Chapter 32 #2
"Of mixing things up. Of seeing you at work and having it be different.
Of you having to be my boss, in a way, or having me answer to someone you work with.
Of bringing work stress home and having nowhere to escape it.
" I run my hand through my hair. "We've built this really good thing. I don't want to fuck it up."
Royce is quiet for a long moment, navigating through traffic with practiced ease.
"I understand that," they finally say. "But Kenny baby, I genuinely believe we're stable enough for this.
And more than that, I miss working with you.
Not as enemies. Just with you. You made things better at the stadium. You still could."
"Royce…”
"Hear me out. The reason this feels scary to you is because you're imagining worst-case scenarios where work bleeds into home life and everything falls apart. But we're not like that. We've survived worse than work stress. Compared to that, sharing an office feels manageable."
I consider this. It's not wrong. We have been through a lot. And the thing about Royce is that when they're right, they're devastatingly right. But I need to know some things first.
"What if I mess up? What if I make a professional mistake, and you can't separate that from us?"
"Then I'll be annoyed at work, and we'll have dinner at home," Royce says matter-of-factly. "People work through professional conflicts all the time, Little Menace. I compartmentalize well enough to keep work and personal separate when I need to."
"You're very confident about this."
"I'm confident about you," Royce corrects.
"About us. And frankly, I'm tired of watching you organize my kitchen like it's a form of meditation. You need to come back to work. You need the stimulation. You need purpose. And you probably need to go air out your apartment. The food in your fridge might be taking over. Will it pay rent too?”
“Oh, fuck you. That’s too much.”
They're right though. God, I hate when they're right. But they are. The past few weeks have been nice in that low-pressure way, but they've also been empty in a way I didn't want to admit. I've been coasting. I've been avoiding. And Royce calling me out on it is exactly what I needed.
By the time we get to their place, I've made my decision.
"Okay," I say in the living room, standing by the window as Royce shrugs off their jacket. "I'll do it. But with conditions."
Royce turns to me, unsurprised. They probably knew the answer before I did. "Name them."
"Clear boundaries. We don't discuss work at home unless absolutely necessary.
We keep our professional and personal lives separate.
As in separate calendars, separate spaces at the office, the whole thing.
If either of us feels like it's becoming a problem, we talk about it immediately and figure out if it's fixable.
And if it's not fixable, I leave, and we don't make a huge deal out of it. "
"Agreed," Royce says. "Anything else?"
"I want my own office. Not adjacent to yours. Actually separate. I need to be able to work independently."
"Done. There’s a space empty on the ground floor. It's yours."
I nod, relief settling in my chest. "Then yes. I'll take the position."
Royce smiles, and it's the satisfied smile of someone who's just won a negotiation they knew they were going to win all along. "Good. I'll have HR draw up a contract."
"Very romantic," I say dryly.
"Very efficient," Royce corrects, pulling me close. "You start in two weeks. That gives you time to adjust mentally and gives me time to get the office set up."
I lean my forehead against theirs. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm going to regret this."
"You might," Royce agrees cheerfully. "But at least it'll be interesting."
My first day back at the stadium is both exactly as I remembered it and completely different. Makes sense considering I haven’t been gone long.
What's different is that I'm not walking in as the big boss. I'm walking in as a consultant, which is somehow less stressful and more stressful at the same time.
My office is perfect. Smaller than my old one, but it's got great natural light, and Royce has made sure it's fully stocked with everything I could possibly need. There's even a coffee maker already installed, which is either thoughtful or overkill. Possibly both.
By noon, I've already had three people stop by wanting to discuss operational issues.
By two p.m., I've attended a front office meeting that made my brain hurt in exactly the right way.
By four, I've accidentally run into Royce three times, and each time we've treated each other with the kind of professional courtesy usually reserved for people who barely know each other.
It's both hilarious and slightly depressing.
At five, just as I'm about to pack up for the day, Royce appears in my doorway with a look of barely contained amusement.
"How was your first day?" they ask.
"Weird," I say honestly. "You called me 'Kenneth' three times. Just my name. Very formal."
"Professional boundaries," Royce says, taking a seat in one of my chairs. "You wanted them."
"I wanted them at the office, not to the point where it feels like we're strangers. There's a middle ground between 'we're dating and should probably acknowledge it' and 'what's your name again.'"
Royce grins. "I'll adjust. Though I have to say, watching you try to work around me all day has been entertaining. You literally took the stairs instead of the elevator when you saw me waiting for it."
"I didn’t need to use it,” I lie poorly.
"Kenneth, your office is on the ground floor."
Okay, so I'm not subtle. "I was… getting steps in."
"Sure." Royce stands, and I'm very aware of the fact that the office is small and they're standing quite close. "Come get dinner with me? There's a new place downtown I want to try."
"Is this a work dinner or a personal dinner?" I ask.
"Can't it be both? I'm trying to establish that I don't need to completely separate these things just because we're being professional during working hours."
I consider this. They're right, as usual. "Personal dinner, then. But I'm paying."
"No, you're not," Royce says, leaving my office before I can argue further.
The thing about being in a relationship with someone who's inherently bossy is that they're going to maintain that trait no matter what the context.
I'm learning that quickly. Over dinner, Royce tells me about their day.
I reciprocate with my own observations about what I think needs to be tweaked in my new role.
It's genuinely nice to talk about work with someone who understands it on this level. Someone who cares about the stadium the way I do.
"This isn't going to be a disaster," Royce says as we're leaving the restaurant. "I know you were worried, but it's not."
"It's been one day," I point out.
"And you're already looking less stressed than you've been in weeks. That's worth a lot.”
I can't entirely argue with that. "Remind me of this conversation when I'm having a complete meltdown in three weeks."
"Deal," Royce says, taking my hand. "But you won't. Because we're going to do this right, and it's going to be good."
Walking to the car with Royce's hand in mine, I think about the weird symmetry of it all. I left the stadium because they took my job. Now I'm coming back to work with them. It should feel like a step backward, like I'm retreading old ground.
But it doesn't.
It feels like maybe we've finally figured out how to exist in both spaces, personal and professional, without one destroying the other.
Or maybe I'm just optimistic because it's the first day and everything still feels new.
Only time will tell. But as Royce drives us home, humming along to the radio, I find myself genuinely looking forward to tomorrow. To seeing what we can build now that we're not fighting each other.