#thomas: 01

[slavexisabel]

guilt | thomas & isabel

Isabel had been trembling since she’d been yanked unceremoniously from her cell the past morning. She didn’t know why she was being yelled at, why she was being dragged from her bunk, why she was being chained and dragged to the ballroom. Since coming to the island, she’d never really experienced fear outside of her normal reluctance to make any decisions for herself.  And then she’d been forced to torment three of her fellows, unable to control her actions and silently sobbing the entire time.  As if that hadn’t been bad enough, she now found herself in the same situation as those in the quad the previous day, stripped of senses and clothes.  It didn’t take much to put two and two together.  Oddly, it was the calmest she’d felt since the cells; at least she knew what was coming.  Pain she could endure.  It was the guilt that was eating her alive.

@tech-kingthomas​

[justiceleaque]

Seriously, kid. What's your name?

[mishelerbiy]

AHHH HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

and 01/01 thomas' day!

because it's the year of the snake.. I decided to portray Thomas on his day (01/01) as a snake-man (??)

[pequenaotaku]

Hot Chocolate

"Sentiments are complicated. Sometimes, I feel like I'm like hot chocolate in a steaming cup. The sweet and the bittersweet mix together with the help of a spoon, becoming a delicious and addictive flavor right after the first sip.

I wish that spoon would spend more time mixing me. I wish it never left the cup."

Versão em português

Headcanon scene from episode 01 after the cut

"So, this is the famous Devenementiel?" I asked aloud, to no one but myself.

The company wasn’t housed in a huge building, one you’d notice from across the city, nor did it make much of a presence in the commercial area, but it was undoubtedly a modern construction. Clear, clean, with many windows surrounding practically the entire building. Small, discreet, yet with a refined appearance. It looked like an interesting place, and I hadn't even seen the inside yet.

I approached the glass door, peeking inside, although I couldn’t see much beyond a very classic and comfortable reception area. It seemed the office was on the first floor. There was no one there; I had arrived too early. I clicked my tongue, crossing my arms. I could have lingered in bed longer, as any good freelancer does when there are no projects to deliver. My shift at the vintage records and knick-knacks store didn't start until the afternoon, after lunchtime. There was no need to go in earlier, and I didn’t have any other plans for that morning, so I’d have to kill time there at the entrance while waiting for one of the employees to arrive.

A few minutes passed with me distractedly looking at the week's recommended playlist on Spotify. If I wasn’t working on a project and wasn’t in a place where I could indulge in being an idle freelancer lounging in pajamas at home all day, seeing what other musicians were up to online was a good pastime. It would never stop being delightful to hear the ideas other artists produced and released with so much passion, to experience a new type of rhythm, seek inspiration and references, be immersed in someone’s vocal or instrumental sound. I took my eyes off my phone screen for a second to look at the company building once more. I felt a tingling sensation all over my body, thinking about the work I could do to contribute to the partnership I was about to finalize. It hadn’t even been a week since I exchanged messages with my only acquaintance there about this, following his strong recommendation.

"You’re early, Collete," the deep, monotonous voice of Thomas resonated behind me. I couldn’t help but smile before turning around.

"Speak of the devil," I joked, watching with amusement as his expression shifted from a slight look of boredom to a curious one. He almost always got lost in his own head during our conversations. I had come to understand that it wasn’t because he found me boring, but rather because he wanted to decipher my words. I seriously wondered what he was thinking at that moment.

"Wouldn't it be 'talking about the devil'?" he raised an eyebrow. It seemed I wouldn’t find out the reason for his silence this time. I just shrugged. "I was put in charge of handling the administrative details for your arrival, including the hiring of another person, which means making two badges along with the identification key so neither of you would have to wait at the door to get in. And since, apparently, we need to be up at the crack of dawn to make them… Here I am, arriving after you," he seemed irritated about having to wake up so early after a long night of work while giving me that explanation that sounded more like a rant escaping his thoughtful mind. I didn’t blame him. It really did seem like a pain.

"I’m glad I’m not the only one who had to drag myself out of bed today."

"More than me, it seems," I saw a hint of a smile light up his face. I winked at him. "Anyway, it won't take long. I’ve already moved things along, so you don’t need to worry. Come on." Without giving me time to add anything, Thomas opened the door, beckoning me to follow him.

So, we took an elevator, and I finally had the pleasure of discovering the open space of the place, which couldn’t be compared to the modern facade. Suddenly, I even started to think that it seemed too cold to accommodate such a warm environment. Inside, it was a complete lively festival of colors, plants, and curious objects. There were no partitions, and amusingly, among the empty desks, I noticed that each table was not only uniquely decorated but also had very different chairs. None were the same. It might have been a small detail, but it showcased the personality of each employee working there. Thomas guided me to the most neutral, organized, and sober desk. It was undoubtedly his.

"You can sit, it won’t take long," he said mechanically as he pulled the chair from the desk next to his for me. It was strangely shaped like a dolphin. It was cute but seemed so uncomfortable and impractical. I began to doubt the sanity of its owner.

"With all due respect, I prefer to stand up, in this case.", I flashed a sly, sarcastic smile, earning another hint of a smile.

"I also don't understand why people here choose anything other than the classic office chair," he commented as he sat in his own chair, turning on the computer. "It's designed for comfort and good lumbar support. In ten years, everyone will be walking with a cane, except for me," I couldn't help but chuckle. I never ceased to find it amusing how, sometimes, he would say such things without a hint of malice. It was just logical and straightforward. "Your desk is this one in front of mine. You’re practically an honorary employee, but the boss thought it would be better if you had one to feel like you belong. You can choose a chair model for yourself later. There's someone who always supplies furniture for us, and his store has everything."

