears are already gone. The glaze over his eyes has disappeared as well. “If you pay.”

“You can’t pay for it yourself?” Gepard raised an eyebrow as the two began to exit the office to go on their lunch break together.

“Dude, you’ve made at least a thousand dollars talking to me these past five minutes.” Sampo rolls his eyes.

“… fair point.”

Chapter Text

It was another ordinary morning in the Silvermane Guard’s humongous office building. Or, “the lair-dungeon” as Sampo likes to call it behind Gepard’s back. The weather was a moderate 60 degrees, and the zephyrs were malicious in the way they came and went ever so ungraciously. Coming back just as fast as they disappeared to smack a blast of cold air right into your face as the temperature began to drop and the light green leaves started to fade into an autumn brown day by day.

Everything was running accordingly; smoothly, swiftly, and on time. Perhaps even a bit earlier than anticipated. Which put a pep in Gepard’s step as he beamed all the way through each floor of the slightly chilly office building. Greeting his coworkers with a particularly giddy expression and a wave just a bit too fast for normality. Everything going according to plan meant that there were more opportunities for more work, much to his employees’ chagrin. But Gepard is a wonderful boss. He’s kind, compassionate, and unlike most CEO’s, he actually cares about his employees. He pays them weekly and substantially, and gives them plenty of vacation time. And phenomenal insurance packages to put anyone at ease and rest assured for the rest of their life. He is truly a wonderful boss who tries his best to be so, therefore everyone liked to see him at the top of his game and beaming like he was on cloud nine. So if that resulted in them having to work a bit more than usual, they didn’t mind at all (it’s totally not like the guy is their only source of income and keeps them alive and off the shitty streets of the city so it’s only fair, y’know?)

He hums as he walks through each floor, greeting his employees and bidding them good morning like he always does. The day is off to a wonderful start, and he couldn’t be more elated. Sliding into the elevator, he feels it move up the floor underneath his feet. When the doors open with a soft ding, he steps into the floor where his office and the offices of multiple higher-ups in his company reside. Wishing them a morning full of good as well. His employees wave back to him in their own little offices. Customized to their own personalities and likings. Sending him back their wishes aplenty.

Finally approaching his office and grabbing the doorknob, he opens the door with a proud huff and a puff of his chest. Gazing around the room to see the way the black walls sparkle and shine underneath the ceiling lights screwed tightly up above.

And in the middle of it all stands a peculiar blue-haired assistant with arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping into the spotless floor beneath him as the unhappy expression on his face grows even more unsatisfactory. Gepard stands awkwardly in the doorway, the clueless one in this scenario.  

Y’know, usually it’s the other way around.

“Good morning, Sampo!” Gepard begins with a happy smile, disregarding the negative energy swirling throughout the room in hopes Sampo will drop the act and behave like his hyper self again. “You sure got here earl-“

“Jing Yuan is going to be here in five minutes.” Sampo says immediately, nostrils flaring with irritation. The tapping of his foot against the floor gets faster and more aggressive with each passing second as he glares daggers into Gepard’s eyes. His overwhelming and eccentric personality is nowhere to be found and Gepard can’t help but gulp as his skin gets paler, accentuating the freckles and little scars flicked across his body like a paintbrush.

“S-sorry?” Gepard asks as his voice wavers in fear of Sampo’s unhappy gaze. He shakes slightly, oddly worried by the tension surrounding them.

“Jing Yuan. You have a meeting with him.” Sampo’s voice remains as steady as a rock and only gets graver as he reiterates his previous words. “In five minutes.”

“… uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” Gepard drags out for way too long as he stares blankly at Sampo, unsure of how to respond to the situation placed in front of him. “Uhhhh… why didn’t you…” he speaks as if he were walking on eggshells. Cautious to not piss Sampo off to make sure he doesn’t explode and have a hissy fit first thing in the morning. He’s been a witness to his anger a few times before, and he always told himself he would never get at the end of that harshness. The screaming, the swearing, the borderline death threats and curses upon family bloodlines of thousands. The idea of that being him; getting sworn out and cursed for all eternity by some blue-haired witch makes him shiver. “… tell me earlier…?”

.

Way to go idiot.

Sampo rolls his eyes and a hand reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, astounded by Gepard’s carelessness. His groan crescendo’s into something more irritated and obvious. “I told you a week ago,” he pointed to the other side of the room slightly past Gepard’s desk. “And you marked it on your calendar!” He exclaims as if it should’ve been obvious to him. Gepard slowly turns his head towards his desk, eyes directed at his calendar. Where there is in fact, a big red ‘X’ crossed onto today’s date and Jing Yuan’s name scribbled painfully hastily underneath it.

Shit.

“Dude. I can’t believe you forgot!” Sampo sighs. With another huff, he turns toward his office door and starts to head for it. He wants to get away from Gepard as soon as possible so he doesn’t try to beat him up and ends up walking out of the office building holding a box filled with his belongings not even ten minutes later. “Oh, and fyi. I didn’t prepare everything for you. I just got here so,” he grumbles. “The load has been laid upon your back. And it’s pretty heavy. Enjoy.” He says rather unenthusiastically, disregarding Gepard as he begins to open his mouth.

Gepard doesn’t get a word in as Sampo slams the door behind him. The noise bounces off the walls of the room, ringing in his ears long after it’s gone as he stands there mindlessly like some kind of idiot after recuperating from the full body wince he made at the expected but still very unwelcome noise. He knows what’s going on, yes. But everything happened so fast, and the change in energy was such a whiplash for him that he can only stand there and vacuously wonder what the hell just happened without a thought in the back of his head. The pace of his heart picks up rapidly as the panic begins to settle in his freckled skin. His eyes widen. Oh crap.

Running to his desk, the race against the clock to clean everything up and get everything settled before Jing Yuan gets here begins now! Now it’s only a matter of about three minutes to see who ends up victorious. A slightly older and taller gentleman who can take deep strides to get to his desired location in record time with about a constant five second interval where he has to stop to take a deep breath and straighten his back. Or some nervous twenty-four year old who’s anxiety is going through the roof at the mental timer of a meat grinder he’s put himself into; little chopped bits of meat already pouring onto a five star plate of stress. All fatty and stringy as it’s pushed closed and clamped down.

✈︎

Gepard somehow throws everything unsightly and messy off of his desk and tidies up all the little hiccups and hitches in a record time of twenty-seven seconds without bumping his elbow into the coffee cup left kindly on his desk by Sampo as per usual, which he doesn’t even remember getting but whatever. All of that leaves him approximately twenty seconds to douse himself in his best smelling perfume that he keeps in the upper left drawer of his desk for special occasions or sudden situations or urgent matters. And run his hands through his hair to tame it just enough to seem professional.

Throwing his drawer open and ripping out his rather expensive bottle of perfume (he enjoys expensive perfume, whatever. It makes him happy, whatever. He doesn’t care if he smells like the stereotypical Gucci model, even if he doesn’t buy Gucci because it looks ugly to him. Sucks that he was assassinated by his wife because she wanted to inherit his fortune. Wait. What if that happens to him- we’re getting off track). Spraying it in all the crucial areas: around his neck, in front of his chest, and either wrist. Letting the artificially scented air seep into his skin and clothing for a few milliseconds before shoving the perfume back into his drawer and slamming it shut with a bump of his hip as his hands flow through his hair. Forcing their way through every knot and clump that shouldn’t be there. It’s painful, but it must be done in the name of professionalism. He wants to have at least an ounce of it. Despite him and Jing Yuan being pretty close, not just as business partners, but as acquaintances. Although Jing Yuan has been a part of the company since his father was CEO, he still feels the need to be as uptight and professional as when they first met.

He forces his spine to be straight, and he sits upright as he hears the door knob turn. With a shift of his gaze, he sees the door begin its journey ajar and how quickly a man, slightly taller than him with long, fluffy white hair that cascades down his shoulders and tickles the nape of his neck. With an eternally chill expression on his face, he steps through the door decked out in a respectably nice suit and tie with soft pink accents on the cuffs of his gray blazer.

“Jing Yuan!” Gepard’s voice is enthusiastic, shoving down all the shakiness from his panic-induced frenzy not even two minutes ago. Maintaining a cool tone and a relaxed face as Jing Yuan sinks into the rolling leather chair in front of his desk. Jing Yuan’s hair trickles into the front of his shoulders, covering the collar of his blazer as his lips curl into a sheepishly relaxed smile.

“Gepard, how it is a pleasure to see you again.” Jing Yuan’s tone matches his words. He truly is happy to see his business partner again. “How have you been?”

Gepard takes a moment to consider his response. “I’ve been pretty good. These past few months have been decent. Nothing to complain about here.” He holds the urge to let his eye twitch as his brain goes back to the news articles and tweets about the IPC and that damn Skott. “H- how have you been?” He stammers as he tries to focus on something else. “Your family? How are they?”

Jing Yuan nods. “I’ve been doing pretty well myself. I’ve had days of joy and days of sorrow, but those too come to pass.” His words have always had an air of literacy to them. They’ve always been poetic and calming to the ears. “As for my family… hmmm…” he places a finger to his chin in thought, considering what information and updates he should give to Gepard. “Yingxing hasn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary. Still teaching how to wield a sword to those willing to listen- which has been plentiful as always.”

“That’s wonderful!” Gepard smiles politely. He’s heard of Jing Yuan’s husband’s little business. Being one of the most well-acclaimed swordsmen in Asia, in possession of many awards and accolades that go from the floor to the ceiling of at least two walls in their house. People all across the continent (and even further than that) flock to his estate to learn the ways of the blade under his watchful eye. He’s quite a big deal, apparently.

“And Yanqing turned fourteen last month,” Jing Yuan beams, oh so proud of his son. His smile curls with a tint of love and adoration for his kin, and how big he’s become. “He got a sword for his birthday, and Yingxing has been teaching him some moves… he’s a natural already!” He exclaims, so in love with his family and so proud of them both. He loves them so, so much.

“Oh wow! That’s great! I hope he had a good birthday,” Gepard says nicely. He met Yanqing once, two years back when he first started ruling the kingdom of his company in his family’s little monarchy, wielding his fancy staff in the air before his common folk employees. From what he remembers of him, he’s a pretty eccentric child- teenager . He’s eager to learn anything and everything and be the best he can be at everything he does. He’s a bit headstrong, but he’s got a good heart. And considering the way Jing Yuan speaks of him, it’s safe to assume the only thing that’s changed these past two years has been his time on earth. “Tell him I said happy belated.”

“Will do. He says hello, by the way. They both do.”

Gepard giggles briefly. How sweet. But the time for simple back and forth is over. And with a clearing of his throat and organizing of his stack of papers, he’s insinuated that it’s no longer time for the niceties of catching up. “Let’s get down to business,” he says professionally.

Jing Yuan only nods with that sheepish smile of his, hair flowing softly around him as he moves his head in agreement. “Alright,” his voice is calm and soothing in stark contrast to Gepard’s strained sternness.

“How has profit been overseas?” Gepard asks quickly, but not expecting his business partner to respond with just as much enthusiasm because that’d be rude. Although it’s Jing Yuan, he honestly doesn’t care what Gepard does.

“I must say, business was pretty stagnant for a while before we made the decision to get some celebrities in our coats. Popularity skyrocketed instantly, and there’s been an increase of money so influential, it might be the biggest influx of money our division has ever gotten!”

“Good,” Gepard nods, quickly going on.

“There’s been an increase in sales online. There’s a bunch of buyers in the Philippines. We’re already in the process of trying to get a  store in Makati. To Try and get more foot traffic there since the one in Taiwan has been slammed with visitors recently.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Gepard concludes with a smile. “Where exactly in Makati do you plan on putting the location?”

“We’re still figuring it out. But we’ve been thinking of Century City Mall.”

Gepard nods. “That’s good. From what I’ve heard, it’s a very wealthy city in the Philippines. And the mall is beautiful.”

“Oh, indeed it is. It has a futuristic feel to it. And it’s very popular.”

“Alright. I think it’s a worthy investment.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because I think everything is a worthy investment.”

“You just don’t want to hurt my feelings.” Jing Yuan’s shoulders rise and fall as he chuckles heartily. “I’m an old man, no need to worry about my feelings so much. My chest rises and falls in ease no matter what.”

“On the contrary, you are still quite young.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, my friend. But fifty is not young.” Jing Yuan smiles. “I’m not as spry as I used to be.”

“But-“

“You are twenty-four, Gepard. Please.”

“… you look good for fifty?” Gepard says awkwardly.

“…” Jing Yuan chuckles. “Why thank you, son.”

Oh crap. The daddy issues are definitely coming back now. Poking at his skin and trying to get through all the layers of flesh. Gepard straightens his spine, eye twitching slightly as he clears his throat and his thumbs begin to press up against each other. His mind screams at him to ignore the horrible relationship with his father and even moreso ask Jing Yuan to adopt him. How embarrassing. He’s twenty-four and owns a multi-billion dollar company and he’s over here trying not to ask a fifty year old man with a husband and a child to sign his adoption papers—which he’s not even an orphan and doesn’t have adoption papers!

Gepard clears his throat once again, desperate to think of another topic and fast. “And what about our assets?”

Jing Yuan shifts his gaze to the back of Gepard’s monitor, trying to avoid those striking eyes of his. “I admit, we’re struggling to keep up with the demands of our customers. Every one customer brings in ten more that all come straight through the doors demanding a fancy coat on the spot. Supply and demand has been tricky, recently… sometimes popularity in a business comes with its downsides,” he shrugs with a sheepish laugh. Kind of like an “oh well, it is what it is,” kind of face.

“I assume you need us to send more coats to you as soon as possible?” Gepard already has his email ready to send to his transporters. His finger hovers over the enter button.

“Yes please.”

Gepard pushes his index finger into the keyboard with a click. “What else would you like to discuss?”

“Actually,” Jing Yuan begins. “I had an idea for an interesting new design…”

✈︎

“So, how was your playdate?” Sampo asks as he finally exits his office and leans into Gepard’s at the lack of Jing Yuan’s presence. He seems to be in a much better mood than he was first thing in the morning.

Gepard huffs unhappily at Sampo’s behavior, finishing typing up his rundown of the meeting and any things he’d like to keep note of. “It wasn’t a “play date”, Sampo. Must you always insist on dumbing down serious things?”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Sampo shrugs as he closes the door to his office. “So. How was it?”

“It was… good,” Gepard says undoubtedly as he scrolls through Twitter, looking at all the news outlets that his alt account follows. Skimming through all the headlines and looking at all the pictures with Skott’s hideous face on it. That damn cocky smile plastered onto every news outlet and media page. It makes him want to barf.

“You sound upset,” Sampo points out immediately. They’ve only known each other for two years, but they’re so close that within the drop of a hat, Sampo understands what’s Gepard’s feeling. Granted, he has better social awareness than Gepard will ever have in his entire life. But most people find it hard to read him because he’s not the best at expressing his emotions unless he’s really trying to. To the naked eye, there’s nothing to him but sternness and a dislike for horseplay. But Sampo knows him perfectly. He was able to dig out all the secret sides of Gepard that even his sisters didn’t know about! And they knew everything about him! That’s just how good Sampo was at reading people.

Gepard sighs. “I’m not upset.”

“You sighed,” Sampo points an accusatory finger at him. “That’s used to express disappointment. Is it me? Are you disappointed in me?” He frowns, eyes shiny as if he’s about to cry.

Gepard immediately gets defensive. But also upset at the idea that Sampo’s sad because of him. “What!? No-“

“I’m just messing around with ya, Geppie.” Sampo chuckles as he approaches his desk and takes a seat where Jing Yuan once was. “Anyway. To get your mind off of what’s putting a thorn in your side…” he looks around the room, clicking his tongue in thought to try and find something that would distract Gepard just enough. “Your… walls, are uh. Black.”

“… yes. They are.” Gepard blinks. “They’ve been like that since we met.”

“… mind explaining to me why that is?”

Gepard pauses, unsure of what he just asked. “You’re asking me why I painted my walls black?”

“I literally couldn’t think of anything else to ask you.” Sampo admits.

“You know how many questions you could’ve asked me? I have sisters, you know. You could’ve asked how they are.” Gepard rolls his eyes.

“Okay then. How are your sisters?”

“I’m not answering that because I gave you that question-“ Gepard pauses, shoulders sulking as he realizes what he’s been saying. “Why must you always drag me into meaningless banter?”

“Because pointless stuff is fun,” Sampo smiles with another chuckle. “You gotta loosen up once in a while. There’s a stick too far up your ass and it’s makin ya a bossy bee.”

“I don’t have a stick up my ass!” Gepard argues back. He takes a deep breath, and straightens up his spine. Slamming his hands into his desk, he glared at Sampo. “Okay then fine. If I have a stick up my ass, I’ll take it out of mine and stick it up yours.”

Sampo whistles, rolling his foot around and around as he leans back into the chair with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Kinky.”

“You’re lucky you’re really good at your job or else I would fire you right now.” Gepard says quickly as some color rises to his cheeks.

“You can’t fire me,” Sampo blinks innocently. “You’d miss me too much.”

Gepard stops.

“You know I’m right.”

“Yeah…” Gepard scratches at the back of his neck, looking away bashfully as Sampo looks at him with a confused expression at the action. “You are…”

…

Silence.

“So… why’d you paint your office black?”

“…”

Back at square one. Like always. This is always how their bickers go. Sampo says something stupid, Gepard argues against it, Sampo says something stupider to rope Gepard into a joke, Gepard falls for it like an idiot, Gepard threatens to fire Sampo, Sampo says he’d miss him, Gepard gets flustered. Rinse and repeat.

“… the room was ugly. To put it nicely.”

“How ugly?”

“Like something you’d see in a grandmother’s house.”

Sampo winces and grimaces. “Ooooooh. That’s ugly.”

Gepard giggles at Sampo’s theatrics. “Yeah, it was pretty ugly. I chose the color black because it’d be easier to maintain. And it looks a bit intimidating at first glance.”

“It worked. I remember the first time I saw your office, the day we met, I almost pissed my pants because this place looked like the final boss that’d kick my ass. And now I hang out in it every day.”

“I didn’t need to know that first part.”

“I don’t stray from the truth. I’m no fibber.”

“That was definitely a lie.”

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t…”

The two look into each other’s eyes. Gepard has to pull himself out of it before he gets lost into those beautiful green eyes forever.

“… I have more work for you to do.” He says quickly, coughing into his hand and hopefully hiding his pink rosy cheeks. He reaches into his desk and pulls out a stack of papers, plopping them onto the desk with a loud thud.

Sampo stares at the stack inharmoniously.

“Ah goddammit.”

