Arthur Penn faced the mirror inside the staff bathroom up on the fourth level of the Grand Archivum. It was almost nine in the morning. He checked his face. Same as yesterday, pale, quiet, a bit worn down. Yet something had shifted. He raised his left hand. In the harsh light, the silver ring caught the glow. Against his skin, it seemed almost too sharp. Almost wrong.
"It is a prop," Arthur whispered to his reflection. "It is a theatrical device. You are simply playing a role. Like Hamlet. But with less poison." He fixed his tie because today marked step two "the big reveal."
Per the sketch Cleo scribbled on a napkin last night, hit up the branch boss Mr. Henderson at nine sharp, right after his coffee but before he blew up at tech support. Arthur left the bathroom. Moving fast, he strode down the hall, heels tapping a steady beat on the floor. Tap-tap, tap-tap. Not quite his normal walk; quicker, tighter steps. Pulse humming at ninety-two bpm. He got to the elevators. Out came Cleo Vance as the doors slid open. She looked... different.
She wore a hoodie again, yet something felt different. Her hair? Actually combed this time. No more hiding; the hood hung behind, showing her face at last in that space. Scared stiff, honestly, her gaze jumping from wall to window but standing straight, no slouching.
Status?" Arthur whispered, his tone barely above a murmur.
"Nauseous," Cleo replied instantly. "My stomach acid levels are critically high. I considered vomiting in the fern by the reception desk."
"Please do not," Arthur said. "It would undermine the joyful atmosphere we are attempting to project."
Joyful," Cleo said again - like she'd never heard it before. She sucked in air. "Alright. Happy like. Sure, I'll try happy."
She winced more like her face twitched from a sudden jerk. Instead of a frown, it came off as shaky, uncontrolled.
"Relax the masseter muscles," Arthur instructed. "Slight elevation of the zygomaticus major. Think of mushrooms."
Cleo blinked. After a pause, she started thinking. In her mind popped the Mycena glowing faintly inside her closet. Then, slowly, a real smile curled at the corners of her mouth.
"Better," Arthur noted. "Hold that expression."
"Let's get this over with," Cleo whispered.
They moved along the hall next to each other, heading for Henderson's room. It didn't feel like a stroll, it hit more like a trip to judgment day. Each face they went by, Reception's Mrs. Higgins, or Dave who crunches numbers acted like they were watching something strange. Nobody saw the ring just then. All they caught was Arthur Penn (the one obsessed with clocks) strolling beside Cleo Vance (that woman always covered in moss). Just that made news on its own. They got to the glass door of the branch manager's room. In there, Henderson walked back and forth, yelling into a headset. When he spotted them, he motioned for them to come inside, clearly irritated. Arthur pulled the door open. Right away, a stink of old coffee mixed with bargain aftershave rushed out.
"What is it?" Henderson barked, pulling off his headset. "I've got Headquarters on the line in ten minutes. Make it quick. Is the server down again? Did a pipe burst in the archive?"
Arthur moved ahead. Stiffness ran through his body just like a puppet on strings. Then he paused, expecting Cleo to join him at his side.
"Mr. Henderson," Arthur began, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "We have come to discuss the transfer to the North Pacific Offshore Rig."
Henderson rolled his eyes. "Oh, for crying out loud. Look, Penn, I know you don't want to go. Nobody wants to go. But unless you have a valid reason—"
We will, he cut in.
Henderson paused. He narrowed his eyes. "You do? What is it? Sick mother? Sudden onset of scurvy?"
Arthur sucked in air. Then he glanced over at Cleo.
Cleo turned toward Arthur. Though pale, as if about to collapse, she still gave a small yes with her head. Arthur stretched his arm. Then he grabbed Cleo's fingers. Hers felt icy, a bit sweaty. His touch stayed stiff, no warmth at all. That quiet moment? Probably the weirdest clasp ever between two people trying to connect. Arthur raised their linked fingers. Sunlight glinted off the thin silver bands.
"We are engaged to be married," Arthur stated.
The quiet in the office felt total. Even the AC's low sound had faded out. Henderson looked at their hands. After that, his eyes shifted to Arthur's face. Next, he turned toward Cleo's. A moment later, he was back on the hands again. He opened his mouth. After that, it shut. A second later, he opened it once more.
You?" Henderson jabbed a stubby finger toward Arthur. "What about her?
Yeah," Cleo said, her voice tiny. She coughed a bit. "Yep. Me and Arthur, we're the ones
Henderson suddenly laughed hard.
It wasn't a polite chuckle. It was a belly laugh. He slapped his desk. "You're kidding! This is a joke, right? Is this some kind of prank to get out of the transfer?"
Arthur felt a surge of cold indignation. "Mr. Henderson, I assure you, I do not joke about matrimony."
"But..." Henderson wiped a tear from his eye. "You two? I didn't even know you knew each other! Penn, you eat lunch alone every day facing a wall. And Vance, I thought you lived in the server room."
"We are private people," Arthur said, sticking to the script. "We value discretion."
"We met at the park," Cleo blurted out. "In the rain."