"Far be it from me to give you more work…" I began, with a falsely gentle, sweet voice. "But since you know him, I'll let you handle the negotiations. That said, any model similar to yours is fine by me," he sighed heavily.

"Very well, then I'll take care of it later."

"Don't be like that," I gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder. "Being the IT guy, manager of technology-related events, pressing buttons on a keyboard all day… I didn't give you a more torturous task than those things," I joked. He looked at me quietly for a while.

"You forgot to mention that I also greet new recruits," he simply retorted. I couldn't help but laugh again.

"Ouch," I put my hand on my chest, pretending to have been struck. This time, I really got a smile. Then, he opened a drawer and took out a folder, sighing loudly. "I agree with you, paperwork sucks."

"It's unbelievable how much time we waste on these things. Everyone should have a chip card with all our information registered. We'd scan the card and be done. All the information would be transmitted directly."

"That would be more practical, true," I agreed, shrugging. I had never stopped to think about it. He picked up a pen from a holder on his desk, looking at it with pity.

"Meanwhile, we'll stick with these… archaic methods," I blew air through my nose at his comment, shaking my head. He was incorrigible.

Taking the pen to sign the contract after a quick glance, as I had read it previously via message, I began to remember how we met. Pure coincidence. We both needed to buy a new refracting telescope, better known as a spyglass, as the old one was broken. It was the last one in the store and was on sale. I had my reasons for wanting it, and he had his. We argued for a long time under the weary gaze of the salesman, debating who, in my view, was more deserving to take it. Thomas was steadfast, he had arrived first. As for me, I needed to get it no matter what for personal reasons: to fulfill a tradition of promises made to my late older brother, to observe the showers of celestial bodies that occurred every year while drinking a bottle of hot chocolate in our special spot. It might have been nonsense; he was dead, after all. It's not like he was going to rise from the grave to demand that small promise I decided to make to no one and for no reason at all. But it made me feel closer to him; I didn't want to give up. In the end, somehow, we ended up splitting the cost, the telescope, and, on the night of the meteor shower, two bottles of hot chocolate accompanied by small childhood stories.

Nostalgia. Suddenly, I felt a strong desire to have a cup of that sugary, bittersweet delight.

After making the final curve of my name on the paper, Thomas took a laminated card from the drawer and handed it to me. It was my company badge that served to open the building's door. I stifled a laugh when I noticed that he had ignored the professional photo I sent and opted for my profile picture. Simply me making a face: a wide smile with my tongue out. One of my eyes was closed, and my hands were open beside my face, with my thumbs pressing against my cheeks. I liked it.

"Tom," I called his attention, pointing to the photo. A smile playing on my lips. "Is this really okay?" He just shrugged.

"That sounds more like you. The boss doesn't care so much about traditional professional standards; you'll quickly realize that if you haven't already," he replied simply, making a small gesture with his head to show the company's open space. It really didn't seem very conventional. "He's not the kind of person who evaluates people based on that kind of criterion."

"How funny… I'm starting to feel like I'm going to really enjoy working here."

"I'm glad you think so, because I spent a long time preparing and editing everything for your arrival. On the other hand, I don't understand what's so funny about it…" he commented somewhat reflectively. "It's just a picture of you; we can recognize you, and you look pretty. Traditional or not, it's still office work, not the most exciting thing in the world," I got stuck on his comment.

"Do you think I'm pretty in this photo?" I inquired with one raised eyebrow, exaggeratedly curious about his answer to that question. I had known him for almost a year now; I understood quite well how his little mind worked, modesty aside. But sometimes, I still struggled to differentiate when he was just being logical from when he was being sincere. If there was any difference between the two adjectives.

"It's a statement," he shrugged once again. "Your features are symmetric, your eyes are large, and your teeth are well aligned. These are parameters usually associated with beauty."

This time, I didn't stifle my laughter. Thomas Rheault was, without a doubt, an enigma. One that fascinated me a lot. If that was indeed a compliment, it was surely the least heartfelt one I had ever heard in my life. At the same time, it seemed so typical of him that I couldn't help but take it seriously. Maybe it wasn't that, maybe I was overthinking. It was always like this when it came to him.

"In any case, out of curiosity, what kind of person exactly is this boss?" I inquired, bringing the subject back. It was true that I hadn't had much contact with him. I was recommended by Thomas to work there in organizing one event or another; I liked my professional independence, but all the details involving the boring bureaucracies were solved through messages. My interaction with Devon Okere, the Big Boss, was limited to a brief phone conversation that barely lasted 10 minutes. He seemed like a mystery, or simply too unconcerned. However, being there, I noticed that, in addition to a free and unpretentious environment, there was also a lot of care. As a freelancer, I knew very well how complicated it could be to maintain a small business, let alone a physical office. So, I was quite curious about everything.

"I would say he's the instinctive type. As long as it works for him, he doesn't exactly have a reason to change methods," Thomas nodded, then glanced at the clock, then at the signed contract, and finally at me. "Well, it's done. The others won't take long to arrive. If you want to stay to meet them or take a walk around… Anyway, you have free rein here from now on."

"Uhm…" I pondered for a moment, licking my lips. I really didn't have anything better to do; what harm would it do to explore a little? Besides, a place like that really made you want to linger. "I think I'll take a stroll, yes. But mostly, I'd like to know if there's a kitchen here. I really need to quench my thirst."

Unexpectedly, he chuckled and stood up from his chair, standing right in front of me, forcing me to raise my head. Thomas was only a little taller than me, but throughout the conversation, I had seen him from above because I was standing and he was sitting. Now, however, and so suddenly, I felt a bit small and destabilized. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't even know why I felt that way, as if something should happen. It sounded so cliché.

"Of course, make yourself at home. Actually, I was thinking the same thing," he resumed, snapping me out of my little trance. "If you'd like, I can treat you to a welcome drink," he offered politely.

