Standard Wingpeople

Moss stared at his empty home screen. What work was there to be done? What anything was there to be done? Just yesterday, he'd been so distracted by ogling Imogene from across the room, watching her cut Marvel characters out of magazines and paste them along the outside of her desk. Now he wished he could reach into the memory and pull her closer.

Things had happened between them he hadn't realized he'd wanted. His mind kept drifting to the sex, and the moments before the sex, and the moments after. He thought about her neck and her shoulders and her thighs, about the way her hair had felt between his fingers, about how her tongue had tasted like vodka and Crest toothpaste. He remembered how after it was all over she'd moved his head to rest on her shoulder, and how unique that had felt, yet how natural.

But that was all gone now. She was gone.

What had he expected to happen, though? That she'd be his "new girlfriend?" That he'd meet her parents? That she'd meet his parents? That they'd get married? That he'd move out of his mum's house? That they'd have kids? If he had kids, he'd want to name them Zenith and Quasar—he'd figured that out a long time ago. But would she have felt the same about any of that? Did she feel the same about any of that? He had no idea, and now he never would.

His life was now a horrible Greek tragedy, of which he was the star. He'd been sailing on rocky waters, to an inevitable doom.

He'd liked her. He'd really, really liked her.

"Moss," said Roy.

Moss hadn't heard them open the door. Roy was standing in the office, alone.

Moss wiped his eyes and nose. "Hello, Roy."

"Hello, Moss." Roy composed himself. "How you holding up?"

"I'm in the throes of poetic agony, Roy."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Are you going to tell me it'll pass?"

"Is that what you want to hear?"

"Not particularly."

Roy nodded. He sat down on Moss' desk, and put a hand on his shoulder. Moss looked up at him. This was unusual behavior for Roy.

"Moss, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

Moss stared at him expectantly. Roy stumbled along as he continued.

"I'm sorry that I made Imogene feel unwelcome by inventing my whole conspiracy thing. I didn't want to hurt either of your feelings. You're my best friend, and seeing you spend so much time with her..."

"You were jealous."

"Yes, I was jealous. Jealous that my best friend had found a girl when I didn't, and that this girl was taking up quite a bit of his time, right in front of me."

Moss blinked twice. "You could have told me, Roy."

"Yeah, well, that's why we have a Relationship Manager, because I definitely wouldn't have, ever."

Moss and Roy shared a genuine look. They really were good friends, Roy and Jen. Maybe Moss would get through this after all.

"I feel stupid for not realizing just how much you liked her," said Roy. "But I definitely noticed she had a bit of a thing going for you. And because of that, I've developed a new conspiracy of mine, to help you give her a romantic gesture at the airport, so that maybe, you can win her back."

Moss' expression grew grave. "That's enough of that, Roy. I think the ship has parked in the harbor."

"I think you mean 'the ship has sailed.'"

"No, it's parked in the harbor because it's over, Roy! She hates me!"

"She does not hate you. The poor girl's crazy about you. You can't let her go over some little misunderstanding. What is this, The Checkbook?"

"Do you mean The Notebook? I think you've done enough, Roy. Clearly it's for the best."

"Is it? I mean, you're obviously miserable."

Roy gestured to the pile of tissues on Moss' desk. Moss picked up a garbage can and swept them all in.

"And what's to say she doesn't feel the same? I mean, she told you she fancied you, but have you two ever really talked about it? Did you ever ask her?"

"Why would I even need to ask her, Roy?" Moss snapped. "I think her feelings are clear as a sunny day in Bristol. She was so embarrassed to have done anything with me. She told me that she was going to get into huge trouble with her father, that I'd taken advantage of her, that I'd gotten her drunk—all these horrible things! Things that were unforgivable, Roy!"

"Are any of them true?"

Moss shuffled in his seat. "Well, maybe, but to my understanding, she is the one who whipped out the vodka, and turned on the movie, and snuggled me and told me she fancied me and tore off my clothes like she wanted to devour me, like a piranha." He paused. "To be fair, it was pretty animalistic from both sides."

"So...maybe in the heat of the moment, she thought something else had happened, and it would be worth apologizing?"

"I don't know! If that's how she felt, it's pretty serious."

"It is." Roy paused. "I think I still have a plan for how to make it better, though."