Chapter 1
Two of them...They...They both were incredibly sweet, sickly sweet. Toxicly sweet? Do you know that exotic foreign confection, the one of vibrant ultraviolet hue, which you're tempted to try due to its uniqueness?
You know that it's not your thing, it's not for you, an outright peculiar thing, probably repulsive in taste and undoubtedly harmful. Then it turns out, as expected, its taste is poisonously saccharine. But you can't get rid of the memory of how it tasted, and then you find yourself longing to taste it again.
A paradox. Why is this sweetness so tempting? And why do you crave it so intensely, knowing you'll regret it after the second bite? They were just like that, those two, like a poisonous confection.
They breezed into the meeting room 15 minutes before the conference, as the rest of their colleagues and subordinates slowly gathered. They greeted everyone cheerfully and, realizing they had an extra 15 minutes due to their status as project leaders, they went to the window in the far corner of the conference room for a smoke. Actually, smoking indoors was prohibited, but they circumvented that rule. Because: "We are careful, smoking with the window open, discreet, no worries...". Well, and that was just because it was them!
During this "smoking routine" they were pretentiously quiet and secluded. The truth is, I'm almost certain they knew all eyes were fixed on them. Yes, I wasn't the only one whose attention they captured with the nature of their relationship. I think they did it on purpose, like a trick, a spectacle.
They always shared one cigarette between them. Can you imagine? Such small details threw us off course. But no, no, listen, now it sounds like nonsense! Yet these very minutiae, precisely these, in their multitude, astonished us, like that one cigarette shared by two. They would converse and laugh, passing the cigarette back and forth, sometimes without even passing, just one of them holding it, bringing it to each other's lips in turns. Exhaling smoke so carelessly. The intimacy of this moment was evident, yet their composure left no room for indignation. They spoke quietly, laughed. Occasionally, they'd beckon a colleague to join their company, and at times, someone from their inner circle would approach them.
When they sat down at the negotiation table during meetings, presentations, or whatever else, they never ceased to intermittently touch each other. These were just slight, inconspicuous touches. The wrist, the forearm, a pat on the shoulder—touches, innocent and delicate. These movements, like a swarm of butterflies, subtly flickered between them, creating a whirlwind of constant, gentle, barely perceptible motions. They were so seamlessly woven into the fabric of their existence that if you were to show this to someone else, they wouldn't be able to catch that invisible dance. At least, not immediately.
When they were talking to each other, they unabashedly locked eyes. Directly, without flinching, they stared so intently, as if they weren't merely listening to their counterpart, but as if their hearing had faltered and they were scrutinizing, listening to every word. When one of them would smoothly avert the gaze, the other one would immediately follow it, triyng to catch that glance, and the one who initiated this game would immediately restore the direct eye contact. I'm sure they did it deliberately! Certain of it! This mutual interception of gazes, as if they were underscoring just how close they were to each other.
I was constantly tormented by the feeling that they only saw you as an object, not as a real person... As if they took your life and turned it into a scene for themselves, and you became an involuntary spectator, holding no interest for the actors. You were simply utilized, perhaps as the very stage itself.
They always carefully straightened each other's clothes. For special presentations and crucial meetings, we'd don suits. In our technological-creative sphere of work, office dress code held its significance. They sported exquisite Vivienne Westwood suits, astonishing with their impeccable flair, or simple yet elegant Helmut Lang ensembles that, owing to their simplicity, looked even more opulent on them. They seized any opportunity to fix designer-frayed collars peeking from their jackets, cuff sleeves, or fix each other's ties. One time, it was shoelaces. Shoelaces! Tying a colleague's shoelaces. Overall, what was so extraordinary about this? To tie a colleague's shoelaces when colleague's hands were occupied with a laptop and documents. Just bend down and attentively knot the lace... But how they did it! As if it were something natural, taken for granted.
The ease and organic nature combined with the simultaneously tense-intimate sensation of that moment compelled me to etch this image before my eyes for a lifetime. I recall it vividly even now. One of them crouched down before the other, smiling, eyes lifting upward, meeting the colleague's gaze, and the smile grew even wider. Filled with warmth and awkwardness, movements, their gaze lowered to the shoelaces — loop, loop, knot — then carefully adjusted the crease of trousers that had fallen onto the shoe. Can you imagine? Not immediately rising from the crouch, but quickly adjusting the colleague's trousers, rising then as if nothing had happened and taking a seat at the table. They deliberately did all of this, emotional exhibitionists. Pushing their wordless affection onto us. And yet I was in denial, disbelieving this spectacle.