"Oh, I'd love that, definitely!" I exclaimed, back on track. Better than quenching my thirst was having that desire sponsored by someone.

"The drinks machine is in the pantry; come on," he called as he started to move away, a shadow of a smile floating on his lips. I hurried to follow him. "We can get there by passing through the lounge area."

Just like the open space, that area was enchanting. Large, well-lit, and with vibrant colors catching the eye. Several bean bags, on which I would love to sprawl out, were scattered around along with suspended chairs hanging from the ceiling by chains. Not to mention the beautiful view provided by the large windows from top to bottom. They were just buildings, yes, but I began to imagine a nighttime scene with one or two colored lights still on outside. I couldn't wait to rest there.

"Man, this place looks like a dream!" I exclaimed in wonder.

"Yeah, that's what most people say. But I'll show you something else really cool…" he said simply, piquing my curiosity.

I followed him once again towards the adjacent area, the pantry. At first glance, it looked like some of the hipster cafes I loved to visit. Another very open place, with lots of plants, even on the ceiling, alternating with lamps. In the center, a large round table with a tree in the middle and red swivel chairs around it. Near the windows, small tables with benches followed the same pattern. It was indeed a very beautiful place, but I didn't understand why Thomas found it more impressive until I met the famous drinks machine.

"What would you like?" he asked straight away.

"Let me see what's available first…" I retorted as I quickly glanced at the options the machine offered.

"Don't expect to see anything exotic or innovative."

"No, I know. I'm just saying that to see what I feel like," I shrugged, and then I saw exactly what I needed to see. I loved it when life became so convenient as to combine utility with pleasure. "A hot chocolate, please," the redhead smiled slightly. Maybe he expected that answer from me.

"Good choice…" he took out his phone from his pocket and typed something, then, as if following a command, the machine started working. Thomas looked at me with a proud gleam in his eyes, and immediately I sensed that it was his doing. Finally, he took the full cup and put the lid on to hand it to me. "There you go, a delicious hot chocolate on the house!"

"Thanks!" I gave him a knowing wink, reaching out to get my little indulgence.

When I took the cup, my fingers ended up over his. Our gazes met before he immediately turned away, freezing for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ground or anywhere but my face. I kept my gaze steady; I wanted so much to unravel him, to know what he was thinking at that moment. Focus. I might not be able to read minds, but I was good at picking up on subtle cues.

The seconds seemed to stretch on, his gaze moved to the cup we both held. His cheeks turned slightly pink, he furrowed his brows. Adorable. I could confidently say that the little crease that appeared on his forehead wasn't from disagreement. Maybe he was just confused, wrestling with himself in thought. His beautiful turquoise irises flickered from our hands to elsewhere in rapid movements.

Oh, I really didn't want to misunderstand things, or worse, jump to conclusions. But looking at him like that, I couldn't help but daydream a little as I observed the red curls falling across his face, adorned with a few charming freckles over his nose, his eyes subtly shifting between intense blues and greens.

Cliché. Cliché. Cliché.

Suddenly, he released the cup into my hands and cleared his throat, composing himself as if waking from a trance, pulling me out of mine as well. Everything suddenly felt awkward, as if we had been trapped in that moment for longer than necessary. I also had to clear my throat.

"Is everything alright, Thomas?" I needed to know, I was eager. He glanced at me once again. Unbelievable how mesmerizing his eyes were. I gave myself a mental shake, seeking concentration. I really needed to control myself better.

"I'm fine, yeah… Everything's okay," he murmured in a thoughtful tone. "It's just that… I wasn't expecting there to be… contact," he really must have been confused even with himself this time.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" I gave a nervous smile, choosing my words carefully. I did mean to. But he didn't need to know that yet.

"It's okay," he interrupted me in a natural way. I smiled more relaxed, and he returned the gesture, also making another request to the machine, a drink that I couldn't see, but he took a sip of as soon as he got it.

"Tom… Thanks a lot," I thanked him, squeezing the warm cup of my drink in my hands, also seeking to change the subject as quickly as possible. "But tell me, do you have an app to control this machine? How does it work?"

"I developed it so I wouldn't have to pay for drinks anymore. The app tricks the machine into thinking I've paid, and it serves me what I ask for," he explained automatically and simply, shrugging as if it were no big deal. I raised an eyebrow. Sometimes, I forgot how crafty he could be.

"And nobody sees a problem with that, clever boy?" I grinned mischievously.

"No," he nodded, shrugging. "Actually, after I developed the app, Devon explained to me that everything was already free. There's the coin slot, but it's… a vestigial structure. I never thought about trying to order without paying. I have plenty of coins in there, by the way. I need to remember to download a lockpicking course. Unless you're an expert at it…"

"I can manage, yes… If you give me half as payment," I negotiated, feeling clever. He judged me with his gaze, and I just shrugged, sticking out my tongue. I'm a freelancer, you don't get if you don't ask. "How would you prefer the job to be done? There's the boring conventional way, using tools, and…" I paused for effect. "The messy way, where I blow up the door. If no one minds, that is."

"It's not the most elegant solution…" he made a minimal, yet very funny, expression of disgust. I had to laugh. "I'd be bothered by the idea of damaging it, so let's stick with the conventional solution this time."

"Agreed, then."

"Well…" he quickly scanned the area after the topic was over. "I need to go start working, or this chocolate break tends to become longer than expected. We'll talk later, enjoy your tour."

Without waiting for a response, he returned to the open space. It took me a few seconds to decide to follow, but not exactly to his desk or mine. Taking a walk around the place might help distract my mind. I was in trouble. And I had known it for a while. I knew very well what those desires for his attention meant. Everyone's tired of seeing this story in movies, series, cartoons, games, and books. It was scary. He, however, would surely classify it as illogical, I was sure.

