***

"Herr Dalgaard!"

"Don't shout," Bjorn said gruffly and gave a heavy look to the secretary who had entered the office.

The girl wrinkled her neat nose, expressing her disgust at the stench of alcohol, and approached the table where the man was sitting.

"Did you stay at the bar until closing time again?" she asked while laying out the file folders on the table. "Third time this week. It looks like you're binge drinking already."

"Are you my mother?" the man asked tiredly. "Stop scolding me."

"I wish you well," the girl replied. "That's why I invited you to dinner. I'm a great cook, and you're turning your nose up."

"You're the one who's turning your nose up at me," Bjorn couldn't resist putting his hand under Karin's skirt and pinched her booty, for which he received a folder on the head.

"Dinner first, horndog," the girl twisted and flirtatiously straightened her hair, smiling bitchily at the young boss.

"I'll think about it," he promised, though his face turned green at the thought of food. "Bring me some coffee with brandy."

"You'll do without it," the «viper» grinned and put a glass of cool soda on the table and a package of menthol candies beside it. "You have a meeting in ten minutes. Hurry up. The clients won't wait."

"Go away, you little hag," Bjorn pointed to Karin at the door, and drank the water in a gulp. Then he ate a candy and got up, picking up the necessary files from the table.

The forced night 'walk' and the hangover had done its job. The man still felt nauseous and had a terrible headache, but for the sake of the contract, he tried to get a grip on himself and left the office with a more or less steady gait.

Catching his own reflection in the mirror, he concluded that he looked passable and headed for the stairwell, where a vaguely familiar guy bumped into him.

The guy waved his hands in a funny manner and dropped some folders. Bjorn's folder also fell to the floor. The sheets flew out and mingled with the other sheets.

The devil could tell which contract was which!

"Watch where you're going, you moron!" the man growled, sitting down on the steps and picking up whatever documents he could get his hands on.

However, not all of them were safely dispersed over the upper floor.

Some of the sheets were at the bottom of the stairs, others flew one floor below, and some slipped through the gap between the railings and disappeared from view.

***

The day that began with a broken plate, did not bode well for Tobias.

He was still very tired and longing for sleep. Moreover, Toby was hungry. His meager breakfast had mixed with the ceramic shards scattered across the kitchen floor. He didn't have time to prepare a new one, and he lacked the money to buy a sandwich or a hot dog. So, the guy had to go to work on an empty stomach.

When Toby crossed the firm's threshold, he was dumbfounded by the news of his 'promotion'. Now he had to work in the sales and finance department. And it was a real headache.

The kind-hearted fru Brehl, who lived next door to Toby and worked in the same department, warned him that he would now have to work twice as hard. After all, few people could withstand the crazy rhythm of the eighth floor.

For a few minutes the woman complained about how lonely she would be in the archives. Then she handed Tobias a piece of meat pie and wished him good luck.

But luck turned out to be a bitch; and instead of a smooth, silky walkway, it erected a 'wall' in front of him, into which Toby crashed, painfully hitting and dropping his papers, which scattered on the floor and several flights of stairs like autumn leaves.

Unfortunately for Toby, the 'wall' turned out to be Herr Dalgaard, his grumpy boss, who was not in the best of moods. He snapped at the guy and began to gather his own documents.

"You'd better watch where you're going," Tobias said with a scowl, picking up the folders and hastily stuffing the papers into them. "Or do you also hit the bottle in the morning? If so, you ought to see a doctor. Alcoholism is no joke."

"What did you say, pimple?" Bjorn snarled and looked up.

The guy he had encountered during yesterday's adventure looked at him reproachfully. His eyes, though unassuming and pale, seemed huge, densely outlined with eyeliner pencil. And his fluffy eyelashes, tinted with mascara, could rival those of any pretty girl.

"I have a meeting in five minutes, you dummy," the man said through gritted teeth, looking up from the guy's skinny face, which had too many piercings on it. "You run downstairs and get the papers, and I'll take care of these files."

Bjorn sat down on the top step and, startling a few workers who wanted to come down, spread out the documents on the steps to pick out the ones he needed.

'What's the trouble with this guy?' the man thought irritably. 'The second encounter and such... to hell with him!'

Collecting the papers on the two lower floors wasn't difficult for Toby. But he didn't want to go back up to that big-headed upstart.

The night before, Tobias had thought the man's rudeness was due to a bullies' attack, but now he realized that he was wrong. It was simply that Herr Dalgaard belonged to the common type of 'ordinary asshole'. People like him usually hatched from eggs incubated by some very important penguin, only to ruin the lives of other people.

Regardless, he didn't want to lose his job. Besides, he earned a lot more in this office, even part-time, than he did in a whole shift at the store. So he clenched his teeth and tried to calm down.

Toby quickly returned to the eighth floor and handed papers to the man.

"Take yours, please," he said trying not to look at the boss. "That seems to be it."

"Give it to me," Bjorn snatched up the documents, looked through them, and put aside the ones he needed for the meeting.

The guy waited, shifting from one foot to the other, but did not lecture or criticize, for which the man was sincerely grateful.

"These are yours," Bjorn stood up impetuously when he finished, and handed the guy the rest of the documents. "You'll figure it out, won't you? If not, go to my secretary's office and let her help you. Tell her I said so. And don't stand in the way!"

He moved the guy easily, as if he were a cardboard mannequin, and ran downstairs, cursing under his breath at everyone who got in his way.

The customers were already waiting for him. And not only does he smell of booze, but he's also late.

Tobias stared after the man, not even daring to breathe. The touch of the man's strong, large hands sent shivers down his spine, and his cheeks flushed so intensely that his face began to burn with heat.

