Fifty Eight
Ah, this is gay even for me.
I mean, tell me what the hell I was doing at Vincent's workplace, holding a lunchbox in one hand and my pendant in the other like a compass, as if it would somehow lead me to him. It was lunch time, so the office was somewhat empty, and my crippling social anxiety forbade me from asking anyone for directions even as they looked at me weird.
It was my first time actually entering Vincent's office. And it looked like any old corporate hellscape with no personality, zero creativity, too many bright panel lights, central A/C's turned up way too high for how cold it was outside, and a couple brain-dead employees skipping lunch to slave away at paperwork. Sad as fuck, that is.