I sighed heavily, taking another sip of my hot chocolate, hoping that the sweet and bitter flavors would help cleanse my soul, covering up that complicated feeling for a while longer. The brief time until my golden eyes met his turquoise ones and all that cliché resurfaced again.

[stromuprisahat]

Another layer of the Darkling’s trauma I’ve recetly discovered, while I was thinking about Hannibal, specifically one of my favourite quotes:

Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real. Anchors us. We all need to be anchored.

There’s plenty of fanfics describing the Darkling’s scarred torso, BUT there’s no mention of scars, when we see him half-naked in books:

I tried not to notice the way he looked—his mussed hair, the shadowed ridges of his bare chest. He seemed so human, just a boy wounded in battle, or maybe sparring.

Ruin and Rising- Chapter 9

When we finally arrive at the banya, the Darkling is just emerging from the baths, pulling a clean shirt over his head. He really is something to look at, all lean muscle and pale skin beaded with moisture from the steam.

The Tailor

He’s not allowed to keep not only his name, but also his own history.

A single characteristic scar could give him away.

He’s not allowed to keep reminders of all those things he survived.

As if everything he went through didn’t really happen.

The only visible impact is on his psyche, and we all know that’s his fault, right?

[charlesleclerrc]

MAYANS M.C (2018-2023)

[andawaywewrite]

closed @rcted-x For Thomas and Lake

"You don't actually want to say no." He played the sad sap card far too well, forehead falling in against theirs as he reached for their hips, pulling her onto his lap with one hand and into a harsh kiss with the other. He'd come over to distract himself from his breakup, but Lake was so much more than a simple distraction. Every inch of her that his fingers moved against drew any thought of his ex out of his mind, forming a new infatuation with the blonde he was guiding to grind against his waist. "Don't you want to help me feel better? I already know you could make me feel so good..." His thoughts grew astray as his stiff, trapped, cock throbbed against the heat between her legs.

[opelman]

1964 Bill Thomas Motors Cheetah by David G. Schultz Via Flickr: Jeff Taylor

[katrasining]

Happy Birthday my wife ❤️

[rukcin]

[exorciqsm-0]

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAYY 🇬🇭🇬🇭

GHANA REPRESENT 🗣️‼️

🇬🇭HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY GUYS 🇬🇭

[thomas-reyes]

zadie @lrzadie​

“Oh please, it’s a public park, we’re hardly in the middle of Soho House don’t turn this into class snobbery.” Rolling her eyes as he sneered at her, Zadie might be rich as hell but the last thing she was, was snobby. In fact if anything she destained her family’s need to hold appearances above anything else, after all most of the worst things cost the most money. Like private school, that place was full of assholes.

“Aww, how touching. You’re such a good little husband aren’t you.” As for the bakery she wouldn’t know, unless they did above average coffee, it wasn’t really the kind of place she’d go into. Her eyes slid down to the camera, eyebrows still raised. Her silence speaking volumes with just a look - not buying his innocent act for a second. Kissing her teeth with her tongue she rolled her eyes, scoffing. Her career was built on attention to a point, not the type she gave it, but still she needed to remain relevant in order to book campaigns. It was almost as important as what she actually looked like these days. “I don’t like the kind of attention you bring to me. It’s funny, my PR team have started calling it a ‘Thomas Special’ when a journalist blows a tiny story about me out of proportion in order to gain clout for themselves. You know, as a shorthand.”

.

“Oh so Soho House would be uncharted territory for someone like me,” he pointed out. There was nothing that could ever stop him from manipulating words to his advantage, which made him a wet dream come true for the Sun. His smile didn’t falter. Maybe she’d only been born into the wrong family, but that didn’t make much a difference in his book.

“Weird world you live in. It’s normal to be kind and selfless with your wife,” a pause. A long pause, as he let that simmer. Ah, a mundane, anonymous life. He didn’t care much for the mundane, sure enough, but the shadow was were he felt comfortable for certain. “What can I say, I just love her enough to walk out on an empty stomach.” She’d come home late from work. She deserved a danish to start the day. And, if he could do something extra, something useful at the same time? Bonus points for him. “You don’t like the attention, you say but...” Well, that sounded fake. If she didn’t like it, then maybe did she ought to try to hide her bad behavior better. “That’s not what the camera or my pen says,” the smile he gave her then was one which dripped with faux-sympathy, an air of benevolence that just felt wrong. “What can I say. Grandeur has always inspired copycats, but I know I’m your favorite,” he cooed, pushing himself back, and forth from his toes to his heel again. “At least, I’m entertaining enough, aren’t I?”

[musebluebird]

NISHA X THOMAS (closed starter for @sakurapizza​)

Nisha was wondering if maybe it wasn't too late to turn around and get back on the plane to go home. This was exactly what she had been avoiding by taking double shifts at the hospital and trying not to coincide with the times she knew he would be home. She had tried by all means to spend as little time as possible with him unless it was strictly necessary like for a social event or gathering. The agreement had been that she would be a trophy wife. The single word infuriated her beyond measure. She was a doctor, she had endured medical school and residency but still she Nisha would rather go through that a thousand times over.

"So let see if I got it straight" Nisha reviewed looking around the suite he had rented "You talked to my boss to enable my vacation without my knowledge to drag me on a secret and romantic vacation for Valentine's Day to celebrate 'our love'?" She made an air quote gesture. Of course he knew she would have no problem leaving him hanging with it so he had spoken to his parents as well to tell them they were leaving for the weekend, her mother had texted him that morning long before Thomas show up to pick it up after the shift. Nisha hadn't understood what her mother meant but now she did. "Are you on drugs? I could be operating on a patient right now and you brought me to Hawaii?" She moaned almost in pain. Any OR sounded more appealing than having to vacation with him.