Chapter Text

The harmonic humming of ringing telephones harboring their incoming calls plays a tune throughout the highest floor of the office building. Gepard waits patiently in his chair, seeing his younger sister’s messages bombard his screen. He smiles softly at the excessive amount of emoji’s as he listens to the songs the phones from all across the building sing together in unison like a Christmas carol. A little festive for Gepard since the days are starting to get colder and the Christmas decorations are already put on display (despite Halloween not even nearing the corner).

As he hears the cold wind hitting against the glass panes, he swivels around in his chair towards the radiator behind him. Flicking up the settings by one just to warm up the place a sliver. Sampo was still on his commute to work, on time, thankfully. Regardless of how many minutes he spent outside, he’d still complain that he was freezing his ass off the moment he stepped into the office. It’s been like this since he started working here, and it’s not going to change any time soon.

He’d rather have his office feel like the inside of the witch’s oven from Hansel and Gretel instead of Sampo’s endless bickering (despite how much he loves to hear him run his mouth about anything that occupies his mind).

The door opens, and here comes Sampo. Shivering and teeth chattering as he holds a moderately-sized stack of mail in his arms and two cups of coffee in his hands. The mail accumulated all throughout the week nestled in the fold of his arms. As he steps inside and the warmth of the office embraces him, his chattering teeth melt into a satisfied smile. “It’s so nice and warm in here,” he exclaims with a sigh as he closes the door behind him with a moderate kick from the flat of his foot. “Yeesh. The weather is getting cold and fast! Any longer out there and I would’ve become Sampo Koski, the human ice cube.” He takes a dramatically deep breath. “You’d think with everyone pissing their pants over global warming and it being a serious issue and whatnot, the air would at least be a bit warmer.”

Gepard rolls his eyes. “The world doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh? How does Mr. CEO know that, hm?”

“Because I’m educated?”

“Wow,” Sampo crosses his arms the best he can with what’s in it, trying to balance everything so nothing falls. “Low blow. You can’t say that to an unprivileged man who grew up dirt poor,” he tsked, shaking his head. Gepard found it concerning how Sampo always joked about his previous living situation. But it was better to laugh than cry, he supposed.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why do you always twist my words?”

“Because what’s the fun in not?” He chuckles before halting it all to let a deep chill shoot down his spine and wake up his system. He shivers greatly. “Awww man. I hate how cold it is outside!” He whines.

“That’s because it’s chilly outside and you’re wearing a coat that looks like it’s been dragged up fifteen streets and torn apart by a pack of rabid dogs.” Gepard comments, eyeing Sampo’s jacket as the assistant glides over to his desk and drops the stack of mail and his cup of coffee onto it with a huff. Sampo’s jacket is faded in color. What once was a wine-red was now a dirtied maroon-ish color. There were holes here and there, with stitches of sewing and string that were loose and stuck out. The fur that stuck to the hood was gone, nowhere to be found. And knowing Sampo, there was no way he’d ever find it. It looked hideous. To put it lightly.

“Come on, it’s a nice jacket!”

Gepard makes a face.

Sampo makes a face.

“… okay fine. Perhaps it’s a bit on the elderly side, but that’s no biggie! Other than that, it’s just as good as the day I bought it!”

“When did you buy that jacket?”

…

“Uhh…” Sampo clicks his tongue in thought. “… four, maybe five years ago?”

“Five years is the maximum in which a jacket should last, Sampo.” Gepard crosses his arms. That he knows all too well. “It’s not like you don’t get paid enough, why not just buy a new one?”

“Let’s be real, Gep. I doubt there’s ever going to be a chance that I find a Canada Goose jacket just lying around in clearance for fifty bucks and have to fight some middle-aged soccer mom of three for it ever again. That’s just highly unlikely.” Sampo huffs again. “Besides, I really like this jacket! Emotional attachment or whatever. Plus, I don’t like buying fancy jackets and shit.”

“You can just buy a simple one if the idea of buying an expensive jacket bothers you so much. There’s plenty of affordable ones on the market…” Gepard pauses. “Unless you’ve been on another impulsive buying frenzy.” He raises an eyebrow at him, mentally taking note of the way Sampo does a full body flinch at the notion.

“No!” Sampo gasps at the accusation, placing his hands on his hips as he opens his mouth to say something else in retaliation.

Gepard makes a face.

Sampo frowns.

“… yeah…” he deflates, looking away in shame at his horrendous money-spending habits.

“I’ve told you countless times that saving money is important.”

“I do! I listen! I save enough for my rent and then I buy whatever suits my fancy.”

“Is that why you always beg me to buy you lunch? Because you’re off spending your money on your wants and not your needs?”

“Okay. You know what? You are not my mother,” Sampo points a shaky finger at him, pointed towards the tip of his nose. “I don’t have to listen to you!”

“Yes. But I am your boss.”

Sampo pouts.

“Whatever.” He walks towards his own office across the room. Refusing to look back at Gepard who takes this opportunity to sift through all of this week’s mail. He sees the normal stuff in there: some bills, some requests from other offices and businesses, some random healthcare and insurance ads targeted towards people thirty years older than him that he keeps getting for some odd reason despite him calling said companies and requesting them to not send him those because he in fact isn’t an old man and it’s totally not hurting his feelings but every single time he gets them anyway. However, this time, he sees something different:

Big, bright. And yellow and blue. There’s a logo of a bear head stamped to the front and pictures of multicolored anthropomorphic fuzzy animals dressed in bright colorful dresses and shirts with sparkles and glitter littered across the front. It looks like the inside of a little kid’s mind, and the pinnacle of squeezing money out of exhausted parents trying to deal with their screaming little angels. Oh. He knows this. It’s Build-a-Bear. Raising an eyebrow at it, he glares, giving it a closer look.

“Gepard, you gotta understand that I’m an adult- we’re the same age. I can do whatever I want with all the money I acquire-“

“Why is there a Build-a-Bear magazine in my mail?”

It goes dead silent.

“… what.” Sampo refuses to turn around.

“I said. Why is there a Build-a-Bear magazine in my mail?”

Sampo finally turns around. He seems a bit on edge, unsure of what expression to keep on his face to avoid suspicion. It keeps shifting between a frown and a raised eyebrow. He approaches Gepard once more and looks down at the magazine. “… maybe it’s an accident? We get other people’s mail all the time.”

Gepard flips it over to read the address on the back in fine print. “Then why does it have your address on the back of it?”

Sampo pales.

“It’s for my niece.”

“… you’re an only child?”

“I married into the family.”

“You’re single. Just last week you were crying to me about how horrible your love life is and how desperately you want a boyfriend to which I told you to get yourself out there and you violently declined, declaring that you were tired of approaching men and you were going to have them approach you for once.” Gepard recalls last week’s events like it was yesterday. Sampo whining and complaining about wanting a boyfriend. Gepard was close to offering himself just for the fun of it… not because of anything else of course. Totally not.

“I-“ Sampo pauses, sighing. “Okay! Fine! You caught me! Cats out of the bag! I, Sampo Koski, love Build-a-Bear workshop!”

Gepard laughs. He laughs. Sampo frowns. “It’s not funny!!!!” He yells with a weak voice.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Gepard wipes away the tears beginning to form from the entertainment. “I just think it’s silly- in a good way, of course. It makes so much sense for you. Now I know why you have no money though, Build-a-Bears are horrendously overpriced.”

“… Gepard you’ve made more money than the entirety of South Sudan accumulates in a week. I doubt you have the right to call them overpriced.”

“You know, you always say the weirdest things.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

He sighs. “You’re just lucky you’re so damn good at your job.”

“You wouldn’t be able to live wi-“

“NO. We are NOT starting another one of those again or so help me I will lose it.”

Sampo chuckles into his hand. “Worth a shot.”

“Anyway,” Gepard coughs into his hand, staring down at the magazine. “I suppose, despite their excessive price, they are… quite cute…” he says in reference to the magazine.

“I know, right!?” Sampo’s whole demeanor changes, and he leans up against Gepard’s desk like he usually does, flipping through the pages of the magazine to a specific bear: a cat with a pumpkin print on it. “This one is just the cutest patootie. And it’s fall themed!” He beams. “It’s always sold out though, it’s so annoying,” he pouts his bottom lip with a slightly bratty edge.

“I could get it for you,” Gepard offers.

“You could buy the entire company if I asked.”

“I’d do it too,” Gepard says without any hesitation. There’s a stern look on his face indicating that he was, in fact, serious. Sampo turns his head around so Gepard doesn’t see the overjoyed expression on his slightly pink-tinted face, color tickling at his squished cheeks and his goofy smile.

“You spoil me.”

“I don’t have a partner to spend any money on. You’re my next best bet.”

If Sampo was drinking his coffee, he would’ve choked on it right now- scratch that, I think he’s choking on quite literally nothing right now. Oh my god. Oh my god.

“For someone so socially inept… you sure know how to wriggle your way into a man’s heart,” Sampo turns around and leans forwards quickly, flicking the tip of Gepard’s nose. “Be careful with what you say or else I might just fall for you, and that would be dangerous.”

Gepard chuckles, resting his cheek into his open palm and gazing right into Sampo’s eyes. “If you fall, I’ll be all the way at the bottom with my arms open. Waiting to catch you~”

Sampo covers his mouth, trying to bite back a rather incriminating squeal as Gepard smiles kindly at him. Oh my god. He’s going to die right here right now. Cause of death: Gepard Landau, billionaire and CEO to one of the most successful businesses in the world, being unintentionally romantic. Gepard is going to cry over his grave with wilted flowers in his hand, wondering what he did to kill his best friend.

“Ahahahaha!!!! Anyways!!! I better start getting to work!!!” Sampo rushes over to his office, grasping the doorknob and opening it quickly and almost comically.

“That’s a first,” Gepard comments. “You usually try to talk to me as much as possible to avoid working.”

“I’m a changed man!! Okaybye!!” He slams the door shut. Gepard stares at the closed door with a raised eyebrow as the silence takes over.

“… okay?”

૮ • ﻌ - ა

Gepard checked out his reflection in the computer’s camera. Making sure everything looked good. On him and behind him, of course.

Turning around in his chair, he tilts one of the books to the left and pushes another one slightly backward so it doesn’t look like it’s teetering off the edge of his long bookshelf. Again, none of these books have any meaning to him and he’s sure half of them aren’t even in English. But he had a disgusting amount of them lying around in his room with no use, so he gave them something to do as some decoration. They’ve done their job so far.

Brushing his fingers through his hair and dusting off his suit, he clears his throat as he mentally preps himself for a long and grueling virtual meeting with another company. This is his gripe, his bundle of woes that come with being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. The meetings. He’s always despised the meetings. Always.

Sure, he’s sat quietly still and nodded his head every few minutes with a smile to make it seem like he’s paying attention an uncountable amount of times that he’s got it down to a T like an art form. Hell, he’s done it so much he practically majored in it!

But that doesn’t mean he likes it! No! He hates it!

And this thing was estimated to be three hours long… kill him.

He sighs, shaking his head back and forth and slapping his cheeks as a final wake up call before he reaches for his mouse and directs it over to the “Enter Call” button. His finger hovering over the right click with a gulp, his whole body shakes slightly with negative anticipation of his impending doom (endless boredom).

And just as he’s about to click it, Sampo opens his office door and knocks on the doorframe to get Gepard’s attention. Gepard looks up with a rather animated gasp, having been inconsiderately thrown out of his mentally preparing state of mind.

“Yo.”

“What?”

“The meeting got canceled last minute. Just got the news.”

“… you’re joking.” Gepard makes an unamused expression. He knows it’s not a joke, but he feels the need to ask anyway.

“Nope!” Sampo pops the ‘p’ as he fidgets with his index finger on his right hand idly.

“And the re-“

“They don’t know when they can. They said they’d inform me by approximately Sunday.” Sampo says without missing a beat. Always knowing exactly what Gepard’s about to say. All he needs to see is a certain expression and he’s already finishing off the end of the sentence or scenario in his head. Every single time, he gets Gepard’s isms and words and very existence down to a sort of science. It’s miraculous. But it’s Sampo. Sampo can do anything he puts his mind to and do it with ease. Anyone else and Gepard would be floored.

Sampo smiles as he leans up against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he notices Gepard’s surprised yet stern expression melt into one of relief with a silent sigh. “You really hate those things, don’t you?”

“What things?”

“Meetings.” His hands fall into his pockets as he approaches Gepard’s desk. He has an air of having seemingly nothing to do, purely walking around out of a horrendous state of boredom. He was always one to finish his work as soon and as efficiently as possible, and he was damn good at it. So most of the workday after his lunch break, unless Gepard found more work he could throw at him, consisted of sleeping, sleeping, and more sleeping, with a side of bothering his boss.

“Y’know, I never pegged you for a meeting-hater type.”

“You never peg me for a lot of things.” Gepard blinks blankly as he looks over at Sampo who begins to slowly take a seat on his very expensive desk. “I don’t reveal a lot about myself- get off my desk.”

Sampo rolls his eyes with a chuckle as he slides off the desk. This isn’t the first time he’s tried to do it and it won’t be the last. “I dunno. You just seem like a goody two-shoes. No offense of course.”

“Typically when someone says no offense, it’s generally offensive. I’m not offended though, you’re not the first to make those assumptions about me. It’s what entails carrying the Landau family name.”

“Yeah, but you’re also a drab,” Sampo groans dramatically, not fretting for his life after insulting his (very influential) boss. “You’re too prim and proper. Like aaaaaaaaa… set of an old woman’s china! You gotta brighten up a bit more.”

“Dare I say you’ve taken a crack at me a few times,” Gepard smiles softly.

“Yeah. And the results were unsatisfactory,” Sampo groans again. “For the most part.”

“… are you hangry? Usually you don’t behave this bratty.” Gepard quips quickly, relishing in the way Sampo’s frame shakes in realization of his insult.

“Hey! I don’t act bratty! I’m well behaved and highly respectful! Don’t say things that aren’t true!” Sampo turns around and points a finger at him angrily. There’s a pause as the two look at each other knowingly, and then he frowns in defeat. “Okay, fine. Maybe I skipped out on breakfast today. But it’s no biggie.”

“Sampo-“

“I know I know. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day because it’s nutritious and blah blah blah blah blah-“ he blows a raspberry with his tongue like some sort of immature toddler who refuses to listen to his parents’ lectures. “Sometimes a big boy like me simply doesn’t have time for breakfast.”

“That’s because you go to bed at ungodly hours in the morning and get about three hours of sleep per day. Which is rather unfortunate.” Gepard criticizes Sampo’s god awful sleep schedule. A night owl’s curse.

“You calculating my snooze schedule is what I think is more unfortunate.” Sampo grumbles to himself before briefly looking out the window, watching a flock of geese fly in unison to the south in migration for the cold times ahead. “It’s almost my break. Wanna tag along since you don’t gotta go to that snoozefest anymore?”

“That snoozefest being my meeting that was canceled abruptly?” Gepard asks for reiteration. Sampo nods. “Well then, I would like to indeed.” He gets up and out of his chair, grabbing his coat off of the coat hanger he got from his beautiful family beach house’s neighbor in Ocean City a few years back. He didn’t want her to discard a perfectly fine piece of furniture and have it rot away in an island of trash, so he gave it a better home.

“Where to, rich guy?” Sampo asks quickly, slipping in his rather… interesting jacket as Gepard sports the family names classic, classy, luxurious coat. Standing side by side, you’d think they didn’t even slide into each other’s orbit. Even with Sampo wearing professional office attire, or just enough where it’s appropriate with just a pinch of sluttyness, his jacket is not his saving grace. Rather, his downfall. Sampo’s jacket is horrendously impractical and worn out that it’s making Gepard grimace in disgust for a multitude of reasons. But whatever makes Sampo happy…

“How about the mall?” Gepard suggests. Sampo stops at the door and turns around with an incredulous look on his face.

“The mall?”

“Yes.”

“You wanna go to the mall?” Sampo repeats slowly and steadily. Trying to process all of this information.

“Yes.”

“And eat disgusting food court food?”

“Yes.”

“… why?”

“Why not?”

“Well shit,” Sampo turns around with a shrug. “Can’t argue with that logic,” he opens the door to Gepard’s office and the two walk out and into the hallway. “We using your car to get there?”

“Yes. And before you ask, yes, it’s the one with the heated seats.”

Sampo pumps his fist into the air with a victorious grin. “Fuck yeah.”

૮ • ﻌ - ა

The two men sit at a newly cleaned table in the food court. Sampo chews on some Wendy’s fries like some sort of lowlife as Gepard eats his Subway sandwich in a rather socially acceptable way. It’s their classes and upbringings on full display to the general public of screaming little children who run by in a flash from their panicked and exhausted parents begging for them to listen and the clumps of asshole teenagers who most definitely should’ve been in school right now but weren’t. And of course, how could you forget the occasional individual who had a day off from work and had nowhere else to go so they went to their local glorified economic nightmare.

Gepard frowns as he takes another bite from his sandwich.

“Not a fan?” Sampo asks before shoving another cheap and unhealthy fry into his mouth.

“Everything tastes… weird,” Gepard tries to find the right words for the situation without seeming offensive to the person across from him who clearly did not share his childhood experiences.

“Yeah. That’s because the vegetables and bread that compose your sandwiches were given an education and your cows lived in a mansion where they partied to Beethoven before they got put on the chopping block.” Sampo says casually.

Gepard stares at him blankly. “That made no sense.”

“It’s a metaphor.” Sampo says as a kid screams bloody murder in the background because his mothers trying to get him to eat his greens. He’s completely unphased by the noise, unlike Gepard who takes a moment or two to recompose himself.

“That’s not what a metaphor is.”

“It’s a whatever then. That’s what it is.” Sampo runs a hand through his hair in slight frustration of their micro-banter. “You’re not used to the lower class stuff. It tastes like shit, don’t get me wrong, but you get used to it over the course of your life because shit like this to us is like what a five star meal in Paris would be to people like you.”

“People like me?”

Sampo pauses, giving him a face signaling that the answer should be obvious. “Rich.”

“Ah. Right. I don’t know what else you could’ve been implying.” Gepard nods in understanding of the obvious disconnect between him and Sampo when it comes to their upbringings.

“But you see, that’s why I was gagged when you asked me if we could go to the mall and eat food court food. It’s not your style. Because it’s a shithole. Everything in here- besides the Gucci and  Prada store is a shithole. Totally not the kind of flock you follow.” Sampo pauses before swallowing a chicken nugget. “… why’d you even want to come to the mall in the first place?”

Gepard smiles.

“You’ll see.”

૮ • ﻌ - ა

Sampo’s eyes widen as they walk up to the front of a rather… particular store. Children, parents, teens— people of all ages alike walking in and out with bright big smiles of straight white, commercial teeth. The soft face of a simplified bear looks down at him with a gentle, comforting gaze. They can hear some popular song from circa 2016, some really annoying crap that was still on the radio for some godforsaken reason, playing through the store. Kind of matches the aesthetic, if they’re being honest.