The rain?" Henderson said, unsure.
"We both enjoy precipitation," Arthur added. "It creates a soothing acoustic environment."
Henderson quit laughing. His eyes narrowed as he studied them. A hint of dishonesty that's what he hunted for. Stiff bodies caught his attention, along with how they avoided looking at him. Beads of sweat glistened on Cleo's brow.
"Look," Henderson said, slumping in his seat. I know how it feels, life on the Rig's rough. Folks'll try any trick just to leave. Still, the corporation ain't blind. That rule about singles only? It's enforced hard. If I remove you from the list, another person gets added instead, maybe someone truly without a partner.
"We are not single," Arthur insisted. "We are betrothed."
Show me," Henderson said.
Arthur blinked. "Pardon?"
"Prove it," Henderson repeated. "You say you're getting married. When?"
Arthur's thoughts spun wild. "Just a single year," he blurted out - starting yesterday, that makes 365 straight days
"Why wait a year?" Henderson asked suspiciously.
"We need to save money," Cleo said. "Weddings are expensive. And... my father, he is difficult."
Arthur stared at her. This? Not part of the plan. Made up on the spot, risky move.
"Okay, fine," Henderson said, waving a hand. "A year. Whatever. But here's the thing. If I submit your exemption paperwork, HR is going to want to see that this is real. They don't want 'fake' couples dodging the draft." Henderson got to his feet, then moved behind the desk. Leaning forward slightly, he rested on its edge while folding his arms across his chest. "So, I'm going to put you on probation," Henderson grinned. "I won't put your names on the Rig list yet. But I'll be watching. The whole office will be watching. If you two act like strangers, if I catch you avoiding each other, if I don't see some genuine romance, then I'm putting you on that helicopter to the Pacific faster than you can say 'I do'."
Arthur sensed a drop of sweat slide along his back. Real affection. Something he hadn't planned for.
We get it," Arthur remarked sharply.
"Good," Henderson clapped his hands together. "Congratulations, I guess! Now get out of my office. And hey—" They started walking away.
"Since you're so happy," Henderson smirked. "Why don't you tell the rest of the staff? It's lunch time soon. Make an announcement in the cafeteria. Let everyone celebrate."
Arthur stiffened. Inside the lunchroom. The noisiest, busiest spot around.
"Of course," Arthur lied. "We would be delighted."
They left the office, kept moving till they made it to the East Stairwell where things felt safer. Cleo dropped down on the steps. Her forehead sank toward her thighs. "I can't do the cafeteria," she hyperventilated. "I can't. Too many eyes. Too many variables."
Arthur leaned against the concrete wall. He felt lightheaded. "We have no choice. Henderson challenged us. If we do not announce it publicly, he will assume we are lying. He will send us to the Rig."
"The Rig," Cleo shuddered. "Rust. Noise."
Rust. Noise," Arthur muttered again, the same old phrase. That's what drove them forward, somehow. One thing after another kept pushing.
"Alright," Cleo got to her feet, skin faint or not, resolve firm. The lunchroom, what's next step?"
"We enter together," Arthur said, planning the logistics. "We buy lunch. We sit together. We look happy."
"Do we have to make a speech?" Cleo asked in horror.
"No," Arthur reasoned. "Gossip travels faster than sound in this building. We simply need to be seen being engaged. The rumor mill will do the rest."
12:15 PM. Inside the big archive building's food spot. Trays banged loudly, oil popped on the griddle, while people talked nonstop. For Arthur, every sound felt like pressure building up. For Cleo, each moment seemed risky, unpredictable. They waited by the door.
"Ready?" Arthur asked.
"No," Cleo said.
"Proceeding," Arthur said.
They walked into the space. Arthur grabbed Cleo's hand one more time. Now, he wanted it to seem less forced. His fingers loosened up a bit. Her palm stayed damp, though, she gave his hand a little press anyway. They headed toward the snack counter. Then Arthur grabbed a tray. Meanwhile, Cleo took one too.
"Hey, isn't that the clock guy?" someone whispered.
"Is he holding hands with the moss girl?"
"Wait, are they together?"
The moment it began, people muttered under their breath. Just like ripples spreading across a pond. Everyone twisted to look. Even utensils hung still in space. They got to the front desk. Arthur handed over cash for his ham sandwich plus a cup of tea. After that, outta nowhere, he spoke up, just loud enough so the clerk could catch it:
"I will pay for hers as well."
The cashier, Linda, always chatting about someone, lifted her brows till they vanished under her bangs. "Buying hers too, Arthur? Something going on?"
Arthur fixed his glasses. Then he turned toward Cleo. A soft smile crept up, maybe it came off awkward, even queasy but effort was there.
"My fiancée," Arthur said clearly. "Forgotten her wallet today."
A spoon clattered to the floor suddenly, everyone hushed. After just a beat, whispers burst out like popcorn.
"Fiancée?!"
"Since when?!"
"I didn't even know he spoke to women!"