[pequenaotaku]

Chocolate Quente

"Sentimentos são complicados. Às vezes, sinto que sou como chocolate quente em uma xícara fumengante. O doce e o meio-amargo se misturam com a ajuda de uma colher, tornando-se um sabor delicioso e viciante logo após o primeiro gole.

Gostaria que essa colher passasse mais tempo me misturando. Gostaria que ela nunca saísse da xícara."

English version

Cena headcanon do episódio 01 após o corte

"Então, essa é a tal Devenementiel?", indaguei em voz alta, para ninguém além de mim mesma.

A empresa não se tratava de um edifício enorme, daqueles que se nota estando do outro lado da cidade, nem marcava muita presença na área comercial, mas sem dúvida era uma construção moderna. Clara, limpa e com muitas janelas rodeando praticamente todo o prédio. Pequena, discreta e ainda assim com uma aparência refinada. Tinha cara de ser um lugar interessante, e eu ainda nem tinha visto a parte de dentro.

Aproximei-me da porta de vidro, espiando o interior, embora não desse para ver muita coisa além de uma recepção bem clássica e confortável. Pelo visto, o escritório ficava no primeiro andar. Não tinha ninguém, eu havia chegado cedo demais. Estalei a língua, cruzando os braços. Poderia ter enrolado mais tempo na cama como todo bom freelancer faz quando não tem pedidos para entregar. Meu turno na loja de discos e outras quinquilharias vintage só começava a tarde, depois do horário de almoço. Não tinha necessidade de ir antes disso, e também não tinha nenhum outro plano elaborado para aquela manhã, então, teria que ficar fazendo hora ali na entrada enquanto esperava a chegada de um dos funcionários.

Alguns minutos se passaram comigo distraída olhando a playlist de recomendações de músicas da semana no Spotify. Se eu não estava trabalhando em um projeto e nem estava em um lugar que me permitia brincar de desempregada desocupada que passa o dia todo de pijama fazendo nada em casa, ver o que outros musicistas estavam aprontando online era um bom passatempo. Nunca deixaria de ser gostoso ouvir as ideias que outros artistas produziam e lançavam com tanta paixão, experimentar um novo tipo de ritmo, buscar inspirações e referências, ser levada por imersão no som vocal ou instrumental de alguém. Tirei os olhos da tela do meu celular por um segunto para olhar mais uma vez o prédio da empresa. Sentia um formigamento por todo o meu corpo, pensando no trabalho que eu poderia fazer para contribuir na parceria que estava prestes a fechar. Nem havia se passado uma semana desde que troquei mensagens com meu único conhecido daquele lugar sobre aquele assunto após receber uma recomendação forte dele.

"Você chegou cedo, Collete.", a voz monótona, porém profunda, de Thomas ressoou atrás de mim. Não contive um sorriso antes de me virar.

"Pensando no Diabo…", brinquei, observando com divertimento sua expressão se contorcendo de um leve ar de tédio para uma feição curiosa. Ele quase sempre se perdia dentro da própria cabeça durante nossas conversas. Já havia entendido que não era por me achar chata, mas sim por, justamente, querer desvendar as minhas palavras. E eu me perguntava seriamente no que ele estava pensando naquele momento.

"O correto não seria 'falando'?", ele ergueu uma sobrancelha. Pelo visto, eu não ficaria sabendo o motivo do seu silêncio daquela vez. Apenas dei de ombros. "Fiquei responsavél por cuidar dos detalhes da parte administrativa para a sua chegada, além da contratação de outra pessoa, o que inclui fazer dois crachás junto com a chave de identifiçação para que nenhuma de vocês duas precise ficar esperando na porta para poder entrar. E como, aparentemente, precisamos madrugar para fazê-los… Aqui estou eu, chegando depois de você.", ele parecia irritado por ter precisado acordar tão cedo após uma longa noite de trabalho enquanto me dava aquela explicação que que mais parecia um desabafo escapando de sua mente pensante. Eu não o culpava. Realmente parecia um porre.

"Fico feliz de não ser a única que teve que se obrigar a cair da cama hoje."

"Em todo caso, mais do que eu, pelo visto.", vi um esboço de sorriso iluminando o seu rosto. Pisquei um olho para ele. "De toda forma, não vai demorar. Já adiantei as coisas, então, você não precisa se preocupar. Venha.", sem me dar tempo para acrescentar mais nada, Thomas abriu a porta, chamando-me para ir atrás dele.

Então, pegamos um elevador e finalmente tive o prazer de descobrir o open space do lugar, que nem se comparava com a fachada moderna. De repente, até comecei a pensar que parecia fria demais para comportar um ambiente caloroso como aquele. Por dentro, era uma completa festa viva de cores, plantas e objetos curiosos. Não tinha nenhuma divisória e com isso, divertidamente, entre duas escrivaninhas vazias, notei que cada mesa não só era enfeitada de maneira bem única, como também possuíam cadeiras bem diferenciadas. Nenhuma se repetia. Podia ser pouco, mas expunha a personalidade de cada um dos funcionários que trabalhavam ali. Thomas me guiou até a mesa mais neutra, a mais organizada e mais sóbria. Sem dúvida era a dele.

"Pode se sentar, não vai demorar.", disse ele de forma mecânica enquanto puxava para mim a cadeira, estranhamente no formato de um golfinho, da mesa ao lado. Era bonitinha, mas parecia tão desconfortável e não prática. Comecei a duvidar da sanidade do dono, ou dona, dela.

"Com todo respeito, eu prefiro ficar em pé, neste caso.", esbanjei um sorriso ladino, sarcástico. Ganhei mais um esboço de sorriso.