“…”

Sampo slowly turns his head towards Gepard, who’s smiling brightly at him.

“This is a joke, right?”

“… why would it be a joke?” Gepard asks innocently.

“Why are we here?” He references the store in front of them.

“I want to get a Build-a-Bear.” Gepard says. Plain and simple.

“Weren’t you the one that said they were overpriced?” Sampo asks suspiciously as he puts his hands on his hips with an intention of sass.

“Perhaps. But just because they’re the horrendously overpriced pinnacle of child consumerism, doesn’t make them bad. I still think they’re cute.”

“Gepard. You can walk into Swarovski right now, buy everything on display and in the back, and leave with not a single debt in your wallet. Don’t try to use middle class words of hatred,” he scoffs with a cocky smile.

“What can I say? You rub off on me.” Gepard pauses, brushing some hair behind his ear. “But… there’s something else too.” He looks away bashfully. “Seeing as you like them so much. I… wanted to buy you one.”

“… oh.” Sampo clears his throat and his demeanor shifts into a certain shyness nobody really gets to see from him. He shuffles his left foot back and forth. Clearing his throat a few more times as he feels the heat seep into his skin and bite at the back of his neck.

“Shall we, uh… go inside?” Gepard asks, his strictness unraveling like a ribbon untying ungracefully into his hands, soft color slipping through the cracks of his fingers.

“There’s no use standing outside doing nothing...” Sampo clears his throat one last time, trying to straighten his back and even out his composure so as to not seem so mushy gushy lovey dovey in front of his boss and best friend. “So sure.”

Sampo grimaces as the two step inside. From the shitty music to the very much younger kids staring at them with their big beady eyes in confusion. At odds as to why two grown men in suits and ties walked into a store made specifically for people like them. He hates getting stared at by kids. He already gets stared at by one everyday and that’s enough for him.

Also this music really sucks.

That’s the point. But it still really sucks.

“So, is there anything here that you’ve had your sights set on?” Gepard asks as the two walk over to the area where all the unstuffed bears are. Like flaps of skin, flabby and droopy as they hold them up. Stacked upon each other in little baskets. It’s almost disturbing if you think about it for more than two seconds.

“Well, there’s like, this cat.” Sampo begins as he looks through all the options currently available. “And it’s pumpkin themed, just in time for fall. It’s super cute. But it’s extremely popular so they never in stock. Which is so annoying.” He rambles and rambles and rambles, and Gepard simply listens with a soft smile. He finds comfort in Sampo’s sensically-nonsensical words of nothing. But to him, they’re everything. He’ll always listen to Sampo, always.

“I remember you telling me about something like that earlier in the morning.” Gepard comments as the two begin to walk up to the array of baskets filled with Build-a-Bear flesh. Sampo’s about to say something else as he scans all the baskets, looking down at all the fuzzy faces. But then he pauses. He looks down a mostly empty basket. Deep down, all the way at the bottom, there’s a deflated cat staring at him. Covered in pumpkins.

It’s the one he wanted. The one that’s never in stock.

“… you should get it.” Gepard says quickly, ushering for Sampo to grab it before anybody else does. Sampo reaches down, leaning against the edge basket which pokes at his stomach and grasping the flimsy cat fur tightly in his hand as if it could be taken away from him. He looks at it as it’s held strongly in Sampo’s unwavering grasp. “I can see why that’s popular. It’s rather appealing.”

“You can just say it’s cute, no need to be all fancy. I hate when you’re so uptight. I mean, really. I don’t eat boiled shrimp for breakfast and have my butler sing me Tchaikovsky as I eat,” Sampo sighs as Gepard grabs the flabbiness of a simple gray bear. Gepard smiles, brushing off Sampo’s string of comments as he holds it in his hand, holding it up towards the light in observance. Leave it to Gepard to pick the dullest thing in the room and find joy in it. That’s just how he was.

“Really? You’re going for that one? Out of everything , you chose that? ”

“I feel it calling my name.”

Sampo rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “Leave it to you to give the simplest joe another chance.”

“He may be simple on the outside. But on the inside, he’s got an allusive and boisterous personality that drags people in.” Gepard says oddly. It’s weird. It’s like he’s describing a real person. But it’s a stuffed bear.

Sampo can’t judge though. He talks to his cat like he gave birth to her. This really isn’t that weird to him. “Alright, big guy. If you insist. Now come on,” Sampo pats his back. “Let’s go get our bears stuffed.”

If only you could see the look on the employees face as two grown men in their mid-twenties, decked in suits and ties, walked up to her asking for a fake heart and stuffing.

૮ • ﻌ - ა

“I don’t understand how I’m feeling.”

Seele blinks slowly, her hand reaching out towards her cup and grasping it. A warm wetness padding the tips of her fingers as she goes to take a sip of what’s inside. “What… do you mean?” Her speech is delayed as the alcohol starts to kick in, a sure fire way of knowing she’s definitely not coming into work tomorrow because she’ll be too busy barfing into her toilet.

“Gepard.” Sampo states quickly, looking away for a second to recompose himself before looking back at Seele who’s already idling back and forth in her seat, her hand grasping onto the counter of the bar for dear life. She was a scary individual until she was reduced to an alcoholic state. Something Sampo wishes he saw more often.

Much earlier, the two were talking about work and things from the past. Just small things to keep them occupied as the sun began to set and a small collection of empty glasses in their vicinity began to grow. But as the hours withered away, so did the peak of their half-drunken stupors. Resulting in them dumping about their trauma’s and most tender moments—something they won’t remember talking about when morning comes.

“…” Seele squints as if trying to see Sampo clearly would make her understand him easier as well. “… what about Gepard?”

“I dunno!” Sampo exclaims loudly. “I- I just-“ he knuckles brush over his closed bottom lip. “I- erm-“

“Dude… you like… in love with him or sumthin?” Seele’s words begin to slur just as much as they did before. If you didn’t think she was drunk before you’d certainly know she was now.

“I-“ Sampo pauses, taking a moment to look at his reflection in the precipitation of his glass. He sees a frown of concern staring back at him with big emerald eyes of apprehension and cowardice. “…”

“…” Seele blinks slowly. One eye after the other. Like some sort of lizard. “Dude… holy fuck.”

“Oh shut up.” Sampo grumbles before reaching for his drink. Taking a sip and eyeing Seele as she reaches for her own once more. “It’s nothing, really.”

“That’s how it always starts out… it’s like me and Bronnie. We started off as close friends and now we live together and now I’ve gotten into her pants!” She laughs loudly as a soft red hue paints her cheeks, slamming her hand down onto the counter with just as much volume as he boisterously stare-inducing laugh.

“Okay… I think that’s enough drinks for you…” Sampo uses his index finger to push her glass towards him like a fish hook to its bait. Seele frowns.

“Let it marinate for a while, dude. If you like the guy, so what?”

Sampo blinks. “… he’s my employer?”

“Eh. It’s not like… pursuing a romantic relationship with the only guy who’s ever treated you with an ounce of respect… who also happens to be your boss, with  cause a whole fuck ton of issues and cause everything to implode or whatever.” Seele says quickly and blankly in a slightly less-drunken moment of clarity and mindlessness at the same time.

Sampo freezes. The distant chatter of the bar-goers around them begins to die out as more people clock out for the night. The air gets softer, less compact, less lively. And as he reaches for Seele’s drink, he feels every molecule in his body fade to dust. He feels his bones disintegrate. He feels his mind and body go numb.

Then he takes a sip.

And then another.

And another.

And another.

Next thing he knows, there’s at least twenty empty glasses inching towards his outward elbow. And his mind is spinning as he stammers up in an attempt to stand.

Oh, this was going to suck tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Ah. Halloween. The best holiday of the year. A holiday where you can dress up as your favorite character and harass your neighbors and the residents a few blocks down in order to get some small, but free pieces of candy. The horror movies that leave you screaming and rushing to cuddle into your partner’s side during your horror-movie-marathon-date night with a sure knowledge of nightmares to come when you try to sleep later on. The orange skies. The evil witches and black cat familiars. Endless commercials with sfx lightning and skeletons dancing and Dracula coming out of his coffin for a Kit-Kat’s commercial. Fake webs thrown askew across people’s balconies intertwined with orange pumpkin-shaped LED string lights. Scaring unsuspecting little children who cry tears. And yearly toilet-papering rituals for the neighborhood’s residential assholes. 

Sampo loves Halloween just as much as he loves Christmas. The costumes. The endless harassment of his neighbors. The free pieces of candy. He loves it just as much as he loves Christmas. Halloween’s only bumped up a bit because of the costumes and the valid harassment. You can’t do any of that during Christmas. All you can do is carol. But free stuff is free stuff. Not to be a stereotypical low-class cheapskate but he’s a huge fan of free stuff. And if there’s any opportunity to get free stuff, be it a handful of some old ladies hard candy or a pair of socks and a gift card to a bookstore he’s never even heard of, it’s a win in his book.

But enough about his surface-level greed which is definitely not the tip of the iceberg to his horrendously dirt-poor childhood and suffering and food trauma and insecurity that will stick with him forever even though he’s an adult now who has a phenomenal job that pays really well and has a roof under his head that isn’t constantly leaking water whenever it rains and filled with holes.

Sampo loves Halloween.

And Halloween is just around the corner.

Which means the office’s annual Halloween Costume Party is just around the corner. And Sampo loves the annual Halloween Costume Party. Everyone gets dressed up in costumes ranging from silly Garfield washups to a warship decked in pink glitter and Barbie’s face plastered upon it via the creative frenzy of an office mom with a hot glue gun. 

…

Sampo’s thumb comes to a pause, and the screen stops scrolling, bumping to a halt. He glares at the images on the screen in consideration yet also doubt. Unsure of what he should go as. The models in the pictures mock him painfully.

Sampo turns to his cat, who’s sitting on the couch beside him. She’s been here the whole time, waiting for him to unconsciously pet her and scratch her back every five minutes. Big, beady, amber eyes stare back at him. Characteristically moving up and down and surveying the bright glowing rectangle in his hands with thought. Her tail thumps, blinking slowly.

“… okay. Lemme ask you something really quick. And be honest with me, alright?” Sampo begins. Talking to his cat as if she’s a human being with a general understanding of the English language. “Slutty rabbit? Oooooor slutty pirate?”

“… meow.”

Sampo chuckles, brushing her off as if she actually responded to him and the response was not very positive. “I’m kidding, I'm kidding! You know I’m just playing a joke. Those are way too inappropriate for the workplace—although that’s never stopped me amiright?” He smirks.

“… meow.”

“Yeah…” Sampo nods his head sadly, a frown forming on his face as he turns his head downcast towards his lap dejectedly. “Gepard would have my head if I showed up to work like that!” He exclaims with a violent hand motion. “He would have my head!”

“…” He smirks once more, feeling a rather inappropriate joke form in his mind. “Hehe. Hehehe.”

“Meow.”

“Oh shut up.” Sampo huffs. “Lemme joke once in a while.”

“Meow.”

“Augh. So rude. I thought I raised you to be a lady.” He crosses his arms. Throwing his phone onto the cushion beside him. Looking straight ahead at his TV. Commercials move left and right at the blink of an eye, already seeing some stuff for Christmas despite the month not being over yet…

And then there’s one with a dark sky, loud lightning, gothic scenery. And a flurry of bats that fly around the castle.

His eyes widen.

“Ureka!”

He turns to his cat.

“A vampire!”

He pauses.

“A regular, normal vampire. Not- not a slutty vampire.”

His cat sneezes. Her nose twitches.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” He grabs his phone once more to type the word vampire costume into his Amazon search bar. He found one that didn’t look like a bunch of cheap crap, and it was only thirty bucks! What a steal! “Perfect!” He snickers to himself like some sort of mad scientist. Maybe he should’ve gone as a mad scientist… too late, he’ll go next year.

⚰︎

Sampo twirls around in his full-body mirror a few more times, unfancy footwork narrowly avoiding all the stuff scattered across his bedroom in one of his depressional dazes. Admiring his costume, making sure it’s all nice and neat, adjusting all the little hiccups and pushing down some more fabric—some tucking here and there. Brushing his annoying cowlick back for the umpteenth time. And smudging his eyeshadow for some messy makeup look really quick.

He steps back to get a better view of everything all in one, and almost tripping on a shirt thrown astray, he smiles with pride as he looks at his costume. He must say, he looks really good. And his cat approves as well (she’s been asleep on his comforter for the past hour and hasn’t moved an inch).

Turning around and blowing his cat air kisses so as to not ruin his makeup or get red eyeshadow it all over her fur, he slips into his hallway. His foot just a sliver of an inch away from getting caught onto his silky black and red cape.

He grabs his back, slips on his fancy vampire-esque boots, and opens the door to his apartment. Waving to his neighbors who are also starting to leave for work for the day—just, not in a flashy glorified children’s nightmare of an outfit. Even if it wasn’t Halloween, they wouldn’t suspect Sampo simply walking around as an off-brand Dracula because he does stupid shit all the time. It’s the norm for them now.

The only issue he’ll probably get laughed at by a bunch of ridiculing teenagers in public for walking around in a costume because “Halloween is for babies!”  

Those little shits. They should die.

That’s mean. He takes that back.

⚰︎

“HAPPY HALLOWEEN!” Sampo shouts as he bursts through the door of Gepard’s rather undecorated office with two cups of coffee. He’s immediately disheartened by this… lack of display. He told Gepard that a few measly dollar store pumpkins scattered around the room was not “Halloweeny” enough, but the dude’s never learned how to loosen up and enjoy the holidays anyway. No matter how much he’s tried to teach him.

“Happy Halloween, Sampo.” Gepard’s voice is soothing and calm. Still dawning one of his fresh, well maintained, and respectable office outfits, Sampo looks like some sort of clown next to him. But when has that ever not been the case?

“Gepard,” Sampo lets out an exasperated sigh and places a hand on his hip in disappointment. “Another year, another costume no-show,” he shakes his head with a frustrated sigh as if Gepard wearing a costume actually impacted his life in any way, shape, or form.

“Actually, Sampo.” Gepard begins to take something out of his desk. It’s a headband with two large, flurry gray ears attached to it. He places it on top of his head with a satisfied smile. “I do have a Halloween costume this year.” He announces with pride.

It goes silent.

“… what.”

“… I’m a wolf, was that not obvious?” Gepard frowns dejectedly.

“No- no- it’s certainly obvious but-“ Sampo places his hand onto his mouth to try and suppress his chuckle, or at least mute the boisterous volume of it while also trying not to drop the coffee in his arms. “It- it-“

“Do you think it’s stupid?” Gepard sounds heartbroken.

“I- NO- it- it’s a good costume! But-“

“Then what’s the issue?”

“… it’s a bad costume.”

“Sampo!”

“I’m sorry-“

“You lied to me!”

“I know, I know. It’s just-“ Sampo takes a deep breath to try and halt his rising laughter. “You’re in office attire- you just put wolf ears over it. If you were gonna roam around in furry ears but not commit to the bit, ya should’ve just stuck to a cosplay of yourself like you did the last two years.”

“Well… I didn’t want an earful from you this year,” Gepard states as he straightens his spine to look more professional and calm.

“And you still got one.” Sampo shrugs as he finally stops loitering around the doorframe and steps into the office, closing the door behind him.

“Nice costume.” Gepard comments quickly.

“Why thank you.”

“Dracula?”

“Not really. Just more of a regular vampire. Like, a vampire who’s got a personality better than their looks you just gotta get to know them.”

“Well I think you look good.”

“T-thank you, Gepard,” Sampo clears his throat. “But it’s not the vibe for me. It’s the vibe for the vampire. ”

“Ohhhh. I see now.” Gepard nods.

“Well, that’s what I was going for- it’s whatever.” Sampo pauses. “Did you see Himeko’s costume!?” He asks with excitement.

“Yes. I think making and wearing an entire model train for a Halloween costume is extremely impressive.”

“It’s more impressive watching her sit down at the front desk with a twenty pound train strapped to her body is more impressive- what did she call it again? The “something something” express?” Sampo rambles on and on as he places Gepard’s coffee onto his desk, which Gepard takes gracefully.

“The astral express.” Gepard corrects him. “She told me it came to her in a dream. It was a rather interesting dream too. Something about a genderless rabbit conducting the express through the vast expanse of space.”

Sampo let out a deep breath. “And I thought my dreams were weird.”

“Trust me. Yours are still the weirdest… and the most disturbing…” Gepard shivers, grasping the coffee cup. He’s heard some of Sampo’s stories. For someone’s mind to visualize nightmares such as those must be a living hell to their sanity.

“So, shall we get this party started?” Sampo says loudly as some cheesy Halloween music plays in the background, slipping in through the opening underneath his door.

Gepard gets up with a smile. “I am mentally prepared for extensive interaction with my employees.” He announces.

“Good!” Sampo grabs his arm. “Now let’s go!”

⚰︎

“Bronya, what the hell are you wearing?” Sampo sighs as he finally sees Bronya’s Halloween costume.

“I know right, it’s stupid.” Seele crosses her arms as she stands next to her dorky girlfriend. Seele was dressed as Spider-Man, for some reason. She’s never seen the movies, and isn’t a fan of superheroes. She probably forgot a costume again and ordered one last minute—the first suggestion she saw on some Tumblr girl’s blog. Some pinned post, a list about the “Best Halloween Costumes For This Year” in big yellow and purple words or whatever.

The two stared at Bronya in unison with disturbed expressions.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with Raggedy Anne? She’s a classic!”

Seele blinks. “I can’t believe I have sex with you.”

“Seele please don’t say that outloud,” Bronya frowns.

“Yeah. I didn’t need to know that.” Sampo adds with a look of disgust. Yes, they’re all consenting adults. But he does not want that mental image.

“Oh don’t be a baby,” Seele rolls her eyes at Sampo before turning back to Bronya. “Raggedy Anne is so blah. I don’t want to be kissing some children’s toy.”

“I think you’re just a hater. Besides, you’re Spider-Man. Spider-Man is basic.” Bronya smirks. Seeing as her costume is objectively (they both suck).

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Seele, you don’t even watch superhero movies.” Sampo chimes in, now an observer to the girlfriends small banter and bickering.

“She forgot a costume again even though I reminded her multiple times.” Bronya sighs like some exhausted housewife.

