Work Text:
After that first misdialled phone call — Vivian’s tear-filled voice saying Ma’s in the hospital, I’ll try my best with the fees, as Emma’s heart clenches in sympathy — they stay in touch, the contact tentative but earnest. Vivian likes to send audio messages, something soft and lonely in her tone as she speaks of being far from home, of trying her best in a city of strangers. Emma sticks to the safe distance of text, not ready to speak aloud; compensates with encouraging stickers and snapshots, commiserating about life in this too-big city.
Some weeks in, after Emma sends yet another photo of the sunset glimpsed through office windows, Vivian asks where she works.
It feels unfair not to reply; Vivian’s shared so much about her career in the financial industry, the gruelling hours of her investment job. But that knowledge is precisely why Emma hesitates before typing:
just a regular office
—accompanied by one of her most-sent stickers: a dead-eyed cartoon cat, armed with coffee and laptop. Pauses, then adds:
Quede Games, idk if you know them
Vivian’s reply comes swift and bright: “Quede Games! Aren’t they a huge company? That’s amazing.”
It reminds Emma of how her parents had reacted, a little. They hadn’t known the name, of course — just that their daughter was heading to a first-tier city to work for a listed company. Their pride had been generous and ignorant, loud enough to almost be embarrassing.
But Vivian is different. She’s worldlier than Emma could ever hope to be, well-travelled and with a proper CV. Her enthusiasm means something.
Another voice message: “Does that mean you’re a programmer?”
ahh no, nothing that great
i just work in accounting
nothing special
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Vivian replies, firm yet warm. “That can’t be an easy job.”
Something catches in Emma’s throat. For an instant, she wants to tell Vivian everything — spill the bitterness she’s choked down over the months, tiny everyday sorrows and vaster disappointments, everything her parents can never know.
She swallows. Sends a sticker of a watery-eyed bunny, instead, its paws pressed together in gratitude.
/
That first disclosure makes it easier to share more. Emma tells Vivian about the pressures of the job, the drinks she’s forced to down at company dinners; tells her, in carefully vague terms, about the unwanted attention from her boss.
“It must be difficult,” Vivian says, sympathy audible even in the low-quality audio, and Emma chokes back a sob.
Part of her wants to admit just how difficult it is. Confess everything: ugly secrets kept for uglier reasons, the things she’s traded to stay here. The rest of her — too sensible to do so, or simply ashamed — insists on silence.
sometimes i wonder if it’s too late
if i’ve made too many mistakes
you know?
Emma’s messages disappear seconds later — but not before Vivian reads them. It won’t take much more, Vivian knows. Some weeks, or another bad day at work, and Emma will reveal enough for them to move onto the actual target: the chief financial officer.
Emma should count herself lucky, Vivian thinks. The privilege of being a means to an end.
Something burns dim in her chest. She breathes out a stream of smoke; draws a fresh breath, empty and clean, and begins to record a reply.