"Também não entendo porque as pessoas aqui escolhem outra coisa além do clássico modelo de escritório.", comentou enquanto se sentava na própria cadeira, ligando o computador. "É feito justamente para conforto e bom apoio para a lombar. Daqui a dez anos, todo mundo estará andando com uma bengala, menos eu.", não contive um riso bem humorado. Nunca deixaria de achar uma graça como, às vezes, ele falava aquele tipo de coisa sem um pingo de maldade. Era apenas lógico e direto. "Sua mesa é esta na frente da minha. Você é praticamente honorária, mais ainda assim, o chefe achou que seria melhor se você tivesse uma para sentir que faz parte da casa. Pode escolher um modelo de cadeira para você mais tarde. Tem alguém que sempre fornece móveis para a gente, e a loja dele tem de tudo."

"Longe de mim querer te dar mais trabalho…", comecei, com uma falsa voz mansa, doce. "Mas já que é você quem o conhece, vou deixá-lo cuidar das negociações. Dito isso, qualquer modelo parecido com a sua está ótimo para mim.", ele suspirou pesadamente.

"Muito bem, então eu vejo isso mais tarde."

"Não fique assim…", dei-lhe um soquinho amigável no ombro. "Ser o cara do TI, gerente dos eventos ligados à tecnologia, ficar apertando botões em um teclado o dia todo… Não te dei uma tarefa mais tortuosa do que essas coisas.", brinquei. Ele me olhou quieto por um tempo.

"Você esqueceu de mencionar que também recepciono os novos recrutas.", rebateu simplesmente. Não contive outro riso.

"Ouch.", pus a mão no peito, simulando ter levado um rit. Dessa vez, realmente ganhei um sorriso. Então, ele abriu uma gaveta e pegou uma pasta, suspirando alto. "Concordo com você, papelada é um saco."

"Inacreditável o tempo que perdemos com essas coisas. Todo mundo deveria ter um cartão com chip com todas as nossas informações registradas. Escanearíamos o cartão e pronto. Todas as informações seriam transmitidas diretamente."

"Seria mais prático, é verdade.", concordei, dando de ombros. Nunca havia parado para pensar naquilo. Ele pegou uma caneta de um porta-objetos em sua mesa, olhando-a com dó.

"Enquanto isso, vamos ficar com esses métodos… arcaicos.", soprei ar pelo nariz com sua fala, negando com a cabeça. Ele não tinha jeito.

Pegando a caneta para assinar o contrato após uma rápida passada de olhos, pois eu já havia lido previamente por mensagem, comecei a me lembrar de como nos conhecemos. Pura coincidência. Nós dois precisávamos comprar um novo telescópio do tipo refrator, mais conhecido como luneta, já que o velho estava quebrado. Era o último da loja e estava em promoção. Eu tinha meus motivos para querer, ele tinha os dele. Batemos boca por um bom tempo sob o olhar cansado do vendedor, debatendo sobre, na minha visão, quem era o mais digno de levar. Thomas era sólido, havia chegado primeiro. Quanto a mim, precisava consegui-lo de qualquer forma por motivos pessoais: cumprir uma tradição de promessas feitas ao meu falecido irmão mais velho, observar as chuvas dos corpos celestes que aconteciam todos os anos enquanto bebia uma garrafa de chocolate quente num cantinho especial nosso. Podia ser besteira, ele estava morto, afinal de contas. Não era como se fosse levantar do túmulo para me cobrar aquela pequena promessa que decidi fazer a ninguém e sem propósito nenhum. Mas me fazia sentir mais próxima dele, não queria desistir. No fim, de algum jeito, acabamos dividindo o valor, o telescópio e, na noite da chuva de meteóros, duas garrafas de chocolate quente regadas a pequenas histórias da infância.

Nostalgia. De repente, fiquei com muita vontade de tomar uma xícara daquela delícia açucarada e meio-amarga.

Após fazer a última curvatura do meu nome no papel, Thomas pegou um cartão plastificado na gaveta e o entregou a mim. Era o tal do meu crachá da empresa que servia para abrir a porta do prédio. Prendi uma risada ao notar que ele havia ignorado a foto profissional que enviei e optado pela minha foto de perfil. Simplesmente eu fazendo uma careta: um largo sorriso com a língua de fora. Um dos meus olhos estava fechado e minhas mãos, abertas ao lado do rosto, com os polegares se pressionando contra minhas bochechas. Eu gostava dela.

"Tom…", chamei sua atenção, apontando para a foto. Um sorrisinho brincando em meu rosto. "Isso está mesmo tudo bem?", ele apenas deu de ombros.

"Essa soa mais como você. O chefe não se importa tanto assim com padrões profissionais tradicionais, você vai acabar entendendo isso rápido se já não suspeita.", respondeu simplesmente, fazendo um pequeno gesto com a cabeça para mostrar o próprio open space da empresa. Realmente não parecia muito convencional. "Ele não é do estilo que avalia as pessoas com base nesse tipo de critério."

"Que engraçado… Comecei a sentir que vou gostar bastante de trabalhar aqui."

"Que bom que você pensa assim, porque gastei um bom tempo preparando e editando tudo para a sua chegada. Por outro lado, não entendo o que isso tem de engraçado…", comentou meio reflexivo. "É apenas uma foto sua, podemos reconhecê-la, e você está bonita. Sendo tradicinal ou não, continua sendo um trabalho de escritório, não é a coisa mais emocionante do mundo.", travei num comentário seu.

"Você me acha bonita nessa foto?", ingaguei com uma sobrancelha erguida, exageradamente curiosa com sua resposta para aquela questão. Conhecia-o há quase um ano já, entendia bastante bem como a cabecinha dele funcionava, modéstia pate. Mas, às vezes, ainda tinha dificuldade de diferenciar quando ele estava sendo apenas lógico de quando estava sendo sincero. Se é que havia diferença entre os dois adjetivos.