No one officially knew they were a couple, and no one dared to ask such questions. This drove me even more insane. I wanted to know! I wanted to know and console myself with the thought that they would soon break up, have an argument, and go their separate ways — people couldn't possibly remain so... so consumed by each other for a lifetime. I really wanted to know if they were truly together. But no one knew for sure, and they never parted. Impeccably, consistently, they played their emotional exhibitionist game, tormenting my mind with their constancy.
The way they used to drink coffee. One of them would come in and ask the secretary to make the coffee, then one sip was taken, necessary, always, always just a sip! I noticed and checked many times. Yes, nothing unusual yet, but wait.A sip was taken, and the cup was left on the table, then walking over to the window to take a phone call. Later, the second one would enter (by the way, they worked in different departments but had many joint projects). So the second one would enter, looked at the first one, saw the first one on the phone, gestured towards the cup, received a nod and took the coffee to drink. The first one, who had ordered and now handed over the coffee, then ordered from the secretary again, now to really drink it... And so it went each time. I mean... each have your own drink! But they made everything mutual, one way or another, all routines, all gestures towards each other.
They almost whispered when they spoke to each other, leaning close. Another reason to be closer.
I couldn't resist and during a regular stress management discussion with our stress-manager, I brought up the topic of them. Believe me, the manager's eyes lit up. I realized I wasn't the only one yearning to decipher the mystery of their relationship. However, the manager was wary of discussing such unofficial gossip, as it could lead to hefty fines and even job loss. Our European company strictly adhered to all boundaries of harassment and personal freedom. I inquired about how long they had been working together and whether they were always this productive and united. The manager replied, her eyes widening, leaning forward with eagerness to discuss this somehow: "10 years, 10 years!". I held my breath, not expecting that number. "And they're still just as productive... such a teamworkers, - manager smiled nervously,- very valuable employees. Such... stability." added she, lost in thought.
I couldn't help thinking: I wish them 10 more years of happiness. They had captured me with some sort of Stockholm syndrome... Now I observed all their maneuvers with the methodical precision of a psychological statistician, keen to notice and assess whether their interaction was waning, whether it was uniformly spread across the schedule. Did they look at each other? Did they smoke, drink coffee, touch each other? Did they move around the building together, like Brownian motion, bumping into each other and then returning? Yes, yes, everything was in place, all the glances and touches.
Perhaps I had delved so deeply into watching them that one day, entering the glass smoking area on the second floor where they smoked and conversed by the window, I involuntarily fixed my gaze on them, in my by now habitual attempt to gauge the level of intimacy in their relationship, which had become noticeable due to my obsessively evaluative stare.
Elegantly flicking off ashes, one of them shifted the gaze onto me, and the corner of lips curved into a slight, indulgent grin. The second one, quickly tracing the gaze of the first one, also stared at me. Lord! How do I explain my sensations? They both looked at me, but how! As if I were a mirror, and they were looking at each other through this mirror, through me! They both looked at me and reveled in their effect, their reflection on me. Were they so deeply absorbed in each other that they turned everything into a story about themselves?
I couldn't hold back and awkwardly, with a somewhat silly smile, patted my pockets and hastily fled the smoking area, saying: "Forgot my e-cigarette." They both chuckled softly, almost identically, as I left.
Six months later, I was transferred to a department in another city. And the memory of them remained in me forever, tormenting me with its peculiarity, mystery, and the impossibility of explaining what it was and what I felt while observing them... The only thing I could clearly see in myself was that after having entered into a romantic relationship, after having spent about a year with a partner, I kept breaking those links, in an unconscious, incessant and futile attempt to find that elusive union, that wave, that strange synchronicity of movements, gazes, touches - just as they had...
I could never replicate it with anyone else. Never before had I felt such a thing, never had I experienced anything remotely similar in relationships. Who were they? What was their relationship to each other? How did they truly feel what they felt?
I will never receive answers to these questions.
