𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓. Leslie groaned as he woke up to his alarm for the first time since moving to his new apartment two weeks prior. Of course, he knew he was going to start work, and he was more than happy to actually start making money again, but that didn't mean he was all too happy about actually having to wake up for it.

He groaned, turning to lie on his back, his arm reaching out towards the other side of his bed which was, as always, empty. He felt his heart tug, a numb sadness settling into his chest and spreading to his fingers and toes, and while it hurt to know that he would be waking up alone every morning, he had to remind himself that it was better to wake up to a bed that was meant to be empty than to wake up to someone who wasn't supposed to be there.

He was waiting for the ghost in his house to manifest into an actual person, because while that would be the day he would most certainly be possessed and/or murdered, he could probably get a good hug out of them first.

It was pathetic, really, happily accepting a grisly end for an opportunity to be held for even a brief moment.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and went back to getting ready, grabbing a slice of leftover pizza—his life was just a string of unhealthy takeout options as of late—taking a bite as he moved to search for one of his nicely pressed clothes.

He froze as he stood in front of his closet, staring in at the rack of clothes that, unlike the rest of his apartment, were still as meticulous as they had been for years. He felt the entire room shift around him, his entire person, the pizza disappearing, replaced with three watches he was trying to choose from, his frown deepening as he tried to decide what would match.

He took a deep breath, stumbling back, and he was just barely able to catch himself on something—his bed, his counter, he didn't know—before he tumbled to the ground, blinking rapidly as reality came crashing back.

"God, I've been in here too long," he groaned, sighing heavily as he continued to eat his pizza, pulling out a shirt from his closet, then pants from his drawer.

He walked away before he decided that he needed to rumple up all his clothes to prove to himself that he was being successful; ruining that for himself wouldn't do him any good, and there was a fine line between downgrading and suffering.

He turned on the TV to drown out his thoughts, continuing to eat his pizza, and it took everything in him to not eat another, going to wash his hands so he could put on his clothes without the worry of stains.

"Okay, Leslie, you're going to work. Be nice," he said, facing himself in the full length mirror he allowed himself to have, smoothing down the sides of his hair.

He put his hands down immediately after, because that was what his mother used to do, and he didn't need to start thinking about her now, not when he already did every time he woke up on the nice bed he slept in every night.

"We are not going to break down before work, you are an adult, we're going to be fine," he said through gritted teeth, packing himself a lunch and forcing himself out the door before he could continue to wallow for the rest of the day.

If he didn't leave right then, he wouldn't have left at all.

But once he started he didn't stop, and before he knew it he was standing right in front of the office building that he was going to be working at until he inevitably found a new job, was fired, or died.

This was his life now.

He took a deep breath as he stepped through the doors, making his way to the front desk where a bored looking woman was sitting, typing away at her computer, and Leslie winced as he realized that he was going to have an office job. He never thought it would come to this, yet there he was, working like someone from that TV show from the early 2000's, becoming a middle man to sell equipment to people trying to salvage their lives after The Incident.

But he couldn't think too hard about any of this or else he wouldn't be successful at all.

"My name's Leslie Davis, I'm here to meet Mr. Finch," he said, tapping on the counter to get her attention, and he forced himself to give her a smile; not too big, but more apologetic, a greeting of a nervous someone who really needed this job and would do good by it.

He had practiced the smile in the mirror the night before, and considering her reaction to him, he liked to think it had worked well.

"Go on to the elevator and head to the seventh floor, that's where your company works, you can ask his receptionist what to do," she explained, and he smiled, wanting nothing more than to simply nod and be on his way.

But he stopped himself, forcing out a, "Thank you, Carrie," before going on his way, glad that she had a name plate on the counter so he didn't have to ask her for her name.

But she seemed wholly surprised by his leave, and he knew it had to be strange, especially in these parts of all places, but he was trying his best and that meant he had to go above and beyond in order to make sure his usual was at least decent.