“Okay-“ Seele points a finger at Bronya, poking at the beginning of her sternum. “You- you have no right to talk about costumes when you’re literally a…”

Blah blah blah blah blah. Seele’s words and Bronya’s comebacks become putty rocks tossed into a sea of syrup that laps at the granite waves of Sampo’s mind. Spacing out while standing right in front of them, they also seemed to have forgotten all about his company. He stares out into space. Plastic red party cup in his hand as the monster mash plays in the background. He wonders if Gepard’s having a better experience with the party right now.

“Nice costume, Mr. Landau.” Arlan, the building’s main and most trusted security guard, says with a chuckle. This is the fifth time in the fast hour that one of his employees has chuckled at his… costume.

“It’s certainly… interesting,” Asta, one of the company’s higher-ups and Arlan’s girlfriend, walks up beside him as she takes the helmet off her head with a doubtful smile. It looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

Make that six people now.

“To be fair, ours aren’t any better.” Arlan admits, rubbing his neck as he looks at their couple costumes. Arlan was a purple alien, and Asta was an astronaut. They were going for a space theme this year. It was cheesy, like their couple costumes always were. But it was cheesy in a cute way.

“At least he gave an effort this year,” Asta shrugs sympathetically at Gepard’s pathetic attempt for a costume. “Beats walking around in your regular outfits.”

“Just with a wolf headband…” Arlan pauses.

Gepard sighs. He shouldn’t have tried this year if this was the only thing people were going to say to him over and over again.

⚰︎

Eventually, the party started to get pretty lively as more colleagues started to show up and the sun began to set over the pinkish orange horizon.

Trick-or-treaters already started showing up. And people were dancing and singing to cheesy Halloween songs. It was loud, which typically, Gepard hated. But seeing everyone have fun, seeing Sampo have fun, he was enjoying it a bit.

Eventually, a vampire joined a lone office-dwelling wolf as he leaned up against the nearest wall, watching everyone else dance.

“You look like you’re having fun.” Sampo smiles.

Gepard turns his head away from the dancing colleagues of his, twirling his plastic red party cup around. The pretty pink party punch inside of it sloshes around and spins and spins and spins like a whirlpool.

“Wolfgang down on his luck?” Sampo snickers into his palm.

“Everyone’s been ridiculing my costume all day.”

“As much as they can before they teeter on the edge of unemployment.” Sampo shrugs, placing his hand on Gepard’s shoulder in comfort. “It’s not bad. It’s just… typical of you.”

“Typical?”

“Yeah. And that’s not a bad thing. You’re just… allergic to fun sometimes.”

“I’m not allergic to fun!” Gepard pouts.

.

“Okay. Maybe I’m not one for joyous activities all the time…”

“It’s alright, Gep. It’s just who you are.” Sampo pats his shoulder. “You can’t teach an elephant to hula-hoop on a tightrope. It’s just how it is.”

“… you never say things that make sense.”

“There’s no fun in making sense.”

“Haha… yeah.” Gepard takes a sip of his drink. Staring longingly at the dancers having so much fun.

“… come on.” Sampo grabs Gepard’s nearly empty drink and places it on a table close by, grabbing his hands and beginning to drag him towards the other dancers.

“S-Sampo! I can’t dance!” Gepard exclaims nervously as Sampo drags him to his impending doom.

“Oh please, everyone’s flopping around like a bunch of dandelions. Plus, you’re their boss. They’d piss their pants before they genuinely insulted you!” Sampo’s voice gets louder as the music starts trying to drown him out. “Don’t worry! Just have fun!”

⚰︎

The two slip back into Gepard’s office when the sun turns a soft black. Trick-or-treaters running around the streets below in flashy costumes with bright orange baskets in their hands. They’re both a bit sweaty from the overexertion of their horrible dancing, but there’s smiles on their faces indicating their enjoyment.

“See?” Sampo pants. “Wasn’t that fun?”

“Very.” Gepard nods as he grabs his coat. “I’d say I underestimated you.”

“You should stop doing that so often.”

“Most of the time your ideas would get me arrested, so no thanks.”

Sampo crosses his arms.

Eventually. Some time passes.

“Hey. This might sound like- really weird. But do you wanna come back to my place tonight?”

Gepard pauses. “You’ve never offered hospitality at your place before.”

“Well, yeah. That’s because… I dunno.” Sampo shrugs.

“Why now all of a sudden?”

“No reason. Why? Can’t a friend just ask his other friend if he wants to come over to his apartment? We’re both gonna be alone tonight, why not spend it together? We can play some video games… order some take out. Watch TV.” It seemed like there were some malicious intentions behind his incessant rambling and persistence, but Gepard trusts him enough to not put him in any dangerous situations. Plus, Sampo values his job and the steady income he gets every week, which he without a doubt values above everything else.

Gepard smiles, immediately taking the offer. If he didn’t have to spend the evening all alone in his gigantic yet empty penthouse for another day. He’d take it. Especially if Sampo was part of the offer.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Aww yeah! We’re gonna have so much fun!”

Oh poor Gepard. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Sampo announces as he opens the door to his apartment. It’s a nice, quaint little apartment. Well, considering Gepard lives in a penthouse that can house five nuclear families at minimum, a five hundred square foot apartment is considered “quaint” and “little” in his eyes. In reality, it really isn’t. But he was born into a rich family, so can you really blame him?

The apartment is a series of dark grays and wine reds with little hints of dark blue and purple placed inconsiderably across the walls. It’s domestic in the way the blankets tossed over the couch are ruffled and tussled. There’s random magazines from the mail and cat toys scattered across the floor like booby traps to the unsuspecting passerby. And there’s a decent amount of technology to reach the middle class line of middle class, yet continuously teeter back and forth over the edge of higher class middle class, and lower class middle class.

Gepard spots some stuffed animals placed around the apartment, mostly propped up against the lush furniture. Some have holes in them though, significantly smaller and flatter as the stuffing continues to drain out of them like an objectified display of pain and torture. Why would Sampo keep broken things? Can he not afford to repair them? Is it emotional attachment due to nostalgia?

That’s weird.

Gepard begins. “Your apartment is…” creative, interesting, unique. None of these words can describe the tacky wackiness that is Sampo Koski’s apartment. “Very fitting of your personality.”

Boom. Nailed it.

“Why thank you,” Sampo smiles before he turns around towards his living room, looking back and forth in observation. His hands fall back to his sides in defeat for just a moment, collecting himself as he lets out a quick sigh before placing his hands in front of his mouth and screaming: “NUCLEAR BOMB!” Really, really loudly.

Gepard stumbles back because one: Sampo screamed. And two: he happened to scream the words “nuclear” and “bomb” in the exact same sentence. Typically, those two words next to each other don’t mean good news. Now, most people would assume that Sampo isn’t in custody of a perpetrator of nuclear warfare. But this is Sampo we’re talking about. Of course he’d be in custody of a perpetrator of nuclear warfare.

Gepard closes his eyes, awaiting a finishing blow that will wipe him out of existence with a big loud boom. But death doesn’t come.

Instead, little teeny tiny claws click and clack as a thick pillow of thick, black fluff approaches Sampo at his feet. Taking a seat on its bum and looking up at Sampo with expecting eyes of hunger.

“Awww my baby girl, I missed you so much~!” Sampo ferociously pets his cat on the head, her skin pulling back slightly as he harasses her with an onslaught of baby talk.

Gepard blinks.

Nuclear Bomb is…? A cat!?!?

“Gepard, meet Nuclear Bomb. Nuclear Bomb, meet my boss Gepard!” Sampo exclaims with a smile as he picks up his cat and holds her in his arms. She stares at Gepard, her ears going back and her beady amber eyes glaring daggers into him like every unforgiving, unloving feline typically does in his presence. A growl escapes her sharp-toothed mouth for a mouth in reinstatement of her unpleasantries.

“No- be nice-“ Sampo pokes a finger into her cheek, which Gepard is surprised he’s able to find with that huge mound of fur that makes up his cat. “This man is the reason why you eat Purina instead of Fancy Feast.”

Immediately, she stops growling. Her entire demeanor changes and she meows at Gepard in thanks instead.

Sampo chuckles. “Nothings wrong with Fancy Feast, she just hates cheap food because she’s a spoiled brat,” he says, rubbing his cheek into Nuclear Bomb’s face. “Oh! Sorry! This must be really weird for you. I know you’re not the best when it comes to getting new information so quickly.”

Gepard blanks, trying to process this sudden information. He isn’t the best at swallowing news on the fly. Just like Sampo said.

“… YOU HAVE A CAT!?!?”

Call it overblown for a simple fact, but that didn’t matter to either of them.

Sampo doesn’t seem perturbed by his reaction. “It wasn’t important. As plain and simple as the grassy green hills of the cow-feeding prairies. What were you gonna do with the knowledge of me being in possession of this little shit-“ Sampo pauses. “-who I love very much, of course,” he obnoxiously smooches her on the head; something she doesn’t react to which means this wasn’t, and certainly won’t be her last rodeo.

“Uhhh… I… suppose that’s fair.”

“You wanna pet her?”

“… I think she’ll bite my fingers off… haha…” Gepard chuckles awkwardly, fear lingering in his words. “She looks so… happy to see me.”

“I promise she won’t bite, she’s just a bit of a bummer sometimes,” Sampo reassures him. “If she hurts you, I’ll put her in air jail. And she hates that thing.”

“Air jail?” Gepard tilts his head to the side, raising his eyebrow with a rather… concerned look.

“I raise her into the air for about five minutes. She hates it.” Sampo giggles, rubbing his furry friend behind her ears. “Come on! She doesn’t bite, I promise!” He holds her out towards Gepard, her amber eyes oh-so-innocently-dangerous and staring him down with those shimmering sparkling peepers.

Gepard reaches out his hand, fingers shaking as they approach Nuclear Bomb’s fuzzy fuzzy head.

And then. There’s a knock on the door.

Actually, not just a knock. But a series of frantic, loud knocks.

Gepard looks at the door. Sampo looks at him.

“You can open it!” Sampo says enthusiastically.

“You don’t… want to check who’s at the door?” Gepard asks with uncertainty. He doesn’t trust Sampo’s blind judgment.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sampo shrugs, his cat still in his hands. “I know who it is. You don’t mind getting it for me, right?”

“…”

Gepard sighs. He really hopes this isn’t an assassination attempt. He can trust Sampo, but he also knows from first hand experience that the man is a maniacal loose cannon by default and being next to him is a gamble. You’re either going to have the best day ever, or your last.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door, his fist balled and ready to punch just in case it is a guy with a knife in their hand standing in front of him.

But when he opens them… he doesn’t see anything…

“… wha-“

“HI MR. SAMPO!”

Gepard takes a step back in surprise.

“… wait… you’re not Mr. Sampo…” A childish voice speaks to him from down below. With big brown eyes and bright yellow pigtails that almost reach the floor.

Gepard freezes.

He turns to Sampo.

“YOU HAVE A KID!?!?” He screams.

Sampo chuckles, shaking his head. He lets Nuclear Bomb jump out of his arms and onto the floor as he walks over to him, looking down at the girl below and ignoring Gepard’s jaw-dropped expression.

“This is my lovely neighbor Hook!” Sampo explains, placing a hand on Gepard’s shoulder in reassurance. “I keep an eye on her most days because her pops comes home late most of the time.” He explains.

Gepard blinks. “But- but how’d you-“

“She has a specific knock. So whenever she knocks, I know it’s her. Besides, I’ve been watching over her since she was a baby, I know everything about her.” He smiles at Hook. “Right, Hook?”

She nods. Sampo reaches out and pats her on her head. She giggles, pushing past him and running inside, throwing her backpack onto the couch with reckless abandon. As Sampo closes and locks the door behind him, Hook reaches for Nuclear Bomb, picking her up and snuggling her. The cat doesn’t seem to mind.

“… I-…” Gepard takes a breath. “I’m so confused…”

“Hook’s dad is the head of a mining company. So a lot of the time, he doesn’t show up until around ten. Hook is too young to understand how to take care of herself, so I offered to watch over her.” Sampo eyes her as she picks up one of the many cat toys littering the floor and throws it down the hall. Nuclear Bomb runs after it at the speed of sound. “It’s been like that for years now.”

“So that’s why you’re so eager to get out of work.” Gepard notes with an understanding nod.

“Uhhh… sure!” Sampo quickly continues. “Hook does an after school program most of the ti-“ Sampo made a noise. “Wha- what was I saying!? Haha! I already forgot! Whoopsies!”

Gepard makes a look of suspicion as Sampo coughs into his hand and a bit of heat rises to his cheeks.

Eventually, the two look over at Hook, who’s already stolen some fruit snacks from Sampo’s pantry and started chowing down on them like some sort of rabid dog who hasn’t eaten in months who’s just stumbled upon a half-eaten apple with a worm sticking out of it. Gazing upon it as if it’s a five star michelin meal.

“So Hook, how was school?” Sampo asks as he approaches the kitchen, picking her up and putting her on the small kitchen island table in the room. She leans up against the strong wooden support beam in the middle of it.

“… itsh wasfffh goofsh!” She says as she eats.

“Hook, what did I say about eating and speaking at the same time? It could get stuck in your pipes.” Sampo scolds her as he opens up his fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, opening it up with a clean twist and taking a sip. Its crisp, cold taste wakes him up.

Hook finishes eating, swallowing her fruit snacks like a monster before she smiles. “School was great! Hook made a pumpkin for daddy!” She exclaims, jumping off the table and running into the living room to get her backpack, bumping into Gepard’s leg on the way there.

Rummaging through her backpack, she takes a piece of paper out of her folder and runs back up to Sampo, holding it in the air.

Sampo looks down at it with a questionable eye before taking it and gazing upon it. It’s one of those cheap coloring pages people print out online to keep their kids busy. The pumpkin is scribbled in rainbow with many missing areas due to not actually coloring it fully-just running a handful of crayons across the paper. A lot of coloring outside the lines. And a purple stem. It’s an average kid craft. It’s still cute though.

Looking back down at Hook, Sampo smiles. Placing the paper on the fridge for now, slamming a magnet on top of it to keep it in place, Sampo assures Hook that her father was going to love it to which she smiles and jumps up and down as she continues to reveal what happened at school today.

Eventually, when Hook’s finished with her endless child rambling, which Gepard couldn’t follow for the life of him, she turns to him and points at him. “Mr. Sampo. Hook wants to know who that man is.”

“That man is Gepard! He’s my lovely, wonderful boss~” Sampo explains, sending a wink his way as Hook scurries up to Gepard like a dog and looks up at him in observation. Gepard, who’s already weirded out by everything, and can’t catch a single thing that’s happened in the past half an hour or so, looks down at Hook in a slight panic.

She waves furiously at him with a big, wide smile before hugging his leg and pressing her cheek into his kneecap.

He looks over at Sampo with wide eyes, who simply just shrugs.

No longer leaning on the fridge, Sampo walks down the hall and into his room as he calls out: “Alright, Hook. Stop harassing the poor guy. I got your costume.” And as he said, he walks out with a costume. A dirtied piece of green flannel and some rugged, torn denim shorts on a hanger in one hand, and a packet of Party City face paint in the other.

Hook lets go of Gepard, running up to get her costume, and rushes into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut as she does.

“…”

“What just happened?”

“Hm?” Sampo places his hands on his hips with a chuckle. “Can’t keep up with my wackiness, can you?”

“I-“

“Can’t blame you. Most can’t. I consider it a special talent of mine.”

“Haha…” Gepard takes a deep breath as the silence takes over. They can hear Hook talking to herself with struggled grunts in the distance. “Wait. Okay. So. If you’re taking care of… Hook?”

“- don’t question her name.” Sampo already knows what he’s about to say.

“- got it.” He pauses. “Why did you want me to come home with you?”

“Well. We’re going to be trick-or-treating.” He smiles. “And I want you to join us.”

Gepard blinks.

“Excuse me? Sampo- you’re aware that I don’t partake in holiday activities-“

“Come ONNNNNNNN , Gep! It’s not like you’re going to be doing much tonight anyway! Come with Hook and I- it lets the the kid get more candy if there’s three instead of two!”

“By the kid, do you refrain from saying yourself? Or-”

“Shut up.” Sampo places his palm in front of his face. “As I was saying… more candy. That’s cool. You get to hang out with me more, which is always a plus!” He places a hand on his chest with a smug expression.

“Sure.” Gepard says sarcastically.

“Since when did you learn sarcasm?” Sampo smirks. He’s about to say something else, but Hook slams the door open and runs out.

“Hook is ready for her makeup!” She declares.

Sampo nods, tearing the cheap packaging of the face paint apart with the canines of his teeth. The plastic containers clatter to the shiny wooden floors. With a grunt, he picks up the face paint and pulls out a chair from underneath the table, patting it and motioning for Hook to sit down.

“What’s she supposed to be?” Gepard asks as Sampo begins to paint her face a rather swampy shade of green.

“A zombie.” Sampo speaks in response for Hook as she sits… patiently. She’s still, for the most part. Except her legs keep swinging back and forth. But it’s not enough to throw Sampo off his footing.

“A zombie?” Gepard hums to himself as he watches Sampo open the container of black face paint and begin painting uncarefully-careful lightening bolts and scars all across Hook’s chubby child cheeks. “A zombie, a vampire, and a werewolf… what an odd family…”

“A werewolf in quotation marks,” Sampo scoffs with a cheeky eye roll. “Since that really doesn’t count as a costume.”

“Hey! I tried!” Gepard whines.

“I know, I know,” Sampo snickers before going back to Hook’s face. “I got some gray face paint, if you’d like me to put some on you or something like that.”

“No. I’ll be fine…” Gepard takes a breath. “Don’t you think people will find it… odd that Hook has two adult men trick-or-treating with her?”

“Nah. Besides the people in this area, most places we visit believe that we’re daughter and son-“ Sampo raises his finger in the air for a second. “Wait- no- father and daughter. ” He continues with his work, holding Hook’s chin to get a better angle. “At the worst, most will think we’re married.”

“…” Gepard feels his heartbeat pick up, thumping against its calcium confinement. “M-married!?” He feels his left palm go all clammy and damp. “W-well… there’s no harm in that… I suppose.”

“It’ll be fine, Gep. I promise.” Sampo closes the plastic container of face paint, and Hook jumps off the seat. Running over to Gepard to flex her zombie makeup with lore-accurate growls and groans.

Gepard gives her an awkward thumbs up.

“Ooo! Maybe I should do a stereotypical gay guy voice for funzies!” Sampo giggles before placing a hand on his hip, and snapping his fingers with the other. “You go girl,” he says in a stereotypically homosexual fashion, which only helps perpetuate the stigma’s placed upon people such as himself. Especially when he moves his neck sassily with the beat of his snaps. “How about that? You guys dig it?”

“Hook thinks Mr. Sampo already sounds like a gay man!”