Arthur followed Cleo toward a table near the middle of the room. Normally, he'd pick a spot tucked away in the corner, back against the wall. This time, they chose the open space right in front. Out where everyone could see them. No hiding place at all. They took a seat. Then Arthur pulled out his sandwich. Meanwhile, Cleo started on her yogurt.
"Don't look at them," Cleo hissed, staring intently at her spoon. "They are all looking. I can feel their gaze. It burns."
Maintain formation," Arthur said quietly, drinking some tea. Yet keep smiling.
Cleo pulled a twisted face. Suddenly, a dark shape passed by their table. It was Dave from Accounting. He seemed friendly, yet always shouting plus he'd slap your back outta nowhere while standing way too close.
"Arthur! My man!" Dave boomed, slapping the table. Arthur's tea rippled. "Is it true? Linda says you put a ring on it!" Arthur glanced up. Some folks in the lunchroom were staring. Here we go.
"Yes, Dave," Arthur said. "Cleo and I are engaged."
"No way!" Dave grinned. "That is wild! I mean, wow. Congrats! When did this happen?"
"We have been cultivating our relationship privately," Arthur said.
"Cultivating," Cleo mumbled. "Like a fungus."
Dave laughed. "That's hilarious! So, show us the rock!"
Cleo paused. Then, lifting her left hand bit by bit. The silver ring caught light from above bright, cold bulbs made it flash.
"Whoa," Dave said, leaning in. "Silver? Nice. classic. So, tell us! How did he propose? Was it romantic? Did he get down on one knee? Did he use a stopwatch to time it?" Dave chuckled, 'cause he found his joke funny.
Arthur's stomach dropped. This moment wasn't planned at all.
It was.." Arthur began, thoughts empty. It got silent," Cleo blurted out. Her tone was low yet it broke past the chaos. People turned their eyes toward her.
We were at the park," Cleo said, staring into her yogurt. Rain had been falling, city sounds soften then. Arthur, he gets me, knows I can't stand loud stuff. No drama happened. He just passed me the box. Then he whispered that he'd rather stay silent beside me forever.
Arthur looked at her. It was a pretty falsehood. Yet kind of artistic in its own way. Just the sort she'd dream about.
Dave looked touched. "Aw, man. that's actually really sweet. 'Quiet with me.' I like that."
A couple of ladies nearby let out a soft breath, such moments feel sweet. "Wow, that's really touching." Arthur sensed an odd heat rise in his ribs. His eyes shifted toward Cleo. She was glowing red, using her strands like a curtain. Truth was, she faked things well or perhaps she simply knew their shared silence better than words ever could.
"Well, congrats you two!" Dave said, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. "You saved yourself from the Rig, huh? lucky bastards. I wish I could stay."
Dave left. People kept eating, yet things felt different now. No longer odd strangers they'd become partners. Arthur stretched over the table.
"That was... impressive," he whispered.
"I read it in a manga once," Cleo whispered back. "Volume 4 of Silent Love."
"It was effective," Arthur said. "Did you see Henderson?"
He turned his head just a bit. By the lunchroom door, Henderson stood chewing on a sandwich. His eyes stayed on them. After a quiet nod, he left through the exit.
"He bought it," Arthur exhaled.
"Phase 2 complete," Cleo breathed. She looked exhausted. "Can I go back to the basement now? I need to stare at a moss wall for forty minutes to recharge."
"Yes," Arthur said. "We have established the narrative. We can retreat."
They ate lunch without talking, not awkward, just calm, even with all the surrounding racket. Later that day, Arthur sat at his desk again. The rush was gone, so he felt wiped out. His computer made a sound - message alert. It was an inbox note.
From: HR Department
To: Arthur Penn; Cleo Vance
Subject: Confirmation of Probationary Exemption
Hola Mr. Penn, also Ms. Vance,
Branch Manager Henderson shared news about your updated situation. So we've taken your names off the Offshore Rig Transfer List for now.
This exception only counts if you turn in your marriage papers within one year, no exceptions. Also, random wellness reviews might happen now and then to check how staff are doing.
Congratulations, you're engaged now. What a moment this is!
Regards,
HR
Arthur stared at the screen, somehow, they'd made it through. Relief hit hard. No more running, for now. Yet once more, he went over that final sentence. Routine health reviews. He wasn't sure what it meant, yet it felt like a push too far. Arthur stared at the paper stuck to his desk. Then he grabbed a red pen, marking the day twelve months ahead with a loop. 364 days left. He stared at the old clock sitting on his desk. Back and forth moved the pendulum inside it. The game started for real. Yet he felt oddly that keeping up the fake story would take more effort than fixing an old map from the 1700s. He brushed the silver band on his hand. That weight sat deep.
Right away, the phone vibrated. It was a message, no name showing. New number.
Sender: Cleo (Moss)
I forgot to mention - my aunt spotted Dave's Facebook update about us. After seeing it, she phoned my dad right away. Next weekend, he's heading into town. His main goal? To check you out in person. Just so you know, he can come off pretty strong. Get ready.
Arthur let go of his phone by accident. "Uh-oh," he said quietly. The quiet in his office now seemed oddly thin.