Work Text:
“Sorry, I, er— I guess I just don’t quite see what the problem is?”
“Dude.” No one says the word ‘dude’ with as much flat incredulity as Charlie Dompler. “Come on. You can’t have three work husbands.”
“Yes,” Allan intones, arms crossed over his chest. “There can only be one.”
Glep, from his perch on the table, lets loose a string of words that roughly translates to emphatic agreement.
All Pim had wanted in the break room was a coffee refill. He had not expected to turn around from the counter to find himself surrounded and cornered, the technicolor faces of his coworkers looming over him. It’s enough to make a critter blush.
“Oh, come on you guys.” They’re joking about this, right? They must be joking. He gives a laugh that’s meant to be breezy but comes out rather nervous. “Why do I have to choose?”
“Because," Allan says. "If you don't you're a two-timing whore-uh.”
“Allan!” Now Pim really is blushing.
“OK, well, uh, first of all, I do think that that word has fallen out of favor, so kinda problematic there, Allan, but I have to say, I agree in spirit,” Charlie says. He’s talking with his hands, which is how you know he really means it. “And honestly, I— I don’t know how this is even a question. We literally spend every day together, Pim, I see you more than my own girlfriend, I— You show up in my dreams, OK? Like the dream won’t even be about you but you’ll just be there hanging out and commenting on stuff, that’s how much time we spend together. So, you know, if that’s not work-married I don’t know what is.”
Before Pim can respond, Allan cuts in. “Yes, but who asks you how your day is, Pim? And files your paperwork for you? And brings you delectable homemade cheese straws?”
Pim has to admit, it’s a compelling counterargument.
“Wait, what? Cheese straws?” Charlie is momentarily sidetracked. “What the hell, why didn’t I get any?”
“Because. You are not my work husband. Pim is.” Allan’s eyes cut back to Pim, narrowing slightly. “At least, that’s what he told me. But now I am wondering if it ever even meant anything.”
Glep puts his stubby little hands on his hips and gives a hmph of agreement.
“Of— Of course it meant something!”
Actually, as Pim remembers it, he’d just seen a cute video on his FYP one day and gone around calling everyone that for a week as a joke. (Mr. Boss included, though he certainly won’t be sharing that fact with these three lunatics.) This must be how Ms. Britney Spears felt when she realized she’d been playing with that poor boy’s heart and getting lost in the game.
“Aw, listen, you guys, I’m sorry that I, erm, cheated on all of you? It’s just that I love you all in different ways. I couldn’t possibly choose just one of you!” He gives them all his best, brightest, most conciliatory Pim smile. "How about you all just be my work husbands?”
A momentary silence.
“… No,” Allan says, with naked distaste.
“Uh-uh. Not happening.” Charlie is shaking his head. “I can’t do that polyamory stuff.”
Pim doesn’t manage to parse all of Glep’s fierce, rapidfire response, but he’s pretty sure the words ‘my man’ are somewhere in there.
Well, now. This is just getting ridiculous. Pim parks his own hand on his hips, gives all three of them a look. “Fine, then. Fight.”
All three of them look at Pim, then at each other, then back at Pim in surprise. “Uh. What?” Charlie asks.
“Well, since you want to do things the old-fashioned way.” Finally remembering the steaming mug in his other hand, Pim helps himself to a sip, the tiniest smirk showing over the rim. “Go on. Fight for me.”
Now Charlie looks like he might be blushing a bit. “Pim. Dude. We’re not gonna fight.”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Allan adds, in his usual monotone.
“So. It’s come to this.”
All four of them turn at the vaguely Southern drawl from behind them. Mr Boss stares back from the doorway of the breakroom, his enormous face nearly expressionless. Save for the dark fire burning in his eyes. His voice low and husky when he speaks. “Always knew I’d go out fighting for love.”
Pim gives another nervous little laugh. “That’s, um, very romantic, Mr. Boss, but just to be clear, I was joking--”
“Shhhh, Pim.” Before anyone can say anything else, Mr. Boss pulls what appears to be an antique revolver out of seemingly nowhere and cocks it. He strokes its muzzle as if calming a spooked horse. “Just shut your eyes, babygirl. It’ll all be over soon.”
“Holy shit, is that thing loaded?!” Charlie shouts, while Glep lets out a piercing shriek and Allan immediately scrambles for cover.
In the ensuing chaos, even as he cowers behind the overturned table while Charlie talks their boss down from a full-on rampage, Pim can’t help but feel a bit flattered.