"É uma constatação.", deu de ombros mais uma vez. "Seus traços são simétricos, seus olhos são grandes e seus dentes são bem alinhados. São parâmetros geralmente associados à beleza."

Desta vez, não prendi minha risada. Thomas Rheault era, sem dúvida nenhuma, uma incógnita. Uma que me fasinava muito. Se aquilo foi mesmo um elogio, com certeza foi o menos comovente de todos que já ouvi na vida. Ao mesmo tempo, parecia tão a cara dele que eu não poderia evitar de levar a sério. Talvez não fosse isso, talvez eu estivesse pensando demais. Era sempre assim quando se tratava dele.

"De qualquer forma, por curiosidade, que tipo de pessoa exatamente é esse tal chefe?", indaguei, retomando o assunto. Era verdade que não tinha tido muito contato com ele. Fui recomendada pelo Thomas a trabalhar ali na organização de um evento ou outro, gostava da minha independência profissional, mas todos os detalhes que envolviam as chatas burocracias foram resolvidas por mensagem. Minha interação com Devon Okere, o Big Boss, resumiu-se numa rápida conversa por telefone que mal passou dos 10 minutos. Ele havia me parecido ser um mistério, ou simplesmente despreocupado demais. No entanto, estando ali, notava que, além de um ambiente livre e descomplexado, tinha também muito zelo. Como freelancer, eu bem sabia como poderia ser complicado manter uma pequena empresa, ainda mais um escritório físico. Então, estava bem curiosa com tudo.

"Eu diria que ele é do tipo instintivo. Enquanto funcionar para ele, ele não tem exatamente motivo para mudar de método.", Thomas meneou com a cabeça, e então olhou para o relógio, depois para o contrato assinado e, em seguida, para mim. "Bom, está feito. Os outros não vão demorar para chegar, se quiser ficar para conhecê-los ou dar uma volta por aí… Enfim, você tem passe-livre aqui a partir de agora."

"Uhm…", pensei um pouco, passando a língua pelos lábios. Eu realmente não tinha nada melhor para fazer, que mal faria explorar um pouco? Além disso, um lugar como aquele realmente dava vontade de ficar mais tempo. "Acho que vou dar uma volta, sim. Mas principalmente, gostaria de saber se aqui tem alguma cozinha. Preciso muito molhar a garganta."

Inesperadamente, ele deu uma risadinha e se levantou de sua cadeira, ficando bem de frente para mim, obrigando-me a erguer a cabeça. Thomas era só um pouco mais alto do que eu, mas durante toda a conversa, vi-o de cima por estar de pé e ele sentado. Agora, no entando, e tão de repente, senti-me um tanto pequena e desestabilizada. Não sabia o que esperar. Nem sabia porque me sentia assim, como se algo devesse acontecer. Soava tão clichê.

"Claro, sinta-se em casa. Aliás, eu estava pensando na mesma coisa…", retomou, acordando-me de meu pequeno transe. "Se quiser, posso te pagar uma bebida de boas-vindas.", ofereceu educadamente.

"Ah, vou adorar, com certeza!", exclamei, de volta aos trilhos. Melhor do que matar a sede, era ter esse desejo sendo patrocinado por alguém.

"A máquina de bebidas fica na copa, vem.", chamou já se afastando, a sombra de um sorriso flutuando em seus lábios. Aprecei-me em segui-lo. "Podemos chegar lá passando pela área de descanso."

Tal qual o open space, aquela área era encantadora. Grande, bem ilumidada e com cores vivas saltando aos olhos. Vários puffs, nos quais eu até adoraria me esparramar, estavam dispostos pelo lugar juntamente de cadeiras suspensas penduradas no teto por uma corrente. Isso para não mencionar a bela vista que as grandes janelas que iam de cima a baixo proporcionavam. Eram apenas prédios, sim, mas comecei a imaginar um cenário noturno com uma ou outra luz colorida ainda acesa do lado de fora. Mal via a hora de poder descansar ali.

"Cara, esse lugar parece um sonho!", exclamei maravilhada.

"É, é o que a maioria diz. Mas vou te mostrar uma outra coisa legal de verdade…", disse simplesmente, atiçando minha curiosidade.

Segui-o mais uma vez rumo à área adjacente, a copa. De primeira, pareceu algumas das cafeterias hipsters que eu adorava visitar. Mais um lugar bastante aberto, um lugar com muitas plantas, até no teto, alternando-se entre luminárias. No centro, uma grande mesa redonda com uma árvore no meio e cadeiras giratórias vermelhas em volta. Próximo as janelas, pequenas mesas com bancos que seguiam o mesmo padrão. Era um lugar muito bonito, de fato, mas não entendi o porquê do Thomas achá-lo mais impressionante até eu conhecer a famosa máquina de bebidas.

"O que você vai querer?", perguntou na lata.

"Deixe-me ver o que tem primeiro…", retruquei enquanto dava uma olhada rápida nas opções que a máquina oferecia.

"Não espere ver coisas exóticas ou inovadoras."

"Não, eu sei. Falo isso apenas para ver o que me dá vontade.", dei de ombros, e então vi exatamente o que precisava ver. Adorava quando a vida se tornava tão conveniente ao ponto de unir o útil ao agradável. "Um chocolate quente, por favor.", o ruivo sorriu levemente. Talvez esperasse aquela minha resposta.

"Boa escolha…", ele pegou o celular do bolso e digitou algumas coisas, então, como que obedecendo a um comando, a máquina começou a funcionar. Thomas me olhou com um brilho cheio de orgulho no olhar e, imediatamente, captei que aquilo era obra dele. Por fim, pegou o copo cheio e colocou a tampa para me entregar. "Pronto, um delicioso chocolate quente gratuido saindo!"

