Where have you been..? [1x1]

MechaMegaCorp. What an appropriate name. The place was huge, almost like a city in itself. Each branch was like a small town, but each branch was always brought back to the core. The head of all the branches. Michael Brand was the head of everyone, including his son, Rich Brand, who had just been put in charge of the accounting branch. A bad thing for Michael, since he had no idea that Rich was absolutely terrible at math. Whatever had put inside Michael's mind that Rich would have been a great investment in the accounting branch was probably planning to completely dismember him, and not quickly. 

All of the stress of becoming responsible for his father's demise was weighing heavily on Rich's shoulders. The tall and lanky young man, now at the age of 28, yet still looking like he was 21, was sulking his way to his brand new office in the accounting branch, which was actually in one of the pent houses towards the very top of the giant sky scraper. Though he hadn't been doing anything athletic in the past five years, his body was still well defines and muscular, though his clothing hid the muscular build beneath it. He wore a fine business suit, though it hardly looked it in the way that he wore it. His tie was loosened slightly, and crooked, the tail end sticking out while the collar of his white shirt was unbutton and wrinkled. His black jacket was off, and was hung loosely over his hunched shoulder by two fingers, his other hand occupied by a briefcase stuffed with journals and manuals on what to do and how to do it, though he hardly cared. His slacks were black, and pressed, but still wrinkled despite the fact, and his black shoes were scuffed at the toes and unpolished. Rich's expression was also fitting for his current state. His emerald green eyes were still as bright as ever, though they looked solemn and empty, with newly formed wrinkles forming at the corners. He had a nicely squared jaw, with thin, pouty lips. A thin scar was just barely visible under the jaw. He had a mop of light brown hair that was in a completely mess. Random pieces were sticking up and it hadn't been brushed that morning. Again, like he cared at all about his appearance. Why bother with a good appearance if he dreaded the fact that he was on his way to a job that he loathed to do.

With a sigh the young man made his way to the elevator and pressed the button, his glum expression becoming even gloomier as he watched the dial above the door close in on his current floor. Once it opened he drug his feet along with him into the elevator and pressed the button for the 60th floor, and waited for the doors to close as he leaned against the back wall of the luxurious elevator.

 

Once the elevator finally reached the 60th floor, the familiar, soft 'ding,' sound rang through both the office and the elevator, announcing Rich's arrival. With a sigh, Rich pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He stepped out once the doors slid open, letting his hand fall to his side and his eyes peered into the office. The first thing he spotted was Micheal, and he couldn't help but to glare at him, just ever so slightly. "Why am I not surprised," he grumbled. He walked over to his desk and set the briefcase next to his it, plopping down into the black, leather, swivel chair. Another sigh escaped his lips as he put his head in his hands with his elbows resting on his desk. "What do I have to do today, Micheal?" Rich didn't not like Micheal. He was a nice guy, and pretty handsome, though his blue eyes looked oddly familiar to him. If anything they entranced him, but he couldn't let him know that. Rich had closed off that part of him after a disaster that struck in highschool with another boy.[hr]It was a painful part of him that always made his heart ache when he thought about it. If Rich were to be honest with himself, he would admit that he still loved the boy that broke his heart, simply because the boy no longer trusted him because the boy had assumed something that was false. After he left Rich, having not believed him when he tried to explain, Rich started looking elsewhere to numb the pain, but it still tended to haunt him. At that point he figured there was no point in trying to get rid of the heartache, he just let it sit there, and it tended to show on his face, especially his eyes. Thankfully to others, it just seemed like he was just lost in depression, with no real reason. And he hoped to keep it that way. Rich didn't want to show the 'why,' part of his depression, even to Micheal. Especially Micheal.

