Chapter Text
October 11th, 1992.
Roseville Gazette
Your ears twitch and tingle with the thrumming common sounds of the belly of Roseville Gazette. Papers flicking and sliding, nails clacking against chunky keyboards, people talking, coughing—sneezing. God, that reminds you, it's almost flu season.
Your hand absentmindedly comes up to pick and scratch at the skin of your jaw, searching for textured imperfections with the small assisting mirror in your other hand. You've been doing it a lot more often lately. With the summer coming to it's end and the hot weather drying up everything in the sun's sight, including your skin, it's become habit.
Your eyes glance behind you to the figure hidden in the corner of your mirror.
Your eyebrows furrow, worrying your lip until it's swollen and a flushed red.
There's a new employee.
Nothing to fret about. You're not the most socially blessed, you greet whoever comes across your path in the mornings and pretend to not notice those who come later on to avoid interaction. That doesn't make you a social recluse. Just private.
But nevertheless, something about this new employee has caught your eye. You don't know if it's in a good or bad way, but there's a certain feeling they enact that has you picking and prodding at your skin with uncontrollable nervousness—it's absolutely even more unnerving when you can't pinpoint why.
You tilt your mirror ssslightyy to the left. There.
The new guy, Jed Olsen. Sitting in his little cubicle, just a few ones down from yours. At an angle, at opposite sites of the path that runs through the work-room, facing opposite directions, his back constantly facing you. Majority of the time, you're staring at his back.
You watch through your compact mirror as Jed slides his chair to the opposite side of his cubicle, sliding more into your spy-glass. You can see him better now. He rotated his chair sideways to retrieve something, something you're too preoccupied spying on Jed to give a shit about. He's tall. Maybe 5'10"-6'0". Nothing extraordinary tall. Skin so pale even snow White could look tan in comparison. Dark short hair, black. Rectangular wire framed glasses.
He's normal looking. His cheekbones are on the sharper side, his jaw straight with his nose Greek. On the more attractive side, you have to admit. Maybe his attractiveness is the cause for your undeniable uptightness. You've never been good with people in the first place.
The office entirely acknowledged him as quite attractive. Your fellow lady workers, around your age or older, have all giggled to each other of the new hire's good looks the moment he arrived.
When he first arrived, he brought with a confident aura that landed well with your boss. You had to glance around the moment he walked in.
He portrayed a curtain of confidence and charisma, sharing a deal of good ol' American wisdom, so much so everyone just had to go up and greet him. It felt like you were watching a raunchy horror movie where the old 'n wise next door neighbor was seen as saint compared to obvious sinner.
Yes, yes- Mr. Comph, your joke about nosy journalists certainly was in need of reward in form of Mr. Olsen's stale laugh. You almost chuckled at the absurdity of it all before a strong chill ran down your spine that had you sitting as straight-as-a-ladder up.
A few others preferred to sit back and watch. maybe throw in a polite 'nice to meet you' and stay in the perimeter of this new social magnet and see what he may attract.
But where were you? Well, you're a gossiper. your job is to observe and gain information, and naturally, like a 5th sense, you forgot about politeness and instead stayed in a little corner, in a little seat, drinking from your little coffee cup and watched the little meet and greet unravel.
Another glance around. Does nobody else feel nothing is off here? Everyone is happy, shaking, greeting him, too enthusiastic at the new opportunity to socialize and get to know another person who isn't a native to their small world. Another rare connection to the outside world.
Your eyes watch your reflection in the cold coffee in your mug, taking note of your very obvious, displeased expression.
..Maybe you're just being a Debbie-Downer. Eye contact to yourself from yourself, you take note of the eyebags that have formed from your late nights, the chapped lips, loose hair strands. You didn't sleep well last night, being terrorized in your sleep by a dream of pale ghost chasing you violently throughout the office wasn't exactly something that got you some good Zs.
You tried to paint a small smile on your face for the sake of keeping face.
From your corner, you learned a few things of this Jed Olsen. He's apparently from Urah but didn't say anything specific, he actually enjoys journaling but it's not his degree (interesting?) he went to university but where you don't fucking know where—and uh, he's quite the charmer you guess.
So quite the charmer a few of your coworkers motioned for you to come forth with your offerings and words of praise to the new celebrity, and boom—Jed Olsen is introduced to you.
Fellow journal gossiper, maybe not fellow as in an actual standard journalist, but still a journalist nonetheless.
His introduction to you was almost unnerving. for a moment, when he turned to face little ol' you cowering in the corner, he seemed as if you offended him. His dark thick eyebrows slightly raised in silent questioning, black eyes sharpened and soft lips pursed into a thin line. It was just for a moment, and then it was gone.
He gave a gentle smile, 'Jed Olsen, nice to meet 'cha.' He said, almost bashfully? nodding to you before turning to the rest of his new coworkers. But not before giving you a quick side glance, one so quick you almost didn't catch it. But you did. You catch everything. Usually everything, thats why you're here.
Everyone eventually returned to their cubicles. you did the same. That was the end of it all.
But you couldn't stop rewatching the small interaction in your mind all the time.
Such a small moment, but it was the most fierce eye contact you've ever had with someone. His eyes. So dark. So commanding of attention, screaming—LOOK AT ME.
You were at a distance where his smallest of features melted with the bigger ones, but you could still see the small beauty marks that littered his face and the slight natural arch of his right brow. And his broad shoulders. And the sharpness of his adams apple. And the darkness of his—
"Hey, Miss L/N." Your boss called, a loud knock on the side of your cubicle accompanying, catching you so off guard that it had you jumping nearly out of your skin.
"O-oh I'm.. so sorry I was uh.. thinking about the earlier meeting today. Uhm, do you need anything?" You barely manage to choke out, keeping eye contact with your boss. You imagine he can see the flush on your cheeks and the tremble in your bones from the way he caught you so off guard.
"Uh.. yeah.. your papers?" he replied questioningly, clearly offput by your sudden awkwardness. Though, you're not known for your social skills, you're not quite the community recluse. just a gossiper...
"Oh. Oh! Right! Here, I finished them." you offer, giving a small smile to your boss. Your smile turns rigid, turning stale with few teeth and try to ignore that he continues standing at your desk and goes over your papers right in front of you.
Asshole.
He hums, satisfied with your work. "Thanks kid. You look like a wreck, you can go home early today if you want."
How kind. You really do need a good rest of sleep, though, afterall you have only been managing to get numbers so small in sleep you're sure you could count them all with one hand.
You nod, politely. Using the excuse of looking at him to look through him, to Jed Olsen. He's back in his previous spot, hunched slightly over with his pen moving quickly over paper. Quick writer..
"Thank you."