“WHO FUCKING TAUGHT YOU THAT-“

☠︎

The three walk through the neighborhood in the darkened night of the day. Street lamps illuminate the grounds below them, as well as LED Halloween decorations stuck to people’s windows or hanging off the sides of their balconies.

A soft autumn breeze wafts through the air. And cinnamon and pumpkin spice tickle their noses as they intermingle with the damp zephyrs of the dark Halloween night.

A group of children run past them in their cheap Party City costumes, laughing away as candy flies out of their baskets that are filled to the brim. Sampo does them a favor and picks the candy up… only to throw it into his bag.

“Sampo!” Gepard gives him a look. Disappointment all over his face at Sampo’s sinful display.

“Whaaaaa? They dropped it! I was helping them… not litter!” Sampo shrugs sheepishly with that damn cheeky smile of his. “Who knows what would’ve happened if they were caught dropping candy onto the concrete? The police could’ve gotten involved!”

“No they wouldn’t-“ Gepard facepalms with his freehand. “Sampo, stealing candy from children is bad.”

“It’s not their candy. It belongs to the person who bought it. And if their candy, which they intend to give away, ends up on the ground and into my unsuspecting, totally innocent hands. Then its purpose is still being served. I’m doing them all a favor.” Sampo says casually, trying to atone for his thefts upon the younger generation. Gepard sighs.

“You are unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably against littering and unbelievably against children getting arrested.” Sampo winks.

Gepard stares at him.

“It’s Halloween! It’s free candy! It’s a free for all and a competition!”

“You are pathetic.”

“Is that something you should be saying to your gay partner?”

Gepard slaps his arm lightly as Sampo cackles like some sort of idiotic hyaena.

“Cut it out,” Gepard rolls his eyes as the three stroll up to the next apartment complex with candy in their sights. Now, typically, children and their parents would go to businesses and other buildings, as the city doesn’t really have one person houses unlike the night-busy streets of your average rural neighborhood. But Sampo and Hook have been scrounging around long enough to know where all the best spots are. And a bunch of people from this wealthy apartment complex aaaaalways sit in the lounge to give people huge Hershey bars and big boxes of Reese’s Pieces. The gold coins under the rainbow, essentially.

As the three walk into the lounge, the rich people drop their candy into their bags. One of the older ladies comments on the third family member this year, to which Sampo says that they’re married, and she congratulates them both with another round of gigantic Hershey Kisses! Score!

It’s so easy to lie these days. And being married really does come with benefits!

After they’ve gotten all their candy and begin to walk out, some brunette woman with deducting hazel eyes struts over to Gepard and taps him on the shoulder, making the blond flinch with a squeal.

“I’m sorry- do I know you from somewhere? You look very familiar.”

Gepard blanks. “I-“

“Do you own a company, by any chance?”

“Ah- no- I’m sorry.” Gepard stumbles and stutters. “I- I just have a very familiar face, I suppose?”

“Are you sure?” Oh no. “You look like Gepard Landau.” Oh no. “I own one of his coats. They’re fabulous!” Oh okay that’s not so bad. But still oh no.

Despite the compliment making him smile internally, Gepard still has an overwhelming fear of stressful social situations and being put on the spot. So he denies it vehemently. “I can assure you, I just happen to look a lot like him! Y- you wouldn’t believe how many people have told me we look alike!”

The woman doesn’t seem to buy it, but she doesn’t press any further. “Alright then. Sorry about that. Have a nice night.”

“You too!” Gepard scrambles to get out of the complex and join his “family” as quickly as possible.

He finds Sampo and Hook counting their candy outside, making observations and educated guesses as to how much candy they’ve obtained. They brought big bags. And they’re almost full.

“Hey. What’s the hold up?” Sampo asks as Gepard speed-walks up to them with a considerable amount of sweat dampening his shirt collar.

“Some lady almost found me out.”

“What? That you’re not actually a werewolf?”

“No. That I’m a CEO.”

“Oh.” Sampo purses his lips and clicks his tongue. “I mean, that isn’t that big of a deal, is it?”

“Not when I’m supposedly in a homosexual relationship and have a zombie for a daughter.” The three begin to walk again. “Rumors spread fast.”

“So? New York is progressive.”

“But some people aren’t. Including some customers. And my father. ” Gepard iterates with ire.

“That guy’s still alive?” Sampo tsk’s. “Ew.”

“Please don’t insult my father like that. Even if he isn’t a good person.” Gepard can’t help but smile at that with a poorly-contained snort.

“You found it funny though.”

“Perhaps I did,” Gepard says quickly as Hook opens up a lollipop and pops it into her mouth. Smiling and giggling with glee at the taste of sugar on her tongue providing her immense serotonin.

“Anyways, there’s a few more spots we typically drop by before we call it quits. Let’s get a move on.” Sampo places a hand on Gepard’s shoulder, pushing him along with a mischievous giggle.

“H-hey!”

☠︎

After filling their bags up to the brim, exhaustion tugs at their limbs. Worn out by extensive exercise and weight training. Trust me. Bags filled with candy can get heavy.

Despite their cries of pain. Sampo and Hook still have one location in mind.

Which is…

“Wendy’s? Really?” Gepard asks as the three step into the fast food restaurant. The rapid chatter of people around them. The constant beeping. And the humidity and smell of salted fries in the air really gives off a sense of hasty discomfort.

The peak of poor American food. Cheap and easy and full of crap. (It’s really good though).

“Every year I take Hook to Wendy’s after we trick-or-treat. It’s tradition.” Sampo smiles as the three find a small booth next to a group of teenagers dressed as anime characters. The seats are mildly warm, indicating that there were previous claimants to this seating arrangement. “And now, I get to share it with you!”

Gepard can’t help but blush at that. Him? Part of a tradition? That involves Sampo? Oh his heart can only take so much beating for the night.

As the cheap yellow lights shine down upon Sampo with that illuminating smile of his, Gepard feels his heart leap out of his chest. He’s sure his face looks like one of the cheap ketchup packets lying around right now. And he’s not going to try to hide it.

“Thank you for bringing me along, Sampo. This was fun.”

“Of course, Gep.” He leans in for a brief moment. And the two were almost lip to lip. About to kiss. Hearts beating in tandem. Thumping noises in their ears.

And then Sampo backed away.

“So. What would you like to eat?” 

Chapter Text

The first flurries of winter have made their move, and the influx of winter has come to stay until the spring’s sunny daze arrives to bid it farewell in the later months of the year.

The winter wind nips at everyone’s noses. Leaving their cheeks and the tips of their noses with a cute pink tint.

There is joy, merry, and wonder in the air. As the city starts to set up for its Christmas festivities with joyful decorations that throw you into the Christmas spirit.

The fireplaces are gaining their flames. The warm winter blankets with extra fluff are coming out of hiding. And the warm mugs of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows are back in business.

Sure. Sampo may love Halloween just a tad more than Christmas. But when it comes to the seasonal sensations. Sampo loves this time of year. How festive it feels. How it connects everyone this time of year. It’s so nice and calming.

Ice-skating in the rink at Rockefeller Center on a cold winter night as the children and families and couples laugh with glee; gliding under the Christmas lights strewn high above across them all. The stores playing Christmas songs nonstop like a major coordinated assault on the ears. The fake Santa’s walking around the streets and catching the subway with regular civilians. Christmas carolers showing up at his door despite having to go inside his apartment building to do so which was a bit excessive.

Snuggling up on the couch watching cheesy Hallmark Christmas rom coms and reruns of cult classic Christmas movies. And the occasional Charlie Brown Christmas special and laughing at Charlie Brown’s misfortune only to cry fifteen minutes later because you’re just as unlucky and disliked as him.

Watching commercials with jingle bells and an abuse of the colors red and green. Sinking into the blankets with cinnamon sprinkled into the mound of whipped cream atop your mug of hot chocolate. Feeling nice and cozy as the temperature outside begins to drop and the snowflakes continue to flurry.

And of course, the free gifts!!!! And the ones he has to buy himself. But he didn’t like to think about that. He’d rather be ignorant to the lack of money in his wallet every December; and focus more on what he gets for free.

But none of that matters. Christmas is coming, and it’s time to have some fun!

☃︎

Gepard looked out the big, crystal clear windows of his office as snowflakes began sticking to the glass. Sighing to himself, as those had been recently cleaned. He supposed even cleanliness wasn’t enough to fight against mother nature’s splendor.

He paid those men good money for a thorough window wiping too.

Pushing his feet into the ground at an angled degree, he swiveled in his chair and spun right in front of his desk, staring at his computer screen in a trance.

Another news article about Skott and the IPC. People have been eyeing his clothing line intensely these past few weeks, himself included, but not in interest. In fear.

Silvermane Guards has always been a trusted company by the public. People love and adore their fashionable, comfortable coats and other lines of clothing with their crests embroidered near the chest area. It’s been a social phenomenon for years and years and years due to its exclusivity. Its price ranges weren’t the most obtainable from a single paycheck which meant the general public felt the urge to put some cash aside and save up some money so they could get a taste of the rich people life.

And they loved it. Rich people love feeling like they’re above the middle class. And the middle class love to ignore the fact that they’re middle class. It’s a win-win for everyone economically.

But if the IPC releases these high-brand looking coats for half the price of a single Silvermane Guard… that could be really bad for business.

People will eventually realize that the IPC’s coats are cheap and shitty, but from the time they’re released to the time people realize they suck, his company will have already lost a lot of money…

He needs to do something about this, and soon. Or else something bad is bound to happen-

“GOOD MORNING!!” Sampo opens the door to Gepard’s office, snowflakes and flurries bouncing off him-the ones that haven’t already melted onto him and dampened his clothes and skin.

Gepard almost falls out of his chair at the sound, grasping his desk tightly. His hairs raise up like a cat’s fur would when spooked.

“G- good morning Sampo…” Gepard grimaces as Sampo gets snow all over the floor. He doesn’t care too much, considering he also got a bunch of snow on the floor. But they just dried, and Sampo came in to dampen them up again.

“You look as happy as ever.” Sampo states sarcastically as he places a cup of coffee onto Gepard’s desk. It’s steaming hot and warm, guiding Gepard to a sense of comfort and serenity in which he finds through the chilly winter haze.

Sampo then unlocks the door to his own office, unzipping his jacket and placing it on the small coat hanger next to his door. He leans up against the doorframe as Gepard places his hands in his hair, massaging his scalp as a means to try and calm himself down.

Sampo takes a sip of his hot cocoa. He always gets it this time of year instead of coffee. It’s also a lot easier to differentiate between the two because the coffee shop he gets their coffee from puts the beverages in different cups. So he’s not bound to accidentally sip Gepard’s coffee for the twenty-fifth time. He smiles as the cocoa graces his lips. He loves the way it tastes in the winter time. It just hits differently than any other time of the year.

“It’s just… stressful, this time of year, for lack of better words.” Gepard rubs his temple. “So many orders and supply and demand- you know that stuff, you were an economics teacher.”

“Oh yeah totally. I’m picking up what you’re putting down.” Sampo frowns. “If you need me to lighten the load a bit, I’ll be more than happy to help my favorite boss.”

“I’m your only boss,” Gepard stops to think for a moment. He knows Sampo has had at least once job before this one, but considering his upbringing, he’s probably had a plethora of occupational backgrounds. Which meant a plethora of bosses. “And you don’t typically enjoy more work than what’s in your pay grade.”

“What can I say, Gep? I’m feeling that Christmas spirit! Besides, I’d feel bad if all you do this week is sob your eyes out in frustration- happens to the best of us, I know.”

“…”

“Damn. You’re really bumming. Aren’t you? I can just tell from that frownie of a face.”

“Yeah…” Gepard sniffles.

Sampo walks over to Gepard’s desk and places his drink down before opening his arms up for a big, big hug. “C’mere, big guy. I think you need one of these.”

Gepard looks at Sampo quizzically for just a moment before getting up and leaning into Sampo’s arms, slotting his forehead into the crook of his neck with a frustrated sigh as Sampo squeezes him reassuringly and rubs his back.

“I know I tell you this like, every other day. But you really gotta start taking care of yourself. Take a chill pill every once and a while before you lose your marbles.” Sampo says as he starts to rock Gepard back and forth with the intention of comforting him. 

“I do…” Gepard grumbles. “Everything is just so- frustrating this time of year. And I hate it.” He digs his forehead deeper into the crook of Sampo’s neck, relishing in the warmth the blue-haired man radiates from his measly touch and simple embrace. “… I’m so tired.”

“I know, I know.” Sampo shushes him calmly like a mother to a weeping baby. “It’s okay. There’s other people in this building who can lighten the load. Me, Dunn, Fizz, Kafka. The entire office would throw down all their work to help you if you asked them.”

“… I suppose you’re right,” Gepard sighs. “But I don’t want to put more weight on any of them. Especially if it’s not their job.”

Sampo smiles softly, patting Gepard on the back. “You’re a good boss.”

“… I try.”

Sampo falls out of the hug in turn for grabbing Gepard’s hand and guiding him towards the big windows that now have a considerable amount of snow stuck to them. “Look.” He points outside as the brushes of snow become more intense and flakes begin to fall at a rapid speed. Painting the exuberant city a winter of white. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah…” Gepard feels himself smile. “It is…”

“And I have the perfect idea for later, too~” Sampo nudges Gepard’s arm with his elbow. And that’s when Gepard realizes Sampo is up to no good.

“Oh dear.”

☃︎

The two trudged through the salt-covered sidewalks in the midst of eradicating all the snow that had fallen onto the ground and covered up every visible bit of pavement it could manage. Gepard almost tripped over a bit of salt speckle as Sampo walked ahead of him in dire need of a pace pickup.

“H- hey! Wait up!” Gepard grabs Sampo’s hand through the crowd, grasping onto it as people push past them. It’s so that Sampo not only is able to get away from him again. But also so that they don’t get separated in the influx of people. Gepard can’t tell if the pink of Sampo’s cheeks is from the cold or something else entirely.

“Where on earth are you taking me?” Gepard asks him loudly in the chatter of the crowd. They’ve only been walking for about five minutes, but in this weather, it feels like an eternity.

Suddenly, Sampo makes a sharp turn, and Gepard, like a ragdoll, follows after him with a flop. Stumbling to get a good balance after that out-of-nowhere heel-point turn.

Sampo guides them into the park.

Central Park.

“Oh.”

For the most part, Central Park is barren. But in the winter time, it’s absolutely beautiful.

White snow coats everything as far as the eye can see. Dusting the arms of the benches. Tickling the bushels of leaves and clinging to leaf-ridden trees. The grass is covered in snow as white as foam, and it feels like comforting cushioning under their feet. The cold doesn’t feel as intense here amongst the backdrop of winter white. Everything feels serene. And at ease.

“We,” Sampo begins as he drags Gepard over to a huge area of what used to be grass. “Are going to have a snowball fight.”

“…”

“…”

“You’re serious.”

“Whaaaaaat? You think I’m being a clown right now?” Sampo huffs, placing his mittened hands onto his hips. Even when it’s cold as hell out, he never loses his energy and… inviting personality.

“I know you’re not joking.” Gepard says. “But having a snowball fight? Really? I don’t see how that’s good for blowing off steam.” He reasons.

“It’s not for blowing off steam you goof,” Sampo flicks his forehead, which makes Gepard cover it with a muttered noise of discomfort. “It’s for having fun! And having fun is awesome!”

Gepard quickly recomposes himself as he begins to speak again. “I-“ but whatever he’s about to say is cut off when a blast of cold hits him directly in the shoulder. White explodes into his side. “Wha-“ he looks over at Sampo, whose hands are placed on his kneecaps as he doubles over in laughter at his assault. Tears spring from his eyes and his face turns as red as a tomato. He’s probably laughed enough heat to warm himself up the entirety of their little excursion.

“You-“ Gepard clenches his fist before crouching down and rolling a pathetically misshapen snowball into his hands and launching it towards Sampo, who’s too busy laughing to see it coming. And it hits him at the top of the head, snow trickling down into his luscious blue locks and coating bits of his face.

Sampo stops immediately and looks up at him. Gepard stares down.

Silence.

“That was a lucky shot.” Sampo brushes the snow out of his hair. Snow trickles back down into the masses below. “I’ll give you that.”

“I’m not as bad at having fun as I may seem.” Gepard boasts with a cocky smirk. That’s short lived as a snowball lands directly into his face.

“Then prove it!” Sampo yells at him before throwing endless snowballs at Gepard in a continuous attack, laughing maniacally as Gepard tries to run away.

  ☃︎

Gepard lifts up the medium-sized ball of snow, placing it on top of the big ball of snow. He steps back beside Sampo. And the two snow-covered men stare at their bare creation with hands on their hips like two beer dads who gaze upon their freshly mowed lawn.

“For a guy that’s never made a snowman before. I’d say you’re pretty good at them.” Sampo says as he stares at the snowman’s blank face, or, lack thereof.

“I told you, I haven’t made one since I was twelve.” Gepard lightly hits Sampo’s arms, who grabs at it and feigns excruciating pain anyway for the sake of theatrics. “Don’t twist my words.”

“Whatever.” Sampo chuckles, seemingly fine now. Gepard rolls his eyes. Sampo takes the collection of rocks he found still straggling around the winter grounds, clicking and clucking around in his open palm. He starts to place them in the order of a mouth. And two eyes. He readjusts everything a few times because he doesn’t like how some of them are tilted at a weird angle, or some of them are slightly off center. But eventually, he’s finished. Gepard takes the big stick they found and impales the middle of the head with it, giving it a nose. That finishes off the face.

“Look at it. It’s like… our baby.”

“Our baby?” Gepard hums. He doesn’t mind entertaining the thought of having a baby with his secretary and best friend. Even though… it’s… I’m sure you already get the point. “In that case, we should give it a name.” Gepard says.

“… pen island?” Sampo suggests after a second of thought, meaning he didn’t actually think about it at all.

“…” Gepard looks Sampo in the eyes. “… we are not going to name our snowman penis land.”

“Haha! Made you say penis!” Sampo sing-songs like a kid getting their classmate to spell ICUP. It’s really stupid. Gepard rolls his eyes.

“You are so immature it’s astonishing.”

“Woah. Big word there. Don’t hurt yourself. Your sisters would wring me inside out if you came back with even a scratch under my watchful eye.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Gonna be completely honest. I have no clue.” Sampo says as he puts his hands on his hips again. “I’m just saying things to say things.”

“Typical.”

“Watch your tone, boss man.” Sampo points a finger at him, wiggling it for good measure. Gepard doesn’t take it seriously because he knows there’s no actual threat for him. Opting to flick Sampo on the forehead instead with a childish blow of the tongue.

“Hey! Only I’m allowed to do stuff like that!” Sampo huffs, throwing a snowball of hatred at Gepard’s back as the two begin to leave the park.

