Page 4 of Static/Cling

Bjorn did not blame him. He had that reaction when he saw Leif, too. Still. The man was petite, graceful, blond, blue-eyed and pale-skinned to the point of translucence. He might have been a runway model if he wasn’t so short, or had his picture on the front of every magazine, if not for the one thing that had made him too self-conscious to imagine anyone would want to look at his face.

He had scars from the middle of his bottom lip downwards across his right jaw to the side of his neck that, had they gone half an inch further, probably would have severed his jugular. He’d gotten it figure skating when he was twelve, from his partner’s skate after a freak accident during a spin.

He’d not stepped foot on ice in the twenty years since, apparently. Bjorn had only known him for the past ten, and to him, the scar was nothing, because Leif had way more going for him than a pretty face.

“Did you know I’m not an actual janitor?” Bjorn asked him.

“Didn’t you?” Leif pulled a coffee from the tray and handed it to him before turning to the others.

Bjorn opened his mouth, closed it, scowled.

“You didn’t click that link I showed you, did you?”

“You said I might want to read it. Might.”

“As in, read that before you sign?”

“I thought you actually meant ‘might.’ I didn’t want to, so I didn’t. I just signed.” He shrugged. “Didn’t want to chance another laptop, so I signed before I could zap it.”

Leif drew in a breath, tilted his head, then sighed.

Kassian slow-panned from Leif to Bjorn. “You signed something you hadn’t read?”

“I figured if it was really important, he would have said.” Bjorn looked at Leif. “You didn’t say.”

“No, you’re right. I should have said. I was distracted by that toaster I was trying to insulate against you.”

“Not your fault. I should have been more thorough. Oh, did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“The toaster.”

“Dunno. Guess we’ll see when we get home.”

Bjorn nodded. “Cool. So, what did I sign?”

“You’re a superhero,” Leif said, his grin back in place.

“A what now?”

“God save me,” Kassian muttered and disappeared back behind his screen.

“And I thought Roger was dumb,” Kassian muttered as he turned his computer off, then steeled himself to duck under his desk to get at the router. He was going to have to move it to a more accessible—and bigger—space.

“Then,” he reminded himself, “Rogerisdumb.” But he was also sweet, and hella loyal to Sal, so that was okay. He wasn’t pretty. Not like the new guy. “Fuck me, no. That is not a thing.”

Carefully, so as not to disturb too many wires, Kassian braced his shoulders on the underside of the desk. “Don’t kid yourself. It’s a thing. You know it’s a thing. You always notice the pretty ones.” He heaved his shoulders a few inches, lifting the desk off the floor to let in a little more light and give him more room to breathe as he felt in the dimness for the router.

“He’s not pretty.” He turned off the router and began to count in his head to thirty. “He’s an idiot.” He flicked the router back on.

“A pretty idiot.” Letting his breath out, he eased the desk back down and started to scramble backwards to safety.

“Who are you talking to?”

“The fuck!” He jumped so violently he smashed his head on the underside of the desk. While he waited for his heart to settle back into rhythm, he rubbed at the sore spot, then finally crawled backwards from under the furniture.

The other new one—the little one—stood at the edge of his divider holding a cup of coffee.

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