 

Rich sighed and watched Michael as he talked, his weary eyes boring a hole into his forehead as he tried to drown out his voice, no matter how luxurious it sounded. When Michael was done talking, he mumbled an, "okay," and got to work. Well.. Not that he was working. More like, he was staring at his computer screen, trying to wrap his mind around what the hell he was supposed to be doing, and why he landed in this position anyway. Slowly the snowball rolled down the hill, collecting more and more thoughts until eventually it exploded at the bottom, when he realized that all the dreariness in his life was all caused by his lover in high school. The memory of the fight came into play in his mind, and he couldn't press the pause button, so it rolled on. At this time, Rich had his elbows on the desk with his long, elegant fingers placed somewhere in the messy mop of hair while his palms rested on his cheeks, staring blankly at the screen. Though, the look in his eyes almost made him look like he was a victim in

a bad horror movie, filled with terror and sadness. He was lost in his past, which, to him, was a horror. With the painful feeling of heartbreak finally hit him once again, it hit him like a brick wall. His head fell forward, eyes closing, while his hands clasped themselves behind his head, his hair falling to hide the pained expression on his face. A soft shudder became apparent in his bony shoulders, a sign of tears that now trickled down his cheeks and plunked softly on the papers below in heavy drops. In the midst of his crying, he got up from his desk and 'calmly' made his way over to the restroom, without so much of a shudder, even though the tears still streamed down his face. He went into the restroom, and into an empty stall, shutting and locking the door as he sat on the toilet, putting his head in his hands as he let the cycle of his heartbreak make its way through the crying stage, holding nothing back, but the cries of agony. Those, he would save for a later time.

 

After a while of his heart wrenching sobs, Rich came out of the stall with red rimmed eyes and a tear stained face. He went over to the mirror and leaned his hands on the counter, his head hung. He felt so pathetic. It was when he heard the bathroom door open that he looked up and pretended to wash his hands and rinse his face, hoping that whoever had came in (more than likely, Michael) wouldn't notice the crying man, but it didn't help him. He heard Michael's melodic voice beside him, asking what was wrong as cold water was dripping from his face and the hair that framed it. He kept his head bent, not wanting to look at him, or himself, therefore not acknowledging the tissue that was offered. "Nothing, Michael," he choked out. "I just needed to wake myself up, that's all... My eyes water when I'm tired.." It was then that he looked up at himself in the mirror, his reddened eyes dreary and sad. His wet hair plastered itself to his forehead, still dripping. He sniffled once, then reached over to the paper

towel dispenser and pulling out a few squares, then wiped off the remaining water on his face. After tossing aside the paper towels into the nearby waste basket, he ran his fingers through his messy hair to get whatever bits were still plastered on his forehead off, causing even more bits to stick up randomly.

 

Rich nodded firmly to agree to Michael's command, keeping his gaze low. "Okay.. I shouldn't take long," he promised as he sniffled quietly and pressed his fingers to his eyes. They already hurt immensely from crying, and he couldn't help but to gently press his fingertips against his eyes to help relieve the pain as he always did after he had cried in the past. With a sigh he let his hands drop to his sides and he looked at himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair again, this time slicking it back completely, then analyzed himself for a moment, only to frown at his reflection. He didn't like the professional look it gave him. He looked too much like his father, and he despised it, So he shook his head violently and his hair flipped down into its usual mop of messiness and he walked out, heading back to his office. Once there he sat back down at his desk and was silent for a moment before he got to work, inputting the data that was given to him.

 

Rich tried to keep his mind off of his past, the episode he just had, and Michael. The fact the Michael was so much like his long lost beloved made Rich have episodes even more frequently, and worse. It was to the point that he was having them almost every day, mostly at night, but today was the first time he had an episode at work. He blamed Michael.

It had seemed like a few minutes had gone by as Rich worked on his computer. Inputting, editing, filing, etc. After about the tenth file, he sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with a yawn. He stretched his arms up, back, then arced his back as his head fell back. Once finished, he relaxed in his chair and looked at the clock on the desk. It was 4:30.

Rich sighed and pinched his nose. Unbelievable. He had worked for almost six straight hours with no breaks. No wonder his eyes felt like a desert that hadn't seen a drop of water in years. He had half an hour left before he could go home. He was desperate for some eye drops.

 

Rich looked over at Michael and contemplated asking him for some, and figured it wouldn't hurt. "Hey, Michael, Do you have any eye drops? My eyes are killing me."