☃︎

Sampo takes a deep breath through his nose as the warm hot cocoa hits his tongue, waking up his senses and comforting his taste buds. “I love hot cocoa this time of year.” He says, gazing out the window as snowflakes dance with the wind, acting like a stereotypical Hallmark Christmas movie character.

“I don’t.” Gepard says uncomfortably crabby beside him.

“That’s because all you drink is black coffee because you suck.” Sampo smiles as he takes another sip of his hot cocoa. Gepard, fed up with the taste of any warm liquid that isn’t pure black sludge, gets up to throw out his cup and order his disgusting, nasty, garbage filth.

When Gepard comes back, Sampo mocks him. “You’re so lame. Black coffee is so gross. What an emo.”

“Shut up.”

“My heart bleeds black blood for you.” Sampo says with the ire and inflections of a pre-teen emo. He cackles, almost choking as he takes another sip of his drink.

“You’re a brat sometimes, you know that?”

“But you like that, don’t you~?” Sampo winks flirtatiously and Gepard’s entire face erupts in reds and pinks. The hand that grasps his coffee tightens as his arm shakes violently. Any tighter and the coffee will pour out of five finger-shaped holes. Sampo laughs at Gepard’s endless torture.

“Anyways. That was fun, wasn’t it? Really took your mind off things?”

“You could say that…” Gepard takes a sip of his coffee, looking away as the heat slowly drains from his face and the awkward tingling starts to go away. “It was… fun. I don’t appreciate the feeling of snow going down my shirt—but it was enjoyable…”

“I haven’t had fun like that in a while…” Gepard places his open palm over his mouth, a bit of his upturned smile peeking out. There’s something about it that has Sampo’s heart slam its foot on the brakes, leaving the human-body-system-of-a-car screeching to a halt. Something so enamoring about the blond that just stops time in its tracks. “Thank you… Sampo.”

…

Sampo blinks a few times as his throat begins to tickle and his body turns warm in an instant. “N- no prob, Bob…”

Then Sampo sneezes.

“Bless you.”

“T-thank you.”

Chapter Text

Sampo is late.

Gepard concludes as he stares down the clock in his office, watching the hands slow down the longer he stares into its tiny little numbers and slits. His heel taps into the polished wooden floors beneath him in an unrhythmically.

He’s got nothing going on—nothing of importance that is. But he still wants Sampo to be on time. Same goes for everyone else. Punctuality is something he finds comfort in. Sudden changes in schedule feel like a journey into the unknown, a vast trek into the green, earthy wilderness where he doesn’t know what presides inside the bushes or inside the trees. Skin tickling as leaves of fallen branches prick at his exposed flesh. And it makes him feel uneased. He’s not a fan of making changes on the fly, and he’d like to avoid that as much as possible because he hates the tingling feeling that rises in his chest when he does.

Maybe one late person isn’t going to change the trajectory of his life and he’s being a drama queen. So what! He doesn’t care.

And Sampo still hasn’t texted him! Gepard’s mind wanders to the worst whenever people are late and they don’t constantly reassure him that they’re okay. It’s just how he is! Sue him for being an empathetic person with a bundle of nerves!

He sighs, checking his phone for the umpteenth time. He’s about to shoot Sampo a message, his thumbs hovering over his digital keyboard. But thankfully, Sampo starts stumbling into his office, snow coating the ripples of his jacket.

“Good morning, Sampo.” Gepard frowns. “You’re late. An hour late.” He says, ready to ridicule Sampo for his horrendous sense of time. Sampo’s cheeks and the tip of his nose are more red than they’d typically be if he were flushed with embarrassment, and he looks slightly pale. Lacking the usual color to his skin in favor of something more muted and somewhat sickly. Someone who barely talks to Sampo in the office, maybe exchanging the usual good morning, wouldn’t notice the change in Sampo’s appearance. But Gepard knows him well enough, seeing him continuously everyday, and is able to tell the difference.

There’s bags under his eyes, and what appears to be a layer of sweat clinging to his skin making it shine under the lighting. He blinks slowly, eyes downcast and dropping as his hair sticks to his neck.

He looks…

“Sick.” Gepard says some of his thoughts out loud, not realizing he said it at first.

“Huh?” Sampo sniffles, his voice wavering. He sounds horrendously congested, and he wobbles back and forth as he struggles to stand up, blinking once and twice like a chameleon.

“You look… sick.” Gepard says, standing up from his chair. The back of his calves push it back and it rolls backwards slightly. “Sampo, you don’t look good…”

“Rude…” Sampo inhales deeply. It’s loud, and you can clearly hear the congestion in the way snot is forced up his nostrils. “I… always look good…”

“You do. But- right now you look… sickly-“

“Gepaaaaaaaarddddd-“ Sampo sniffles. He hobbles left and right and it’s obvious that he’s disoriented. “I dunno what you’re talkin abouuuuuuuuuuut!” He tries to muster a smile but as the watery streaks begin to fall down his red cheeks, it doesn’t nothing to convince the man that he’s in top shape.

“Sampo-“ Gepard’s about to provide more words of concern but Sampo’s already falling forward, plopping face first onto the floor unconsciously and with a very small amount of graceful cadence, only a fraction of the energy he carries himself with. “Sampo!” Gepard gasps as he runs from behind his desk and over to an unconscious Sampo in record time, kneeling next to Sampo as he chest rises and falls ever so slowly. “Sampo! Sampo!” He shakes him over and over, panic starting to settle in his nervous system and rattle his bones useless—melding into a pile of mushy liquid beside him.

Gepard wraps his arms around Sampo’s torso and sits him up. Unsure of what to do as the unconscious man flops around in his hold, he leans him up against his chest. Sampo’s warmth radiates off of him and seeps into his skin, something he’d appreciate in any other circumstance.

Gepard sighs as Sampo’s face meshes into a subconscious grimace. He’s too warm, is the only thought occupying his mind as Sampo progressively gets warmer and warmer by the second. Gepard’s breathing picks up, and some sweat forms above his brow as the realization hits him that Sampo is not okay. He doesn’t know to what degree though—is it a simple cold? An injury? Is he overdosing? No- wait- Sampo doesn’t do drugs—does he do drugs!?!? Should he call an ambulance!?!?

(𖦹﹏𖦹;)

“Just call a doctor you idiot,” Serval’s voice is almost discourteous over the phone as the laugh she was presumably holding in begins to make its way out.

“Serval this isn’t funny!” Gepard whines as he holds his phone close to his ear, pacing anxiously back and forth in his office as he watches Sampo every millisecond to make sure he doesn’t flop off his chair. Yes. His own chair. He put a sick, unconscious Sampo in his own chair. It’s the most comfortable, yes. But he also doesn’t want to get Sampo germs and get sick as well.

“Dude, chill out. He’s probably got a common cold-“

“He’s got a FEVER Serval!” Gepard reiterated his current woes as quietly as he possibly can. Although his goal is to get Sampo to wake up, he wants him to wake up on his own terms.

“There’s no need to call an ambulance if he’s got an easy fever. You took his temp, it’s around one-oh-two. That’s a typical thing—the most nursey stuff you can do is make him pop an Advil.”

“But-“

“He’ll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” Serval reassures him, but Gepard doesn’t trust her judgment in the slightest. As much as he loves his big sister, she’s way too mellow for a stressful situation such as this. He needs someone who’s knowledge in the medical field… someone like-

“Give me Natasha.” Gepard says bluntly. Serval gasps at the other end of the line.

“You’re going to bother my girlfriend on her only day off so you can deal with your dumb boyfriends boo boo’s?” Serval tsks. “Your sister’s words aren’t good enough?”

“No- it’s not that,” Gepard pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s just that I’d rather get a second opinion from a medical professional and not a pop star who didn’t know how to take pills until she was twelve!” Gepard’s eyes widen at Serval’s earlier comment starts to settle in. “AND HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!”

“Oh shut up-“ Serval grumbles and there’s a surplus of background noise that takes over the call. Gepard stands around anxiously, looking at Sampo as he rests on the chair. Gepard can hear the stomping of feet and the opening of a door as well as some mindless chatter and a loud groan that was most definitely Serval’s.

“Hello Gepard, how are you?” Natasha’s voice is soft and sweet like saccharine, like a honey lemon cough drop used to soothe the aching throat. It’s not enough to ease his horrendous nerves though.

“Hi Natasha- good- uh look- my assistant- Sampo- you know him- kind of… passed out. And he’s really warm like he’s got a warm head and a cold-“ Gepard’s words struggle to come out of his mouth. He’s unsure of what to say now, despite yelling at Serval just five minutes ago.

“… does he have a fever?”

“Yes. It’s moderate. Not dangerous.”

“Yes, Gepard. That’s typically what moderate means.” Natasha takes a deep breath. “Okay. You said he passed out?”

“Yes.” Gepard shuffles awkwardly with his hand in his pant pocket.

“If he’s got a fever, and he has the common cold. Then it’s nothing to worry about. He could’ve passed out from overexertion, exhaustion, or simply because he’s sick.”

“Okay. Okay.” Gepard takes a deep breath to stabilize himself. “I feel a lot better now that I know he’ll be pretty much okay… what should I do to help him?”

“For now, dampen his skin with a wet towel. Some cold water to help him maintain a decent body temperature. When he wakes up, give him plenty of water. Give him some crackers and give him an Advil. Then drive him home. It’s best to let him rest rather than work.”

Gepard nods. “Thank you, Natasha. I should’ve asked you from the start. Serval told me to pop an Advil.”

“She’s a bit stupid, but it’s okay.” Natasha giggles.

“You’re dating her.”

“You grew up with her.” Natasha states. Gepard nods.

“Anyways, I’ve got to go. Thank you so much, Nat. Sorry for bothering you on your day off.”

“Couldn’t be any worse than Serval who yelled at me to wake up before the pancakes went cold,” Natasha giggles. “Text me after Sampo wakes up please, I’d like to know he’s okay.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Gepard sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. “He always gets himself into stupid scenarios. I’m worried for him.”

“Gepard, I’m a doctor not a therapist. Just express your concern when he wakes up. Communication is key when it comes to romantic relationships. Now I gotta go, okay, bye!” Natasha hangs up quickly and Gepard’s screen goes black before flashing back to the picture on his lock screen: a picture of him and his siblings getting their picture taken in front of Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. Bundled up in warm winter wear and soft scarves and matching mittens.

“…”

He stares at his screen. Cheeks going slightly pink.

“He is not my boyfriend.”

(𖦹﹏𖦹;)

Sampo doesn’t remember much. He doesn’t remember much of anything. He just remembers waking up, feelings like complete shit and rubbing his forehead as it weighs upon his skull like metric tons, walking to the bathroom, almost vomiting to the sink—then a period of time that’s fuzzy and blank and a complete psychological blur—then he arrived at the office, started feeling very tired all of a sudden and couldn’t stand up straight, closed his eyes, and started feeling a falling sensation.

And then he woke up.

When his eyes opened, he gasped quietly to himself. His sweaty skin is sticking to the already warm leather chair, making him heat up even more. Another beat of sweat forms and drips down his forehead as he takes a deep breath. Oh- ouch- yikes- that hurts. His throat is sore. Very sore. He doesn’t remember it feeling like this in the morning. Ouch.

There’s a shuffle of footsteps that get louder and louder. Sampo isn’t able to comprehend it, even as Gepard appears in his vision. He’s just so damn tired and congested and funky in the brain that nothing is working with him right now.

“Here. Drink,” Gepard puts a cold bottle of water in Sampo’s hands, who relishes in the cold sensation that it brings to his clammy palms. Sampo struggles to open the bottle before taking a sip and sighing happily at the cooling touch it has on his aching throat. It does nothing to wake him up, though.

“How do you feel?” Gepard asks as he places the back of his hand onto Sampo’s forehead once again to gauge the gravity of his fever.

“Bad-“ Sampo croaks out before coughing into his arm. A bit of snot dribbles out his nose and he throws his head back with a groan. If he had any positive emotions, any semblance of it was finally gone.

“Sampo-“ Gepard grabs the bottom of the bottle and tilts it up slightly, easing Sampo into drinking some water yet again. “I knew I should’ve been concerned when you started acting sluggish and sneezing a lot these last few days—why did you even come into work today!?”

Sampo closes his mouth and clears his throat as he finishes swallowing all the water. “… well- you need help-“

“Sampo. You being here causes potential illness to myself and others. And did you seriously think I was going to let you work in this condition!?” Gepard frowns, a load of concern oozing from his tone. He brushes away some of the hair clinging to Sampo’s forehead as he feels it again.

“I dunno… I’m sorry Gep.” Sampo grimaces as the sensation of heat that flows throughout his body.

“I don’t like when you do this to yourself. When you’re sick.”

“…” Sampo looks away, ashamed of disappointing and worrying Gepard because of his ill state.

“…” Gepard looks down at his phone, checking the time. “… I’ll drive you home. You shouldn’t be here.”

“But-“

“No buts.” Gepard grabs Sampo by the arm and helps him stand up. As Sampo wobbles and struggles to remain still, Gepard holds onto him tightly to make sure he doesn’t fall. “I’ll help you to the car.”

(𖦹﹏𖦹;)

After Gepard made Sampo some warm soup and shoved some medicine down his throat while Nuclear Bomb, Sampo’s cat, danced around his legs in a food-earning ritual (Gepard fed her, don’t worry. It just took a while to find the cat food), Sampo fell asleep on his couch with his face smushed into the pillows. His cheeks were losing their reddish color, and his skin was slowly phasing back to its vibrant hue. His hair was pulled back into a small ponytail to get it out of his face, and there was a blanket on top of him which Gepard carefully placed upon him once he fell asleep.

Gepard sighs, kneeling down besides Sampo’s sleeping figure. He looks so calm when he’s asleep, not much like the Sampo he knows and loves. He stares at Sampo’s forehead, feeling his lips twitch in anticipation and want. It’s normal to want to kiss your friend’s forehead, right? I mean, his favorite maid used to do it all the time when he was younger and she was checking his temperature while he was sick—so it’s totally normal!

…

Maybe not.

Gepard backs away, opting to brush a stray strand of hair away from Sampo’s sleeping face before getting up and walking towards the door. His eyes stay on Sampo as the door starts to close, and they linger in the same spot even after the slab of wood has consumed his view.

Oh Sampo.

Sampo, Sampo, Sampo.

Chapter Text

Gepard sighs as he stares at his phone, glaring into the mild blue light that bounces off his freckled skin. Some of it trickles onto the cuff of his dress shirt. He sits in his office as Sampo flails around, placing Christmas decorations and red-colored streamers all over the place all the while complaining that Gepard was such a wish wash when it came to holiday cheer. Gepard wasn’t listening though. Whatever wasn’t going through one ear and out the other in record time was muted and muffled to his blind brain as he glared at the constant flow of news headlines about the IPC. Now they’ve got some woman to sit beside Scott, she calls herself Topaz. And now all the virgin Twitter meatriders that don’t go outside are slobbering all over her because she’s conveniently attractive. And because they’re talking about her, that means there’s attention on the IPC, whether from those Twitter losers five consecutive followers or because word spreads immensely when there’s hot women involved. For the record, she’s nice on the eyes. But because she’s his rival he can’t be bothered.

Also she’s definitely not into men but he digresses.

He’s about to scroll one last, final time (he’s said that to himself for fifteen minutes now), when Sampo’s fingers find their way into his face and rub up against each other, making a continuous snapping noise to get Gepard’s attention off his phone and up at him instead. And it works, as Gepard shoots up his head and looks Sampo right in the eyes with a concerned expression so befitting of him.

“Yo. Dude. Himeko’s wondering if she can put a Christmas tree near the front desk.” Sampo looks down at his phone with a squint, trying to reread the message Himeko sent him. “Some real Christmas-y shit.”

Gepard sighs, shoving his own phone into his pocket. “I’ve told her she can decorate the lobby however she wants since my first day on the job. Why does she feel the need to ask me every year?”

“Probably because she had the pleasure of working with your father,” Sampo quips as he types a quick response to Himeko. After he’s finished, he looks back at Gepard and crosses his arms. “Now get off your phone. It’s clearly upsetting you. And Christmas time is the wrong time to be frowning like a sad little loser.”

Gepard huffs. “The things I let you get away with. You know another boss would murder you on the spot if you said stuff like this to them?” He questions him sternly as he gets out of his chair and strides over to Sampo in a few easy steps. Sampo’s shit eating smirk is so horrendously cocky he can’t tell if he wants to slap him or punch him (in a friendly way, of course! If there is one).

“Yeah. I know. That’s what makes you to special.” He lifts up his finger and raises it towards Gepard’s face. Before the blond can back away, Sampo’s finger collides with the tip of his nose, sending a itching sensation all throughout. “Boop!” He says innocently with a pure gaze and hearty giggle. Gepard’s spoiled him way too much, he thinks. He’s raised a brat.

“Come oooooooon, Gep! Chin up! I hate seeing you so down in the dumps—we gotta fix that!” Sampo wraps his arm around Gepard’s shoulder like a coach to their best football player. “Get in the spirit of the holidays. What are you? Charlie Brown?”

“I have friends. Charlie Brown does not,” Gepard says.

“Hey. He had Linus,” Sampo let’s go of Gepard and points to himself, insinuating he was the Linus to Gepard’s Charlie Brown. The little blue blanket and everything. “And Lynx would be Sally, probably. Because she’s your younger sister!”

“Sally had a crush on Linus.” Gepard states blankly. Sampo clicks his tongue.

“You’re right. So Lynx’s girlfriend is Linus…” Sampo trails off. He’s aware that both of Gepard’s sisters are raging lesbians. In fact, Sampo actually knew of Serval a year before he knew Gepard through Natasha since the two used to be coworkers at Sampo’s previous job (she was the school’s only nurse). “Well if that’s the case, and you’re Charlie Brown… then I wouldn’t mind being the little red-haired girl.”

Gepard feels himself reel. The little red-haired girl was Charlie Brown’s biggest crush—a girl so painfully unattainable and just out of arm’s reach. How the little red-haired girl made Charlie Brown’s heart swell—how he always thought of her to the point where she felt more like an idea and a goal rather than a girl in his class. How she was simply so important and lovely to Charlie Brown. And Sampo decided he’d be that.

How fitting.

Gepard clears his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that forms in its walls. He takes a look around the office. It looks really nice. In the span of two hours, Sampo transformed Gepard’s bleak, modern, minimalistic office into a fantastical, whimsical winter wonderland. Covered in red streamers, fake snow, and lots of bright Christmas lights. He could decorate the entire city with the Christmas spirit he garners.

“The office looks… nice.” Gepard struggles to get out.

“It was about time you actually had it decorated. Only took you two years—thankfully you have me. What would you do without your good ol’ pal?”