He took a few steadying breaths as the elevator brought him up, and he couldn't help but practice smiling, looking at his distorted reflection in the metal, just barely able to stop himself before the doors opened to reveal a woman who was talking on the phone, two screens seated in front of her.

He walked over towards her, hoping that he seemed polite and not too demanding, quietly mouthing for Mr. Finch, the woman motioning towards the door to his left with her pen, and he mouthed a thank you before walking over, unable to help himself as he scanned over towards the various cubicles that filled the room, the sound of keys typing and voices wafting over the grey walls becoming a kind of white noise that he could already see himself becoming accustomed to.

This wasn't too demanding, but he still had to be nice.

So he put on a smile and knocked on the door, opening it a moment after when a voice called for him to open it. Inside was a man around his age dressed just as nicely as he was with a stack of papers on his desk and a smile that was better to have as a friend than as an enemy; it was a smile that Leslie knew well.

"You must be Leslie, my assistant said great things about you," the man said, reaching out to shake his hand before motioning towards the other chair, "Take a seat, Les, this won't take too long, but you do need to get caught up before you start working. And don't worry, you'll have someone to help you out for the first few weeks, make sure you're doing everything right."

Leslie laughed along with the man, and he knew everything he needed to about Mr. Finch right then and there. He was the kind of man who was nice to his employees, but the kind of nice that almost seemed forced, a nice with strings attached.

Leslie knew this nice well.

But he didn't say anything, instead playing along as the good, average new employee, laughing at jokes and trying to make a few of his own, maintaining that he would work hard and seeming excited to work without being overeager. He wasn't even sure of all that he was saying, his mouth moving in ways that he could only hope were positive, but considering that Mr. Finch had yet to do anything but smile, he seemed to be doing fairly well.

He knew how to work people, but now he had to learn how to work with people.

"Come on, I'll show you to your cubicle," the man said, rising to his feet, and it was a surprise for Leslie as the man hadn't even so much as interviewed him himself, rather having his personal assistant do it, and his surprise must have shown as Mr. Finch sighed, "My assistant hasn't been showing up lately, which is a problem, so I'm going to have to pick up where she left off."

Leslie hummed, because it really wasn't any of his business, and followed the man to a cubicle in one of the middle sections, surrounded by people on all sides, and he tried to convince himself that this was good, that this was exactly what he needed, because it was, and it was exactly what he was looking for, because it was. But he couldn't help the short sigh that escaped him, though no one seemed to notice it but him.

"Dan will get you up to speed," Mr. Finch said, motioning towards one of the people who was in a cubicle nearby, and Leslie's heart immediately sank.

Dan was the kind of person Leslie knew the best. With the kind of smile that exuded safety for some and a threat for others, he loomed with a self-assuredness only found in people whose families were used to getting what they wanted. Taken from Leslie who found, with a sickening realization, that staring at Dan was like staring at a funhouse mirror—slightly warped, yet still his reflection—the criticism was immense and well-placed.

"How's it going, new guy?" he greeted, hovering over Leslie's cubicle, making himself bigger, asserting his dominance; he was a bit younger than Leslie himself, and that only made him more emboldened.

Leslie could have done so many things. Not too long ago, he would've done one of those many things, possibly even be standing right where Dan himself was. He could have done so much, but that was a Leslie from long ago, and there was a reason he had taken the job in the first place, there was a reason he was in the situation he was in.

So he just gave him a good natured smile and nodded, licking his lips as he turned to power on his computer, his arms crossed and braced against his desk. "It's going pretty good, I'm glad to be here. How's it going with you?"

Because Leslie was trying to make a change, so as difficult as it was going to be, he was going to work this job, and he was going to work it right. Whether he wanted to or not.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

( 01.29.19 )

So I don't understand office jobs at all, so basically Leslie works at a Dunder Mifflin but he's selling equipment and supplies to help with reparations after The Incident. Sorry this was a whole lotta nothing, we're gonna get more exciting stuff next time (I have the entire story plotted out already I don't know why I'm not already finished prewriting damn it me)

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!