Magnus was one of those rare birds that liked being at the office. Surrounded by drab walls and numbers, he felt comfortable and grounded. Accounting made sense, the equations always had a concrete answer, the numbers didn't lie. Sometimes he got to juggle them, balance an account to look better or worse than it was, but that was fun too because the numbers were still consistent. Hiding behind stacks of paper (which he refused to part with even though the rest of the office seemed to be on a paperless kick), he could manage everything.
His real life was entirely different.
He didn't mind giving up most of the control to his wife. Frankly, he had been happy to arrive in the city to find his Jessica there, already tenaciously climbing her way to the top. That, too, was comforting. He helped shoulder the burden of running their own business, but she didn't waste time dithering over decisions.
Still, sometimes he wished it were a little different. He wished, for example, that when he walked out into the living room to answer her call, bare chested with only his suit pants on, hair still damp from his post-gym shower, would elicit more than a blink from her. Or that, if it did, he would have the confidence to make something of that.
Never going to happen.
"Right here," he called back. He combed his fingers through his hair, slicking it back so it wouldn't fall into his eyes. He needed a hair cut. "Is something wrong?"
She knew he would be in the office soon. He kept to his schedule religiously. It had to be something important to get her out of the office.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2016-09-04 07:29 pm (UTC)His real life was entirely different.
He didn't mind giving up most of the control to his wife. Frankly, he had been happy to arrive in the city to find his Jessica there, already tenaciously climbing her way to the top. That, too, was comforting. He helped shoulder the burden of running their own business, but she didn't waste time dithering over decisions.
Still, sometimes he wished it were a little different. He wished, for example, that when he walked out into the living room to answer her call, bare chested with only his suit pants on, hair still damp from his post-gym shower, would elicit more than a blink from her. Or that, if it did, he would have the confidence to make something of that.
Never going to happen.
"Right here," he called back. He combed his fingers through his hair, slicking it back so it wouldn't fall into his eyes. He needed a hair cut. "Is something wrong?"
She knew he would be in the office soon. He kept to his schedule religiously. It had to be something important to get her out of the office.