“Have a boring office for Christmas?”

“Exactly!” Sampo exclaims as he reaches out his arms, stretching out his back with a few strained groans. After that, he puts his hands on his hips and admires the fruits of his labor. “Anyways, the Christmas party is starting soon. You should mentally prepare yourself for the trials of social cues before we go, you need it.” He says before he descends into a chuckle. Gepard gives him the finger.

“Oooooooo! That’s new! I’m honored to be the first recipient of your middle fingers~” Sampo winks before stepping out of the room to do something.

Gepard sighs before following after him like a puppy—or a lovestruck Charlie Brown.

❄︎

“Seele, this is a foolish idea.” Bronya deadpans after Seele finishes rambling about her “fool-proof” plan. Seele’s hand which was practically glued to her makeshift string board with random words hastily written atop scraps of looseleaf paper falls back to her side as Bronya criticizes and only criticizes her idea.

“I mean. I think it’s a good idea!” Seele places her hands on her hips. “I’m tired of seeing those two be so lovey-dovey without actually dating. And I’m tired of Sampo fucking rambling about him all the time— OOOOOOOO GEPARD IS SO HAAAAAAAANDSOOOOOOME BUT IN A BRO WAYYYYYYYYYY~” Seele clasps her hands and places them to her cheek, shifting back and forth on her feet as she impersonates Sampo with a particularly feminine voice as a form of mockery for his endless mouth-vomit about their employer. “Like I’m fucking sick of it really—it makes my fucking ears bleed,” she huffs.

“Okay. Yeah. Sure. Maybe it is a little bit annoying—but mistletoe is a custom this time of year. If we were able to get those two under it, they’d kiss because it’s custom not because they’re in love.”

“Well Kafka and Himeko do it because they’re in love.”

“… Kafka and Himeko are married you idiot!”

“The point still stands!” Seele practically yells in defense like some irate middle schooler. “If we can get them to kiss, then like, sparks will fly, or something!!!!”

“… you know I told you to stop watching those Hallmark Christmas movies because they were totally unrealistic,” Bronya crosses her arms and shakes her head, he triple-drills swaying with the movement of her head. “This isn’t like some cheesy Christmas movie. This is real life. Nobody feels sparks fly when they first kiss someone.”

“… well… didn’t you feel that when you kissed me.” Seele asks.

“Babe, all I could feel were your chapped lips.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“You already do-“

“AUGHRHEHJ- DOESN’T MATTER!” Seele slams her hand into the string board making the papers fly up with the force. “ARE YOU IN IT OR NOT?”

Bronya lets out a long sigh as she mentally deflates from her girlfriends stupidity. “Do I have a choice?”

“NO.”

❄︎

Bronya and Seele traverse throughout the third floor, where the party was hosted. They always host parties on the third floor since it’s the least crowded of the floors—and there’s a lot of open space to dance, drink, laugh, and have fun.

Bronya looks around like a kid about to do something they shouldn’t be doing, and when the coast is clear gives Seele a thumbs up as she ties another mistletoe to the doorframe. How she was able to get to high without a ladder or any catalyst to support her stretch of high is something nobody will ever know, Seele’s athleticism was simply nothing to sneeze out, or the absurdity of said athleticism.

“Alright.” Seele jumps back down, heels slamming into the floors below. Patting herself down with a satisfied smirk, she continues where she left off. “All the mistletoe is tied. Now we just wait for the two to walk off like they always do and catch them under it.”

“…” Bronya rolls her eyes. “Wouldn’t it be more successful if we lured them in rather than set up a trap and waited for them to catch it?”

“Bronya, babe, trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you really?”

“… no.” Seele pouts her bottom lip. “But it doesn’t matter. Because it will happen!”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Bronya turns on her heel and walks away, leaving Seele to stand there like an idiot before chasing after her like some sad little goblin.

“Hey- wait up!”

❄︎

“The decorations for this year’s Christmas party are very nice.” Gepard comments as Sampo and him make their way through the crowd of coworkers laughing and drinking and talking about their plans for the holidays.

“Yeah. That’s because we let Himeko take charge of the decorations instead of Welt this year. If you thought you were bad, that dude doesn’t have a single festive bone in his body.”

“That’s rude to say.”

“Listen, I know he can’t help it. It’s just what happens when you get old.”

“He’s not even old enough to be qualified as a senior citizen.” Gepard rolls his eyes before taking a sip of his drink, no longer nursing it. The liquids turned a slight lukewarm, but still contained some tang from the fruit punch to give him a little kick.

“Whatever.” Sampo shrugs with a cocky smirk. Gepard goes to take another sip of his drink, Seele peeks out from the corner and eyes the back of his blond head.

“Look at those two shitbags. I can’t believe them.” Seele clenches her fists and growls as if two people being friends has brought terror upon her family. Bronya rolls her eyes. This is ridiculous.

“You can’t believe what? That they’re walking next to each other?”

“No!” Seele turns around to face Bronya with a face of determination and anger. “Those two- you wouldn’t understand-“ she gives up on explaining to turn back around and grasp at the sides of the doorway and eye the two like some psycho creep.

“You’re being weird.” Bronya says with a sigh before popping a pretzel into her mouth from the complimentary bag of pretzels she got from today’s festivities.

“I’m being weird because they’re being fucking stupid and gay and I hate it!” Seele seethes. Bronya can’t help but feel like this situation was ripped straight from a teenagers shitty gay fanfiction by how outlandish it was.

Seele eyes one of the main spots for mistletoe with such intensity her veins start to pop out of her head.

Two people approach it.

She gasps with excitement.

It’s just Asta and Arlan. Mother fucker.

“Those straight pieces of shit I swear to god.” Seele grumbles to herself before crossing her arms and turning around, making a face akin to a child about to have a tantrum.

“You’re being weird again.” Bronya rolled her eyes. “What did Asta and Arlan ever do to you?”

“Be straight!” Seele grumbles loudly as the couple starts walking away from the mistletoe hand in hand.

“That’s not a valid reason, Seele.” Bronya crosses her arms with a disappointed glare.

“Whatever!”

❄︎

“This party’s nicer than the Halloween one,” Gepard says as the two lean up against the wall just like they did at the Halloween party, with Sampo only scrolling through his phone in temporary disinterest. He has moments of impartiality after getting surges of excitement from new things, and then the cycle repeats himself within the span of ten minutes. This happens every single time.

“I’m sure it’s great to not have people laughing at you in the face for that shitty excuse of a costume.” Sampo barely holds in his laugh as Gepard hits him lightly.

“It was a good costume! You’re all haters.”

“Oh please.” Sampo puts his phone in his pocket. “Do you really think that was a g-“

“HO HO HO. MERRY CHRISTMAS!” A tall man dressed in a big Santa costume and long white hair steps into the office with a proud smile and a chest puffed out with Christmas cheer, followed by a man slightly shorter than him with even longer black hair and red coloring the ends, and a short little blond boy with curiously amazed hazel eyes.

Everyone stops talking or doing whatever the hell it is they’re doing to look at the three of them in blank confusion. The energy and the volume in the room flatlines immediately as all eyes go on them.

“Uhm. Who the hell is that?” Stelle’s voice is loud and clear amongst the silence as she points at Jing Yuan in a Santa suit, a stupid one at that. March shushes her from beside her, silently reprimanding her for her attitude, and the gray-haired girl rubs her neck awkwardly as a soft color forms onto her cheeks.

(“Dude!”

“I said I was sorry!”)

Gepard gasps with a bright smile of surprise as the volume picks up again as his employees go back to their conversations, giving Sampo his cup to hold as he rushes over to the three of them with haste as to not have them loitering around awkwardly any longer. “Jing Yuan! Yingxing! And Yanqing too! Welcome!” Gepard pauses as he finally approaches them and gets a good look at them. Jing Yuan was decked in a Santa suit, but he looked nothing like him. Especially with his long, fully untamed hair akin to a lion’s mane sticking out from the hat that struggles to stay atop his head—and the lack of a beard—or belly like a pot full of jelly.

Yingxing is in a black variant of a Silvermane Guard. It hugs his frame quite nicely, and he looks rather elegant in all forms. From appearance, to poster, to expression. Especially with the matching mittens and clean black winter boots that reach up to his knees.

Meanwhile, Yanqing was in a baby blue puffer jacket and looked like a baby decked out in winter gear that his mother shoved him into (Yingxing’s doing, probably). The collar of his jacket reached up to his cheeks, and he had snow pants on which, you guessed it, were covered in snow. Honestly, everything about him was covered in snow.

They all looked like they can from completely different places—completely different bloodlines. Perhaps even just meeting or a quick passing by. But the abnormality is what made it special. What made it feel more familial, if that makes sense.

“… what are you doing here? Not to sound rude or anything-“

“Nonsense Gepard, you could never be rude!” Jing Yuan pat Gepard on the back so hard that the CEO saw stars cloud his vision. He stumbled back as Jing Yuan’s loud voice trickled down to a more appropriate volume. “The three of us are visiting New York for the holidays!”

“Yesterday we had a snowball fight!” Yanqing jumped up and down. By the looks of it, it was if he just came from it if anything. Also, he still hasn’t reached the growth spurt that Jing Yuan always said he swore he would have. As a matter of fact, the kid has barely grown since he last saw him two years ago. Maybe an inch or two if he gets on his toes.

“Oh really?” Gepard smiled at his infectious enthusiasm. Having half a mind to not inform him that he hasn’t grown at all as it wasn’t relevant to the conversation and he didn’t want to hurt the feelings of his business associates son. Jing Yuan would kill him if he made his son cry. Literally. Or if Yinxing didn’t do it first. This is his seventeenth time meeting him in person and every single time it’s as if he gets just the slightest bit more intimidating. It’s funny how it’s the exact opposite for Jing Yuan, who never ceases to be so unserious.

“Jing Yuan never stood a chance.” Yingxing’s voice holds a soothing, low chuckle. As Gepard turns to him, he holds out his hand. “Nice to see you again Gepard,” he shakes Gepard’s hand firmly with a tight squeeze that he was sure his hand was going to break.

Gepard bit the inside of his cheek so he didn’t cry out in pain. “Nice to see you again too, Yingxing…” he takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the tears prickling in his eyes at the pain from the harassment of the two husbands, albeit unknowingly. “Well… since you’re here. Why not enjoy the little party we have?”

“I love a good shindig.” Jing Yuan chuckles kindly as the four seep back into the party. They seem ready to party, almost.

Yingxing sighs at his husband.

❄︎

“FUCK!” Seele grinds her teeth together and grasps at the doorway until her knuckles turn a decent white.

Bronya shakes her head at Seele’s outburst. She’s being childish and dramatically-nonsensical about all of this. It’s really nothing she should be worrying about; but here she is. Worrying about it. Or, rather, raging.

“You’re getting obsessive over this.” Bronya concludes as she observes Seele’s little fit from a moderate distance so if Seele throws anything she doesn’t become a casualty. “It’s best to just give it up. Life isn’t a Hallmark movie, afterall.”

“I know. You’ve said that a hundred times.”

“I’ve said it at least three.” Bronya sighs before walking up to Seele and grabbing her hand, dragging her along. Seele flops behind her like a cat lady pulling her lazy cat on a leash through the grass as it lays down apathetically on the floor of the earth. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the party, please. I’m tired of wasting it away babysitting you so you don’t do something that’s going to end you unemployed. Jesus, I feel like Sally standing with Linus in the pumpkin patch waiting for the great pumpkin. Only the great pumpkin is two gay guys with way too much… sexual tension. As you call it.”

Seele makes a noise of disagreement as she’s dragged along by the hand, not bothering to argue as she admittedly accepts defeat for a goal with impossible odds. Bronya hums in satisfaction as Seele basically waves a white flag in surrender. This was a dumb idea from the beginning and she knew it. 

❄︎

“Oh-“ Sampo stops in his tracks as the two men begin walking back to their offices after the very eventful party.

“What’s wrong?” Gepard turns around to ask Sampo. The assistant simply points up to the object above him, and Gepard’s eyes widen in surprise.

“A mistletoe…” Gepard gulps as he knows exactly where this is going to go. Two people are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss. They have to.

“And we’re both under it…” Sampo finishes for him. The two look at each other’s lips, and then at each other, then back at their lips, then back at each other.

Gepard feels his cheeks garner this awkward, fuzzy feeling. He fidgets with the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves as he looks away while Sampo coughs into his fist.

“…”

“…”

“I’m not one to break tradition. So…” Sampo takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, getting onto the tips of his toes to press a completely platonic kiss onto Gepard’s cheeks. Gepard relishes in the way Sampo’s soft lips graze his freckled skin in a warm celebration of the holidays nearby. He simply wants to melt right then and there—his mouth will phase into a puddle with the rest of him before he dares to ask Sampo for another, and another, and another.

As Sampo backs away, the two gaze into each other’s eyes. The world feels like it’s turning slowly, slowly, slower. And some stereotypical music is just about to appear out of nowhere—some romantic country music crap even. Gepard feels his heart beat. It’s probably so loud that the sixth floor can hear it banging around in his ribcage.

“…” Sampo clears his throat. “Anyway. Let’s get back to the office, shall we Geppie?”

“…”

Gepard nods. Unable to find the right words, even if they’re simple.

“W-we shall…”

Chapter Text

It’s Christmas.

And just like last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, and the year before that, and the year before that, and the year before that, and the year before that. And as long as he could possibly remember. He’s spending it alone. Again. Like always.

He talks about liking Christmas all the time. How he loves all the free gifts and regifting of gifts he got from last year that he didn’t like with a goofy smile on his face as his friends scolded and scorned him for being so greedy and selfish this time of year when the message was supposed to be the opposite.

But in reality, Sampo’s never had a Christmas where he was drowning in presents, struggling to breathe through all the wrapping paper and tripping over Christmas ornaments. A Christmas spent with his family and friends huddled up in warm blankets in front of the fireplace which drew aflame. A Christmas where soft jolly music played in the background as he hungrily opened his Christmas gifts like a predator to its prey.

Every Christmas ever since he could remember it… was lonely. The living room was dark as he hugged his cheap dollar store teddy bear—one that he’s kept with him throughout his life and all of his travels. Sitting on his couch, which barely held itself together with a multitude of stains, open stitches, and springs sticking out of the fabric—its rings coated in mushy stuffing.

He’d sit on the couch, staring at the cracks in the wall in the dark, empty room. He’d spend hours wondering where his gifts were, even if he couldn’t afford a tree to put them under, it wasn’t a reason to not have presents! Maybe Santa forgot him! Again and again and again… maybe Santa flew over his apartment! He swore he’d been a good boy! He couldn’t have been on the naughty list! If he was on the naughty list, he at least would’ve gotten coal! He’d rather have coal over nothing!

When he turned five he gave up all semblance of hope that Santa ever cared about him. At six, he finally accepted that Santa didn’t exist—simply used as a tactic to get children to behave throughout the year.

At seven, he made the blueprint on how to spend every other Christmas. Leaning up against the rotting door of his mothers room as she drank herself to oblivion on her day off. Snorkeling in the cheap booze as she yelled at her TV watching old Jeopardy reruns. Something she always wanted to be on. Something she told Sampo she could’ve gotten the education for if she didn’t end up pregnant with his shitty excuse for a life. She was smart, immensely smart. Allegedly she was a trivia maniac when she was in highschool. Until Junior year. Unfortunately, she fell short of any intelligence when it came to his dad. His immensely dead-beat dad at that. He’d lean against the door and listen through the cracks as she drunkenly grumbled, wishing that his parents used protection so he wouldn’t have to spend the most wonderful time of the year like this. Wasting it away wishing for something more.

Then when he returned from Christmas break he’d lie about all the gifts he’d got when he spoke to his classmates, saying he couldn’t bring them because his mommy would get mad if he lost them as he eyed his classmates' cool new toys and gadgets and gizmos.

Freshman year of college, his professor gave him a complimentary candy cane before he left for his next class in lieu of the holidays. As he stepped outside the classroom, he stared at the red and white striped candy in the palm of his hand. It was the first Christmas gift he’d ever gotten.

How sad.

This went off track and completely derailed. But it’s whatever.

Anyways. Sampo’s spending Christmas like he always is. Alone (he has his cat but that’s not what counts), present-less, and depressed. He sits on his couch, shoving cheap ice cream into his mouth like a slob as he binges shitty Christmas specials. Nuclear Bomb jumped off his lap and pawed into his room hours ago to get away from his patheticness.

Some tears couldn’t help but trickle down his face as he shut it up with ice cream to try and ease himself of his depressive stupor. It didn’t work, but rather, enhanced his brooding mood as the snow outside began to cling and ease down his windows, leaving a trail of water guts behind.

“I know how you feel about all this Christmas business, getting depressed and all that. It happens to me every year…” Lucy van Pelt’s voice reaches out from beyond her dialogue and strikes Sampo right in the heart—a sense of understanding making his chest ache in familiarity as he knows exactly how she feels. It’s after Charlie Brown asks Lucy for some psychiatric help for a nickel—if only it cost that little—and now they’re following Snoopy as he trots ahead in the snow-covered suburbia. He eyes the scene carefully, tuning in completely.

“ I never get what I really want. I always get a lot of stupid toys or a bicycle or clothes or something like that.” Lucy complains. He gets that. He’s never gotten what he wanted for Christmas. A loving family to sit around the Christmas tree, unwrapping the newest treats in the economy, eating a nice warm dinner as Christmas music plays in the background. All he ever got were silent moments and spilled alcohol that were never able to wipe away the tears of knowingly false hope.

“What is it that you want?” Charlie Brown eventually asks her.

“Real estate.”

Sampo chuckles, some ice cream dribbling down his chin. “That’s dumb.” He says before shoving some more ice cream down his throat. Only to find that when he scoops something up, there is nothing there on his spoon. He ate three tubs of ice cream in less than twelve hours.

He groans, throwing the empty tub across the room. It hits the two other empty tubs with a soft boom, and the three of them roll across the floor as he groans again in a much louder fashion.

“I’m such a fat ass.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes furiously so the tears wouldn’t fall. He wasn’t very successful though. He falls to his side, sinking into the warm blankets and big cushions of his couch as he puts a thick blanket on top of him and rolls into it with a sad sob, fully prepared to cry his eyes out like a pathetic little hermit crab for the rest of the day.

That is. Until his phone rings.

It’s Gepard.

Oh.

Sampo sits up and immediately grabs his phone, making sure to inhale all the sad snot that clogs his nostrils before he answers the call so it didn’t sound like he was just crying a minute before.

Sampo puts the phone on speaker and sets it down beside him. “… hello?” He starts, waiting for a response.

