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Burt walks Irving through the back end of O&D and back out into the hallway. The O&D staff hardly spare him a glance as they pass through, busy producing new objects. One of them has a shovel almost as tall as Helly in their hands, something that Irving makes a mental note of and then tries to unmake a mental note of, but can’t. He shouldn’t know that something like that exists, but he will have to tell his MDR colleagues that he knows about it.
Felicia slides her glasses to the end of her nose and gives them a knowing look. Whether or not there is disapproval in it, Irving can’t say, but it burns through him anyway. He stands up straighter and holds his head high, picking up his pace to walk beside Burt instead of trailing behind him. They have done nothing wrong. They could have done worse. Irving’s heart is still hammering inside his chest from how close they were, in that room, to kissing. Irving pressed his forehead so tightly to Burt’s, trying to will their minds to touch, trying to tell Burt that it isn’t his fault that Irving isn’t ready.
At the door, Burt holds Irving’s hands between his. Irving has never been touched this much before, with such deliberate care, with only the desire to touch for touching’s sake. Burt’s hands are dry and cool, and Irving worries he doesn’t hydrate enough up there. It isn’t his job to worry, but he can’t help it. Ever since he met Burt, there’s been a lot of feelings he can’t help.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Burt says. His hands squeeze Irving’s once, twice, then let go.
All Irving can do is nod and turn around. The last hour replays in his mind instantly, like a film in a machine. The buzzing, serene beauty of the plant room, which was so rare and new, Irving couldn’t even begin to describe it to anyone. The way Burt let him into a place that was only his, and made it theirs. How Burt’s eyes twinkled and the sweet, mischievous loophole way he asked if he could kiss Irving.
Irving stops on the winding way to MDR to lean his back against the wall. Every single inch of him wants to turn around now and grab Burt’s face and kiss him. He settles for his own fingers, touching them to his bottom lip, tugging on it gently. The moustache would probably tickle, but that's something he can hardly get rid of here.
It's unbelievable Burt likes Irving enough to show him something secret and new, to want to hold his hand and kiss him, to treat him as something precious and special. Irving is cool in Burt's eyes, a party guy, a disco king. Irving has knowledge of what disco is stored in his mind, but he's never heard the music. For his previous MDE he did not choose to play Reckless Disco - it sounded too, well, reckless.
Once, Dylan called him a goody two-shoes and it rubbed Irving so wrong it made him feel as uneasy as the scary numbers in a file. Irving doesn’t love all the rules at Lumon, but he respects them. He just wants to be good. He just wants to be a part of something good. His shoes have nothing to do with it.
He wonders if Burt has shown anyone else that plant room before, if he's held anyone's hand like that before Irving came along. If he's ever kissed anyone down here. Irving has never been kissed, and he's sure he's just made that painfully obvious. Burt was so kind and understanding about Irving's rejection. To Irving, it wasn't really a rejection. To Irving, it was a promise - another time. Next time.
Tame in me the tempers four, Irving chants inside his head, finally getting himself to move. Tame in me - tame in me -
That I may feel thy touch divine -
~*~
Irving sits down at his desk and immediately lowers the wall that separates him from Dylan. He has no idea where Mark or Helly are, and actually, he is grateful for their absence at this moment. He has only the courage to ask one person right now. Dylan braces himself, a reaction that is as rude as it is earned. Petey used to say Irving was a know-it-all, and though it was supposed to carry a negative connotation, it didn’t bother Irving. It isn’t his fault he knows it all.
"What," Dylan says flatly.
"Have you ever..." Irving hesitates. He feels silly asking all of a sudden, because the answer is quite obvious. He isn’t in the mood to get made fun of, and asking a silly question is a guarantee of that.
"Just spit it out," Dylan says. "I have work to do."
"Have you ever kissed anyone?" Irving says.
“Yeah, of course,” Dylan says. Irving is stunned silent by the answer except for a puff of breath that leaves his mouth involuntarily. “I know my outie is kissing regularly. With tongue, no doubt. Probably all the MILFs I told you about.”
“Alleged milves,” Irving says, relieved. He can’t quite recall what a MILF is in the moment, and to ask again would derail the entire conversation. “And I meant. Down here.”
"Ew, no!" Dylan says, furious and repulsed. "Who the fuck am I supposed to kiss down here? Mark? It's slim pickins, man."
"I thought as much," Irving nods to himself, the confirmation that he isn't the only person going without kissing on the severed floor a comforting balm.
Dylan narrows his eyes. "Why are you asking? Did you and your dumbfuck boyfriend kiss or something?"
"He's not my boyfriend," Irving says. "And he's not a dumbfuck!"
"Sure," Dylan says. "Burt and Irving sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."
Irving slams the wall back up before Dylan can see how flustered he is. He doesn't know if it's worse to let Dylan believe he and Burt have kissed, or to explain to him why they haven't - that Irving is a goody two-shoes after all. He's so bent on listening to what's in the handbook, the words of the Founder, that he's all twisted up inside, wanting to kiss more than anything and feeling like he can't. On the other hand, he feels giddy with how close to the truth Dylan is. He almost feels like he’s been on his first date, and he wants desperately to tell somebody all about it. Maybe not yet - it’s still only his and Burt’s to have.
