Chopin elevator music
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Stacking the documents in a pile that I can recognize tomorrow, I set them to the side of my desk near my desktop computer. The other computer I stow in my work bag. Standing up, I grab my workout bag and head out of my office. I won't be seeing Christina tonight for a meal, and I'll spend the evening alone. So I thought I'd exercise at the workout facility here at Garner Inc. before heading home. It's past four, and maybe I'll be out of here after an hour or so of exercise.
Walking over to the elevator, I pass by Levi's office. He's inside, and waves to me with a smile.
"Did you have a productive day?" he asks.
"I sure did," I reply, "and a productive evening as well. After I go exercise a little."
"Do you know which floor it's on?" asks Levi in concern.
"The thirty-first, I believe?" I ask for confirmation, I also press the elevator button which is in the view of his office.
"Yes. That's the one."
"Should I hold the door?" I ask as the elevator arrives.
"Oh, no thank you. I'm almost done with my work, but will be returning home after I do," replies Levi.
"Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow," I say as I enter the elevator.
"See you tomorrow, Hogarth."
Pressing thirty-one on the panel, the doors shut and then slide down to the floor I pressed for. Some classical music plays in the elevator. Nice calm music with strings that I like. Whoever picked it must have good taste. I've never really explored classical music, but doing so might not be such a bad idea.
The doors open and I step out onto the thirty-first floor. Sure enough, behind a glass wall to the left is workout gear. Weights and running machines along with the other machines. Off to the right are changing rooms and the bathrooms as well. The lights are off in the foyer outside of the glass wall and the only light comes from inside of the workout section of the floor, casting where I stand in deep blue shadow similar to the color of the carpet.
I'm taking a step forward when something moving catches my eye from the workout room. Turning, I spot a running figure on a treadmill. Short, black hair, and pale skin. Azrael.
The way he runs on the treadmill is almost as if he's done it before. A long time ago. I suspect a past club he participated in. Wearing a tight white T-shirt with sleeves high up on the arms and black running shorts with matching shoes, he sprints out on the treadmill.
I don't realize until I notice that he's running at an extremely fast pace that I realize he maybe shouldn't be exerting himself as such. Smoking can damage lungs to the point where oxygen intake is not sufficient enough for the body. Running at that pace with his lungs might mean he'll knock himself out.
I'm just raising my foot and opening my mouth to call and move to tell him to stop, when the tiny movement of mine lets me see a timer on the treadmill. Thirteen seconds left, and I see that it's for the speed that he's running at. Maybe he'll be alright until it's over.
I'm holding my breath until the timer goes off and the treadmill gradually slows. Azrael also slows down his running, and once it stops he bends over on the treadmill to rest on the digital panel. His whole body glistens in perspiration, and his skin under his T-shirt is visible. I didn't realize until now that he's not as lean as I thought. Muscle lines are visible, hinting at a physique that matches. Soft lines indicate the specific size of his muscles. Less than mine, but definitely there in some respect.
Turning, Azrael walks off the treadmill toward a bench where a few towels and a water bottle sits. Or at least tries to walk over. He falls to his hands and knees as he gasps for air. Before I can even begin to move to help, he drags his body up and over to the bench, collapsing his upper body on it.
Reaching out with a hand, he grabs the water bottle as he takes a drink, his Adam's apple bobbing in his neck that is visible due to his upturned head. A drop of sweat trickles down his neck. The workout has clearly was intense. Thinking about my own physical capacities, I probably could not have been able to run at the pace of his sprint for a prolonged amount of time. Much less reach it. I can definitely lift more as my shoulders are wider. But in no universe am I probably faster.
Azrael leans on the bench for a while longer and manages to catch his breath. Then standing, he goes around cleaning the treadmill where he leaned, the spot he fell, and the bench he leaned, which all have been touched by his sweaty body. He cleans all of them with sanitary wet-wipes he got from the cabinet next to the bench. After he does so he sprays the whole place with scented air freshener before grabbing the used towels and water bottle of his and exiting the gym; stumbling out.
Subconsciously, I duck into the changing room, and through the blue fogged glass door I see Azrael's shadow stumble over to the elevator doors, and then goes up or down somewhere. Maybe he's gone home where he'll shower.
Exiting the locker room, I try to figure out why I hid from him. I feel as if I've intruded on part of his life I shouldn't have seen. His weakened state during his workout. Not something most people would want others to see. I wouldn't want people to see me on the ground gasping for breath. And that made me want to hide from him. To help his privacy.
And maybe that scene of him just...was alluring to me. If I had confronted him I would have been a blushing bumbling mess. And that would have been uncomfortable to handle.
