I’m not prepared for this. I need notecards and a little binder outlining the steps of what a satisfying apology looks like so I can check them off as I go, I need a powerpoint presentation to point out the steps I’ll take so that I never elbow another co-worker in the face again—
No, no. It’s an apology, not a meeting I’m presenting. A slideshow would be too much. But I would still like the notecards and binder.
After a few seconds of paralyzed worrying, I realize he knows my name. For some reason, that makes my heartrate pick up, maybe out of panic. Then I realize it’s probably because my name is on the door. Duh.
How did he know where to find me, though?
It doesn’t really matter. He deserves an apology for how I acted, no matter how weird I was feeling. I steel myself. Everyone deserves to be treated professionally within the workplace.
“I just wanted to—” he starts to say, interrupted by me yanking open the door. His eyes meet mine and he seems to forget anything he had to tell me. “I. Um. Well.”
I don’t really have any steps beyond that.
We stare at each in utter silence for several moments.
I don’t think his nose looks broken. Bruised maybe, with the slightly darker green flushed over it, but Orc noses have such a variety of shapes and crooks and slants, and sometimes even ridges, that I’m not sure I could identify a broken nose on him. It’s not bleeding anymore and it doesn’t look wildly out of place.
Heat sweeps up my face and spine at seeing him. I don’t think I noticed before how perfectly chiseled his jawline is, the way it’s shaped for his tusks. The way the thickness of his furrowed eyebrows fucking dazzles me, it’s almost absurd. I think I’m starting to get dizzy just from how lost in them I am.
We’ve both been quiet for far too long.
“Um. Hi,” I say, reaching desperately for anything more graceful than ‘I can’t tell if your nose is alright or not’. “You found me.”
I try to notice things about him that aren’t just his looks. Example: how the blood that had run down his chin before is cleaned up.
Then I see the tape on the bridge of his glasses that wasn’t there before, right above the new bandage on his nose.
I broke his glasses when I elbowed him in the face.
FUCK.
I’m going to need to replace his glasses.
For half a moment, my HR brain snaps into place. I take in a breath to offer my apologies, for the nose, for the glasses, for the pathetic paper towel pass. As soon as I do though, my jaw clenches shut and I stiffen.
That feeling is back, rolling through me with a determination to make my knees buckle. I take a few steps backwards and lean back against my desk, gripping its edge for support.
The movement startles him out of our staring contest. He shakes himself, and blinks a few times. He takes off his glasses and pretends to clean them, despite them being spotless, a cover for the fact he’s talking to my shoes again.
“I just wanted to check that you were alright,” he says gently, like hitting his nose wasn’t that big a deal. “How’s your elbow?”
I make a kind of weird, shrieky-laugh.
Normally, Lily is the only person who’s heard it, because she can make me laugh and choke on my drink easily. Most people can’t make me laugh. But standing in his presence makes me feel all kinds of weird, unhinged things. The sheer absurdity of this situation is getting to me.
For a moment I think about telling him, actually, no, I’m not alright. I think I’m having the weirdest fever or whatever of my life. Maybe he could call my mom for me. No, that’s weird.
I clear my throat. “Peachy-keen.”
He nods, his expression like he doesn’t quite believe me.
That’s fair. I wouldn’t believe me either. My only consolation is that this will hopefully all be over shortly and I’ll probably never see him again.
“That’s good to hear. Uh, I’m Khent,” he offers, his voice so soft and low it almost doesn’t seem possible to have come from him.
“Janice. Nice to meet you,” I say, and my voice cracks a little in the middle of my own name. I put a hand over my mouth and cough to clear my throat. “You’re, uh, in accounting?”
He shakes his head the barest amount, eyes trained on me. “Oh, IT Department.”