"Valeu!", dei-le uma piscadela de cumplicidade, estendendo a mão para adquirir meu pequeno vício.

Quando peguei o copo, meus dedos ficaram por cima dos dedos dele. Seu olhar cruzou o meu antes de imediatamente se virar para outra direção e ele ficou paralisado por um instante, os olhos voltados para o chão ou qualquer outro lugar que não fosse o meu rosto. Manti meu olhar firme, queria tanto desvendá-lo, saber no que estava pensando naquele momento. Concentração. Podia não saber ler mentes, mas era boa em perceber os pequenos sinais.

Os segundos não pareciam mais passar, seu olhar subiu para o copo que nós dois segurávamos. Suas bochechas ficaram levemente rosadas, ele franziu as sobrancelhas. Adorável. Podia afirmar tranquilamente que a pequena ruga que surgiu em sua testa não era de contraditoriedade. Talvez só estivesse confuso, brigando consigo mesmo em pensamento. Suas belas íris turquesas se voltado para as nossas mãos e indo de um lugar a outro em movimentos rápidos.

Ah, eu realmente não queria entender as coisas da forma errada, ou muito menos me precipitar. Mas olhando para ele daquele jeito, não conseguia evitar de sonhar um pouco enquanto observava os cachos ruivos que caíam pelo seu rosto que possuíam algumas poucas e charmosas sardas sobre o nariz, os olhos que, sutilmente, oscilavam entre um azul e um verde intensos.

Clichê. Clichê. Clichê.

De repente, ele soltou o copo nas minhas mãos e tossiu para limpar a garganta, recompondo-se como se acordasse de um trase, puxando-me também do meu. Tudo pareceu, então, ficar constrangedor, como se tivéssemos ficados presos naquela cena por mais tempo do que o necessário. Também precisei pigarrear.

"Está tudo bem, Thomas?", eu precisava saber, estava ávida. Ele me encarou mais uma vez. Inacreditável como seus olhos eram hipnotizantes. Dei-me um tama mental, buscando concentração. Tinha mesmo que me controlar melhor.

"Está, sim… Tudo bem.", murmurou em um tom reflexivo. "Não foi nada, é só que… Eu não esperava que houvesse um… contato.", ele realmente deveria ter ficado confuso até consigo mesmo dessa vez.

"Ah! Desculpe, eu não queria que…", dei um sorriso nervoso, buscando as palavras com calma. Eu queria sim. Mas isso ele não precisava saber ainda.

"Não faz mal.", interrompeu-me de um jeito natural. Sorri mais tranquila, e ele me devolveu o gesto, também fazendo mais um pedido à máquina, uma bebida que não consegui ver qual era, mas que ele logo deu um gole quando a obteve.

"Tom… Valeu mesmo…", agradeci, apertando o copo quentinho pela bebida em minhas mãos, buscando mudar de assunto também o mais rápido possível. "Mas me diz, você tem um aplicativo para controlar essa máquina? Como funciona?"

"Eu o desenvolvi para não pagar mais pelas bebidas. O aplicativo faz a máquina acreditar que eu paguei, e ela me serve o que eu peço.", explicou de forma automática e simples, dando de ombros como se aquilo não fosse grande coisa. Ergui uma sobrancelha. Às vezes, eu esquecia como ele podia ser pilantra.

"E ninguém vê problema nisso, espertinho?", sorri ladina.

"Não…", ele meneou com a cabeça, dando de ombros. "Na verdade, depois que eu desenvolvi o aplicativo, o Devon me explicou que tudo já era gratuito. Tem a partezinha para inserir as moedas, mas é… uma estrutura vestigial. Nunca pensei em tentar pedir sem pagar. Tenho bastante dinheiro em moedas lá dentro, aliás. Preciso me lembrar de baixar um curso para destrancar fechaduras. A menos que você seja especialista no assunto…"

"Posso dar um jeito, sim… Se você me der metade como pagamento.", negociei, metida a esperta. Ele me julgou com o olhar, e eu apenas dei de ombros, pondo a língua para fora. Sou freelancer, quem não chora, não mama. "Como você prefere que seja feito o serviço? Tem o chato jeito convencional, utilizando ferramentas, e…", fiz suspense. "O jeito baguçado, no qual eu explodo a porta. Se ninguém ligar para isso, no caso."

"Não é a solução mais elegante…", ele fez uma expreção mínima, porém muito engrçada, de desgosto. Tive que rir. "Eu ficaria incomodado com a ideia de estragá-la, então, fiquemos com a solução convencional dessa vez."

"Combinado, então."

"Bom…", ele varreu rapidamente os olhos pelo lugar após o término do assunto. "Preciso ir começar a trabalhar, ou essa pausa para o chocolate tende a ficar mais longa do que o previsto. A gente se fala depois, bom tour para você."

Sem esperar uma resposta, ele voltou para o open space. Demorei alguns segundos até decidir ir atrás, mas não exatamente até a sua mesa e nem para a minha. Dar uma volta pelo lugar talvez ajudasse minha mente a se distrair. Eu estava ferrada. E já havia um tempo desde que constatei aquilo. Sabia muito bem o que aqueles meus desejos pela sua atenção significavam. Todos já casaram de ver essa novela nos fimes, séries, desenhos, jogos e livros. Era assustador. Ele, no entanto, com certeza classificaria como ilógico, eu tinha certeza.

Suspirei pesadamente, bebendo mais um gole do meu chocolate quente, esperando que o doce e o amargo ajudassem a lavar a minha alma, encobrindo aquele sentimento complicado por mais algum tempo. O curto tempo até que meus olhos dourados cruzassem com seus olhos turquezas e todo aquele chichê voltasse à tona de novo.

[cinesludge]

Movie #1 of 2023: Predator

Dutch: “RUN, GO! GET TO THE CHOPPER!”