Walking into the workout room, the smell of clean flowers wafts around. The spots Azrael wiped with the wet wipes are only slightly damp anymore. No other trace of him lingers. Unfortunately.
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Walking out onto the thirty-third floor, I note that sunlight filters in from the windows and and hits the plant outside the elevator. Levi I think is already in, and I hear his muffled voice talking on a phone through his closed office door. I turn and head to my own office.
After settling in for the morning and checking my email, I grab the paper with the list of things to do. It didn't strike me until after I got home that things to pass time outside of a job would be called a hobby. So I pretty much put together a list of hobbies to do. I'm guessing that because Azrael said that he didn't know what to do to spend extra time beside work that he doesn't have any hobbies. But, I could be mistaken.
Setting my things down, I pull the list of hobbies out of my bag and walk out of my office. Stopping in front of Azrael's office door, I sponsor a moment to take a breath. What I saw yesterday with Azrael passes through my head. His body, which keeps popping up pleasantly in my head covered in sweat.
But it shouldn't as I'm in a relationship with Christine, and I don't want to put her or our relationship in a tight spot. Not to mention that the relationship itself should stop me from thinking about anybody else.
Remembering that, I knock on his door, to which he bids me enter. So I do so.
Inside, Azrael sits at his chair as usual, and today he's in just a white button-up shirt and black pants. The usual scene of papers scattered around his desk is today missing somewhat. Or at least there's fewer papers.
Walking closer to his desk, I notice that Azrael is not as pale as usual. Rather, his skin has distanced itself from the pale-blue color to take on a softer, warmer skin tone. More pink than before. I suppose yesterday's workout might've helped his complexion, though there's only a slight difference in skin tone.
"I brought the list I promised yesterday of things to do, though I could only really think of hobbies that you could do," I say as I hand him the paper.
"Oh, well, I think that will still benefit me," says Azrael gratefully as he takes the paper from me.
"Photography, reading, knitting, writing..." reads off Azrael.
His voice also has gotten softer, only slightly. The harsh itch in his throat is not as prominent, and the mellow tones have expanded more. It's nicer to my ears.
"...music," ends Azrael.
The last candidate seems to have caught his attention as he sets the paper down and thinks for a moment about it.
"I think I like the idea of music," says Azrael as he proves my assumption correct, "I really do like music."
"Do you play an instrument?" I ask curiously.
"I...I used to," says Azrael, and blushing for some reason.
"Why are you blushing?" I ask, a smile cracking out on my face.
"I...it's just that I've got a piano at home. But I have't touched it since I got it some time ago. Due to work. And...that just made me self-conscious about how I must appear to you," explains Azrael.
"Why would you be self-conscious?"
"I just think I appear as a wreck, and that makes me embarrassed," says Azrael, looking away and at his computer.
"If it's any consolation, everyone is broken in some shape or another," I say in support.
"Well," says Azrael as his eyes meet mine, "I may be more broken then the world."
"But besides that," says Azrael as he brushes off his remark, "I was also wondering what you think I could do to get over my smoking...habits."
"Well," I say as I think of a few options, "you could start chewing gum or eating candy instead of smoking. That might help you to cope with the usual habit of having something in between your lips."
"Chewing gum, or candy," says Azrael as he writes what I said on a notepad on his desk. I realize that his writing even though coming from such a tiny hand is curved and slanted at an angle that is bold. It's nice to read.
"I might ask you," says Azrael as he looks up from his writing at me, " as another errand to go buy me some chewing gum and candy. I'll reimburse you for the expenses."
"I can do that," I say with a smile, "do you have any preferences?"
"Um...not really. Anything that you can get me would be wonderful," says Azrael with a smile. The smiles doesn't seem to reach his eyes. It does move with his smile, but his mouth smiling makes his eyes look sad almost.
I notice again that his teeth are all very well taken care. White and perfect. From what I know smoking would stain them. But his seem very healthy. And they don't look fake. Not unnaturally white, but not bleached either. Just naturally pristine.
I stop staring at his teeth when I realize that I have a job to do and also remember where I am.
"Well," I say as I walk over to the office door, "I'll get that candy and gum ASAP."
"Thank you," says Azrael.
I'm opening the door to leave when he calls out to me. I turn to look.
"I'm...thankful that you're my assistant," he says, smiling again. "I just wanted to say thank you for being my assistant."
Seeing him smile flutters my hear, and I can't for a moment get my voice. But I somehow do.
"It's my pleasure."
And then I close the door, but inside is where I feel I should be.