Gods! He needs to find someone right away. At least for a blowjob. It's not normal to react like this to a simple touch.

"Why are you standing there like a dick at a birthday party*?!" a man in a formal suit pushed the guy roughly and painfully on the shoulder and rushed down the stairs, muttering something to himself.

Toby took a deep breath, pressed his papers to his chest, and looked at the sign above the door.

The inscription on it said that the sales department was on the other side of the door.

But in Toby's opinion, the name of the department should have been changed. Because there was no other name for this floor than 'Assholeland'.

***

"Why not, Herr Helm?" Tobias had been trying for several minutes to persuade the shopkeeper to let him work the night shift, but the old man was adamant.

After a confrontation with the pompous manager of the sales department, Toby received a severe reprimand for the first time in his short career. The jumbled papers were in the biggest mess, and Toby had to run all over the floor to find who they were addressed to. As a result, some documents were not sent on time, and he was fined.

In Toby's opinion, this was a blatant injustice. After all, the promotion should have improved his financial situation, not forced him to ask for extra hours of part-time work.

But here, too, he was unsuccessful.

"Herr Helm, I can do it," Toby reassured the gray-haired boss. "Besides, I'm not tired at all. And Agatha agreed to let me replace her."

"Yeah, right! He's not tired," the old man mocked grumpily. "You can hardly stand on your feet. Go home, I tell you! You need to sleep."

"I need to sleep, too, actually," the girl intervened in the conversation.

"You need to think less about boyfriends and work more. You're so lazy!"

Agatha pouted indignantly and was about to reply to the old man, but Tobias interrupted her:

"Herr Helm, I really need this shift. Very, very much."

"Indeed, Herr Helm, let him. Where did you ever see a young worker voluntarily ask for extra hours? That's ridiculous!"

"That's not ridiculous at all!" The old man objected and looked sternly at Toby. "Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Not a girl! They're good at hiding everything under makeup. So skillfully that when you wake up, you don't know in what hell you dug up such a scarecrow. And you're a guy! You can't hide behind makeup. Your eyes are red. Your face is pale. Your lips are chapped. You'll scare the customers away! Go home! Get some sleep. Then we'll talk about the extra hours."

Tobias wanted to object, but the man shook his head emphatically and walked away, limping on his left leg.

"I'm sorry," Agatha looked sadly at Toby. "I really tried."

"It's okay."

The guy smiled crookedly, trying not to think about the fact that now he would have to live hand to mouth for a month.

"Look, Toby, why don't you take it?" She handed him her dinner, wrapped in a paper bag. "I need to take better care of my weight."

"And don't eat?" the guy was surprised. "Don't be silly! You don't need to diet. You're beautiful as you are. I should go. Have a good shift."

He waved his hand and gave a forced smile to the employee, then quietly left the store and slowly walked home.

The night was cold and wet. The moon was hidden behind heavy clouds that brought rain. And if it weren't for the dim lanterns scattering the thickening darkness, it would have been hard to make out the road.

Turning at the crossroads, Tobias looked in the familiarly direction of the already closed bar, which was immensely beloved by Herr Rude from his office.

On his way home, the guy often saw his boss stumbling out of the bar with friends, colleagues, or some women.

And tonight was no exception.

But this time Herr Dalgaard was alone. He was sitting on the side of the road with his head low and swaying dangerously from side to side.

Toby wanted to pass by indifferently and leave the man to freeze or wait for the police, but his conscience wouldn't let him do that.

The guy sighed dolefully, knowing that he would surely regret this sudden outburst of sympathy, and approaching the man, he called out softly to him.

Herr Dalgaard raised his head lazily and stared at Toby with a completely intoxicated expression.

"Who are you?" he asked, barely moving his tongue, and then dropped his head again.

Tobias just shook his head and tugged at the man's shoulder.

"Are you waiting for a taxi?" he asked.

But the man didn't answer.

He tilted dangerously sideways and started to roll onto his side, as if he intended to sprawl out on the pavement like a well-fed cat at his mistress's feet.

"Hey, Herr Skunk! Don't you dare sleep here. This isn't a bed-and-breakfast!" Toby shouted indignantly and grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him up. "Get up! Get up, I said! You can't lie here uselessly!"

The man mumbled something unintelligible, and then laughed drunkenly. Toby hushed, trying to make out his words, but soon gave up the pointless endeavor.

"What a punishment!" the guy moaned softly, forcing the man to stand up.

Then he put his shoulder to the man for support.

"Please, just don't fall down," he urged, and, bending under the man's weight, he slowly stepped forward.

It was challenging to carry a man in such a drunken stupor on his back. But Toby handled the task with dignity.

Of course, he and Herr Dalgaard did fall down a couple of times, which made the man's suit look more like a rag and Toby looked like a regular in a garbage dump. But they arrived home more or less safely.

Afterwards, the guy spent almost half an hour trying to get Herr Drunkard to climb the stairs to the fourth floor.

In doing so, he had to cover the man's mouth three times, as the man was attempting to entertain the entire building with his untalented singing. And by the time Toby finally entered the apartment and placed the inebriated man on the only single bed in the room, he was exhausted and felt as if he had spent half the night unloading containers of fish at the port.

After covering his uninvited guest with an old, worn blanket, Toby went into the kitchen, where he fell asleep with his hands folded on the table and his head resting on them.

Notes:

*to stand like a dick on a birthday party – it is a Russian idiom.

This phrase has two meanings:

1) To stand for no reason, impeding someone;

2) About a person whose behavior is perceived as overly proud, self-righteous, arrogant;