“Sampo! Merry Christmas!” Gepard’s voice is overly cheerful and jolly. It’s as if he had Christmas spirit all along. He can hear his smile through the phone, and it’s almost infectious. But Sampo struggled to get a smile.

“Merry Christmas, Gepard.” Sampo’s upper lip tugs and curves slightly. He struggles to find his remote before he pauses the Christmas special so he can tune into Gepard perfectly. “What’s got ya giving me a ring at this hour? Are you with your parents and you want me to help you escape?” He chides. Only he finds it funny.

“Uhm. No.” Gepard pauses. “I’m having a little thing at my place. With my sisters and their partners. And I was wondering if… you wanted to come along? If you’re not doing anything, that is.”

“…” Sampo blinks. Did he hear that right? Maybe he’s interpreting it differently, and he’s just being weird. “… is this like a uh… pretend boyfriend so you don’t seem like a loser in front of your family thing or-“

“No! No!” Gepard is quick to reassure him, which Sampo admits makes his heart ache with something he doesn’t like. “It’s just… I’m kind of the only guy here and… I’d like to bring a friend along so I don’t third wheel my sisters and whatever they’ve got going on all day.” He takes a deep breath. “And there’s nobody else I’d spend the holidays with. I don’t talk to anybody else besides you.”

“Gepard, you talk to everyone in the office.” Sampo can’t help but chuckle at that. He knows exactly what Gepard means, but he’ll take any and every opportunity to tug violently at his strings until he bursts.

“I- Sampo- you know what I mean…” Gepard sighs.

“I know you know I know,” there it is. Sampo’s giddy, stupid smirk.

“So… are you busy?” Gepard cuts right to the chase.

“Oh yes. I’ve got soooooooo much going on! My whole family is here and my nephew is crying! The turkey isn’t finished! It’s a whole hoopla- I think I might die! I can’t keep up!” Sampo says with such dramatic build-up that if you didn’t know him, you’d think he actually had these problems occurring in his life.

Gepard pauses. “… but you don’t talk to your family.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Sampo chuckles again at Gepard’s forwardness.

“Sorry… so are you busy or not?”

“What do you think?”

“…”

“…”

“… yeeeeeeeees?”

“No. Gepard. I’m not.” He rolls his eyes at Gepard losing the social cue entirely. Like hitting a home run and the ball crashes into the roof of someone’s car—or something. But he’s used to it by now, and he wouldn’t want Gepard any other way.

“Then… would you like to come?”

Sampo takes a moment to think about it. Which he shouldn’t, considering this is everything he ever wanted: a family to spend the holiday with, to have fun, to actually enjoy the festivities this festive fiasco entails instead of waiting for his mother to finish raising the bottle to her lips in purchase of any final drops of cheap booze. But he thinks anyway, because that’s what he does.

And to spend the holiday with Gepard!? A no-brainer…

“Sure. I’ve got nothing on my list for today.” Sampo kicks his legs back and forth like some school girl making a phone call in the past—twirling the curly cable around her finger as she gossiped about some boy she had a crush on. “There’s no harm in bothering you now, is there?” His rhetorical’s make Gepard chuckle.

“I suppose just for today. Be ready in fifteen. I’ll pick you up.” Sampo can hear Gepard moving in the muffle of his phone call, as well as what sounded like Natasha’s voice? He couldn’t be so sure. “I need a breather from my sisters— so.” He’s says, oddly stressed out from the likes of what he could translate from the inflections of his voice over the phone.

“Alright, Gep. Is there a dress code? Anything I should look out for?”

“Just…” he hears the sound of a car being unlocked. “Be comfortable.”

“Can I dress like a slut?” He jokes.

“Sampo!” He’s sure Gepard is as red as a tomato right now. With big wide eyes brought on by Sampo’s endless antics. He should be used to this by now, really. “You know Lynx and Pela are minors.”

“So if they weren’t, you wouldn’t be opposed to it?”

Dead silence.

Sampo can’t help but let a smile take over his face. A shit-eating grin. “I’ll see you in a few~” Sampo hangs up with a chuckle. As it goes silent, he looks around the room. His mood deflates instantly, switching off one of his emotional channels and changing to another in favor of some comfort in his truthful normality.

He slides off the couch, his blanket trickling off of him and plopping onto the cushions beneath him. Shutting off the TV, he throws his remote towards the couch; which hits the backing of it before landing on top of the blanket he was swaddling himself in seconds prior.

Rubbing his dry red eyes, he stumbles down the hallway of his apartment. Using his free hand, he traces the wall with the pads of his fingers and they grip the wood of his door frame as he reaches his room. Nuclear Bomb, who was loafing atop his bed, looks up at him with those big beady eyes before jumping off of his sleeping-solace like she’s been caught in the act—despite being allowed to rest wherever she desires.

She pads over to his legs and rubs up against them. Big black fluffy fur tickling his exposed ankles as she does a little happy dance around his legs. He sighs, walking away from her in favor of his dresser. She sits down as he starts pulling out some comfy yet nice clothes. He doesn’t want to look like a slob for Gepard’s little party. Even if one of the attendees was literally one of his friends from work and she already knew he had the tendency to dress like a homeless man in the cold winter weather.

“Okay, should I wear a sweater or a cardigan?” He turns to his cat, whose tail swings back and forth and she meows loudly because she’s hungry despite having food in her bowl she could eat right now. She doesn’t have to sit here and deal with his trifling endeavors.

“Meow.”

He deadpans. “You’re not helping.” He sighs as he turns back to his dresser, grabbing a sweater that was a size bigger because it felt comforting to him to wear bigger clothing in the winter. Then he grabbed a nice pair of sweatpants that weren’t too big, tossing them both onto the bed. He turns back to his cat. “See? I didn’t need your help!”

“Meow.”

“Oh fuck off.”

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

Sampo slips on his shoes just as he hears the doorbell ring, knowing it’s Gepard (he texted him when he was getting closer and closer up until he got to his front door). The doorbell rings again, and it’s evident Gepard is becoming impatient, slamming his finger into the button to get Sampo to hurry up—excited to see his best friend.

“Alright alright! Cool your jets I’m coming!” Sampo yells in a friendly tone as he approaches the door, unlocking it and throwing it open. Gepard’s got a bit of snow in his dampened hair, and his cheeks are kissed red from the winter’s reign. Gepard smiles, eyebrows raising upon seeing Sampo.

“Good morning, Sampo,” the color to his cheeks gets a bit stronger the longer his stare lingers on Sampo’s body.

“Morning, Gep.” Sampo steps outside, which makes Gepard step back carefully. As Sampo locks the door, they turn to the staircase and start descending. Sampo can feel Gepard’s gaze phasing throughout his body, taking in everything. It was nice that he was basically ogling him, but in a sweater and sweats was ridiculous.

“I hope this outfit isn’t too simple for your tastes,” Sampo decides to egg him on, letting Gepard know he knew he was staring.

“O-oh!” Gepard stammers and stutters, looking frantically away from Sampo—anywhere but him. “It-its fine! Pela and Lynx are wearing matching ugly- Christmas sweaters- haha! So- you’re perfectly fine I swear!”

Sampo feels himself grin with satisfaction at Gepard’s reaction. As the two leave the building, they practically attract like magnets, huddling into each other for warmth from the cold before they slip into Gepard’s fancy, expensive car with the heated seats Sampo loves so much.

As Gepard drives, Sampo looks out the window, watching the snowfall as an overplayed Christmas song plays on the radio. Sampo’s never felt this happy on Christmas. It’s always been filled with discontent, hatred, and scornful jealousy. There’s a comfortable lack of words exchanged between the two, falling into a nice silence as Mariah Carey takes over their space.

And then Sampo realizes something.

“Shit! I don’t have presents!”

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The first thing Sampo noticed as he entered Gepard’s spacious penthouse was the warm fragrance of candy canes mingled with the subtle scent of cinnamon. His place was fucking huge!

The main color palette of the room gave off a relaxing and calming atmosphere with its dark blues and blacks, and the soft light from the fireplace highlighted the rich textures and patterns scattered around, which made the space feel both luxurious and inviting.

The windows, which were floor-to-ceiling, provided a breathtaking view of the sparkling, snow-covered city outside. The elegant and stylish furniture, which was placed strategically throughout the room, added to the overall grandeur of the space.

The penthouse was decorated graciously for the holiday, Sampo doesn’t believe that this was Gepard’s doing. Up until today, he didn’t think the man had a single festive bone in his body! But as his eyes trail up the huge, decorated Christmas tree with a bright star on top, he wonders if he was wrong about Gepard this whole time.

On the large black leather couch, watching a Christmas movie were Serval, Natasha, some girl with blue hair and circular frames, and Lynx (he assumes the girl he doesn’t recognize is Lynx’s girlfriend). Huddled underneath blankets and sipping hot cocoa as a commercial overtook the mounted TV screen, groaning at the assault of bright red and green and white—just for Christmas.

“Welcome back, Geppie!” Serval is the first to notice Gepard’s reappearance, only with a… “friend” this time around. Sampo tries to ignore Serval’s shit-eating grin at his appearance at the party. Next to her younger brother. The assistant her little brother talks about all the time. The four file off the couch, and Sampo heads towards Natasha, giving the girl a hug as they haven’t seen each other in quite some time—it’s been at least three months since they last talked in person.

And he finally gets to see Gepard’s sisters in person! He’s seen Serval everywhere, considering she’s dating one of his closest friends and just so happens to be a famous singer! No biggie! Serval gives Sampo a knowing expression as the two shake hands, shifting her gaze from her little brother to him. Sampo clears his throat trying to not let the embarrassment take over him.

And Lynx! He’s only seen her fluffy blonde head of hair and striking blue eyes in the pictures. She’s got those Landau eyes, piercing and blue like a cave of ice for one to get lost in. Her hands are small and soft in his, and she shakes his hand kindly. She grabs her girlfriend, who he now knows is named Pela, and introduces the two. The two shake hands. She looks dorky, but he finds it funny. In a good way of course! You’d never see him bully a kid! Well… maybe…

After everybody gets well acquainted and accustomed, Gepard recommends they play a game so they can stop watching this damn movie with a plot that’s going absolutely nowhere. Pela, whipping out her Nintendo Switch out of nowhere, plops the bad boy into the dock. Just as the couple in the movie kiss, leaning in and closing their eyes, the screen is transformed into a game of Jack Box. The others groaned in disapproval as Pela shrugged.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“Sampo, for the love of God! Please stop drawing penises!” Gepard begs Sampo as the six play Champ’d Up. The two men were losing by a landslide—since Gepard’s art skills were worse than a newborns’ and all Sampo was concerned about was drawing stick figures with enormous girths. But Sampo was having fun and that’s all he cared about.

“Serval…” Natasha grimaces at her girlfriend as a big-boobed girl gets scribbled onto the TV. “There are minors here.” Serval brushes her off with a cackle before pressing her phone’s screen, letting her drawing flip back and forth. Obviously, she didn’t win her round. But drawing boobs was always a plus for her. “You are so immature.”

“Yeah, please stop putting boobies on the TV,” Lynx says as she watches Pela absentmindedly scribble on her phone trying to satisfy her new prompt with some anime-esque art style.

At some point, it gets so absurd that everyone’s laughing with tears in their eyes. Their joyful guffaws fill the air as the hours tick by.

And soon enough, it’s time for dinner.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“Pass me the gravy please.” Lynx asks, sticking out her hand as Natasha slowly and carefully passes the younger sister the fancy, expensive gravy boat. Even the gravy boat was expensive—Gepard’s wealth was nothing to sneeze at. Some gravy trickles down the boat as it’s put in Lynx’s possession and she pours a bunch of it all over her turkey slices.

“Lynx! Dude! Don’t hog all the gravy!” Serval scolds her younger sister as she ignores her words, inhaling the gravy-coated meat.

Sampo smiles as he takes another bite of his own turkey. Relishing in his dreams, the ones he’s dreamt of since he was a kid, finally becoming a reality. A family, at a dinner table, bickering and laughing over a warm Christmas meal. It feels surreal—everything that was once out of reach was finally in his grasp, and he was holding onto his tightly. He smiles as he laughs with everyone else, leaning into Gepard’s shoulder as he’s unable to contain his laughter.

The china clinks and the drinks are raised in celebration of the holiday as a warm Christmas song plays softly in the background.

And for once, everything was perfect.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“So, did you have a nice Christmas?” The two are outside on the balcony connected to Gepard’s comfortable and big room, covered in half-alive potted plants and endless books upon shelves. The other four are downstairs, watching another Christmas movie after the two went off to go talk in private. It’s cold out, but the winds winded down enough to be bearable. The wind flows through their hair and hums as it passes by.

“Yeah. I did.” Sampo smiles, resting his arms on the black metal railing as he looks down upon the sea of light-up buildings of New York City. A cacophony of beautiful illumination, lighting up the night sky that feels below them—it feels as if, like this, they are on top of the world. “Thank you… for today,” he rests his head in the crook of his arm, gazing longingly into the night sky.

It’s clear he wants to say more, but he doesn’t know how to start.

“I never really celebrated Christmas growing up. Was too poor.”

The silence becomes unsettlingly calm, yet there’s a moment of comfort that flickers by as the silence swallows them whole for a good five minutes.

“Never had anyone to celebrate it with either. My Christmases were spent wishing I’d have the Christmas I desired eventually.” He looks up at Gepard with a tired smile. “And I thought I was going to spend it the same way I always do this year. But I guess you proved me wrong.” He looks back at the city below. “You gave me the Christmas I always wanted. You gave me a Christmas. Thank you for that.” His voice lacks his usual mischief, his unique and bohemian phrases are nowhere to be found. Right now, he’s raw. Ripped open at the seams and torn out of his chest, this is the true Sampo Koski Gepard had been searching for all this time. The one who opened up about his sufferings—how he really felt.

Gepard reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Rubbing it softly as a gesture of comfort and mutual love as they both look out beyond the vast expanse of the city’s nighttime splendor. Some snowflakes trickle from the clouds and flurry through the atmosphere, making a beautiful scene before them as they fall gracefully into the hustle and bustle down below.

“Wait here,” Gepard tells him after a few minutes and slips back into his room, leaving Sampo standing around waiting for him to return.

When Gepard does return. He’s holding a box in his hand. A flat, slim box wrapped in bright wrapping paper and tied off with a bright red bow. Sampo looks at him with a raised eyebrow, unsure of what to do as Gepard motioned for him to take it.

“Take it,” Gepard urges him, and the moment Sampo opens his hands he places the box in it. Sampo looks down at it then up at Gepard, who looks at him expectantly.

Slowly, Sampo starts tearing off the wrapping paper, crumbling it up into a ball and shoving it into the pocket of his sweater so it didn’t get picked up by a gust of wind and become another littered nightmare upon the city streets.

When he opens the box, he gasps. He looks up at Gepard, who’s smiling softly. “Merry Christmas, Sampo.” He says with such genuine kindness and love oozing from his words.

Sampo looks back down at the gift. “I can’t take this.”

“But I got it made just for you. No one else would be able to wear it. And that’d just make it a waste, wouldn’t it?” Gepard says smoothly, convincing Sampo to accept the gift with just those words. He’s shocked how Sampo, a man who prided himself on his greed and used it as a comedic sketch for all of his conversations, actually wants to refuse a gift.

Sampo takes the coat out of the box. It’s a Silvermane Guard, honing his favorite colors. The fabric is a relaxing claret, and the fur that trims the collar, the cuffs of the sleeves, and the bottom of the coat are a fluffy dark blueish-purple. There’s the company’s signature crest sewn with a nice charcoal underneath the breast pocket.

Sampo stares at it in awe. It’s perfect. And his favorite colors, too…

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. It’s a Christmas gift. You don’t pay for Christmas gifts.”

“But it’s quite a lot of cash, Gepard-“

“What do you always say? I make more money in a single conversation than what a low-economic country makes in a year? I’m sure I’ll be fine if one coat—a Christmas gift nonetheless—goes unpaid.” He smiles. “Besides, I was getting really tired of seeing you walk into my office with that jacket of yours. It couldn’t even be classified as a jacket anymore due to all the holes.” He shakes his head. “Oh, and there’s some gloves in one of the pockets.” Sampo digs into one of the pockets to find a pair of black gloves, nice and fluffy. “It’s cashmere.” Gepard says proudly.

“This is insane,” Sampo chuckles. “Look at you, always spoiling me.” He says bashfully as he carefully puts everything back into the box and puts the lid back on top of it.

“And there’s one more thing.” Gepard slips back into his room, letting the wind tickle at Sampo’s skin as if she’s a lady in waiting for her husband’s return. After five minutes, he takes his place back on the balcony next to his assistant. “Sorry. I forgot where I’d put it,” he admits shyly. In his hands is a cardboard Build-a-Bear carrier. Sticking out of the circle is a fluffy white arm dotted with black. Like a cow. Gepard hands the carrier to Sampo, and when Sampo opens it up, he goes silent.

…

“Where did you find this?” He asks, voice serious.

“Did some digging through eBay.” Gepard smirks as he draws an excited expression out of his friend, who takes the Build-a-Bear out of the box.

Just as Sampo suspected. “The Floppy Cow!? Holy shit, dude! Oh my god! Gepard! I’ve always wanted this one!” He reminisces as he and his mother traveled throughout the dingy mall nearby to pass the time. He’d stop in front of the Build-a-Bear Workshop and look up at the display of cute and cuddly animals. He’d press his fingers into the display glass, parallel to the cow’s location. They could never afford it, though. And his mother always dragged him away so he wouldn’t get attached. When they discontinued it, heartbroken would be an understatement. He feels his inner child sob with glee as he holds the toy he’s wanted since he was young in his hands, gazing into its plastic eyes. He shoves cheek into the plushie like he does with his cat, snuggling into its faux fur and rubbing his skin against his head.

After a few minutes, Sampo brings both gifts inside so they won’t get messed up, and returns as quickly as possible. The two men look out across the bustle of the city night sky. A light show of beautiful snowflakes and lit rooms that lingered far too long and too bright. 

“Thank you, Gepard. Really. I know I don’t say this enough since I’m always too busy busting your balls but I really do appreciate you.” Sampo admits throughout the silence.

“I know you do, Sampo. And I know I don’t express it enough either, but you really are important to me…” Gepard admits as well, feeling a bit of weight peel off his chest. He shuffles closer and closer to Sampo until the two’s shoulders are touching, and their hands intertwine and squeeze as they fight back the cold.

“Merry Christmas, Sampo.” Gepard says softly before he feels Sampo place the softest, most considerate kiss onto his lips.

Their hearts beat in tandem, a feeling of fireworks bursts throughout their bodies. Hearts singing a beautiful song.

Sampo pulls back and looks at Gepard with the kindest smile.

“Merry Christmas, Gepard.”