Your outie is skilled at kissing and lovemaking, Ms. Casey’s strange, reassuring voice replays in his head. Irving made a noise upon learning this about himself - his outie, for which she chastised him, but it affected him so ferociously he felt as though he’d been punched in the sternum. He would be curious to know if those particular skills would leave him in the elevator on the way down, or if they’d still be in his body, inherent and second nature. History lives in them, whether they know it or not. Irving's kissing history is part of him, though he can't recall any of it. Maybe Irving has muscle memory of being kissed, and that's why he wants it so badly. But if his outie kisses so much that he's great at it, does that mean he has a partner with whom to kiss and to make love? If that's the case, he absolutely should not be kissing Burt, or anyone else. Irving is loyal, he knows he and his outie share that much. Or worse still, what if Burt's outie has someone? Kier help him, the last thing Irving wants is to get in the middle of someone else's relationship.
Lovemaking is another beast entirely. Where would they even do it? In the conference room? Irving is getting ahead of himself. Lovemaking comes after kissing, or at least that’s what he believes in his heart. And kissing, of course, comes after dating.
Irving lowers his cube wall again. "Did you notice if there were any vending machines in O&D?"
"No," Dylan says shortly, clacking away at his keyboard.
"No, you didn't notice? Or no, there weren't any?" Irving says.
"Jesus, Irving, I didn't notice," Dylan says. "Why?"
"I just thought..." Irving says, folding his hands in front of him. "Maybe Burt would like to have lunch with me. Do you think he would like that?”
“He probably only eats human flesh, dude,” Dylan says, but his heart isn’t in it like it used to be, even just a few days ago. He sighs. “Okay, look. Yeah, Irv, that old sick fuck probably would like that.”
“Oh,” Irving says, smiling to himself.
“And just this one fucking time, okay, you can have my tokens for the vending machine,” Dylan says.
“What?” Irving says, so stricken by Dylan’s act of kindness he could burst into tears all of a sudden. “You’re sure, Dylan?”
“Yeah,” Dylan says, waving his hand in the face of Irving’s unbridled emotion. “That way he’ll have something to chomp on that isn’t your guts. Okay? So go before I change my mind.”
Irving has his jacket on and is in the kitchen before Dylan can finish his sentence. He has to remain calm and collected. If Mr. Milchick catches onto any of this, not only will Irving be in trouble, but so will Dylan, and so will Burt most likely.
A sharp stab of anger spikes through him and then closes over before he can examine it closely. He isn’t doing anything wrong, and nothing in the handbook says anything about giving your vending machine tokens away for free. Sharing a meal is innocent.
The vending machine offers quite a bit of variety. Irving is a creature of habit and rarely strays from his usual choices - sunflower seeds and shriveled raisins. The sunflower seeds give him a warm, frolicky, nostalgic feeling, though he has no recall for what he could be nostalgic about. The raisins are just for something a little sweet after. He isn’t sure what Burt would like out of the choices they have, but he knows they share similar interests, though they are nowhere near identical in taste. He chooses things that are complementary in flavor and texture, roasted and salted peanuts with Irving’s sunflower seeds and dried blueberries with Irving’s raisins.
Irving holds the snacks in the crook of his arm and heads out. He makes it all the way to the open entrance of O&D before the nerves set in. This is so stupid. There is no way Burt wants to eat lunch with him. He probably eats lunch with someone else in his own department, and he probably likes the edamame and cubed ginseng, and Irving is making an ass of himself even trying.
Felicia clears her throat from a hidden corner of the front room of the department. Irving nearly drops his raisins. She rolls her eyes, but she points to the other side of the room and quietly disappears into the back.
“Hello Burt,” Irving says, shaking one of the snack boxes so it rattles.
“Oh,” Burt says, and his tone is so surprised. It isn’t until he turns around with a big smile on his face that Irving knows it’s a good surprise. “Back so soon?”
“Yes,” Irving says, voice quivering slightly. His body is acting like he ran full speed the entire way here, with the way his blood is rushing through his veins. “I was just thinking, well, I didn’t notice if there were vending machines close by O&D, and I thought, well, I could bring something by, and maybe you would like to join me for something to eat?”
“Irving,” Burt says. He takes his glasses off his face and lets them hang around his neck. “That sounds wonderful.”
~*~
Irving takes his jacket off and lays it out on the floor for them to sit on and spread out their food. The plant room is still as wondrous as it was earlier in the day, but it is nothing compared to Burt. He’s obviously an older hire much like Irving himself, but the nimbleness he displays in lowering himself gracefully to the ground is impressive. Irving thinks his own outie must walk a lot, the muscles in his legs are strong and defined, but his knees still creak embarrassingly when he sits. Burt doesn’t mention it. His eyes are such a lovely shape, like a cat’s, maybe, and so bright and deep. Irving has never met a cat, but he'd like to.
Maybe instead of the conference room, this room would be ideal for lovemaking. Sequestered, beautiful - romantic. To stop his thoughts from going any further Irving busies himself with opening the food boxes.
“Do you like the design of these?” Burt says, holding up the raisins. “It was my idea to put ‘shriveled’ on this one.”
“Really?” Burt says. Burt has always thought that putting ‘shriveled’ on a box of raisins was strange and redundant - of course raisins are shriveled. But now he sees it in a new light, through Burt’s lovely eyes. “The boxes are all very striking. They make you want to see what’s inside. The raisins are my favorite.”
“Ah, that’s wonderful,” Burt says. He leans back on his hands and stretches his legs out, his knee brushing against Irving’s where he sits across from him. “And I see we’re having blueberries, peanuts, and sunflower seeds as well. How did you know?”
“Know what?” Irving says, arranging the boxes so they can both take from them easily.
“These are all my favorites,” Burt says, knocking their knees together.
“Oh,” Irving says, pleased at knowing someone without having to ask. “Well, we’re so alike in thought. I guess I just know you. Dig in.”
They both reach for the peanuts at the same time, their fingers colliding at the lip of the container. Irving takes his hand away and lets Burt go first. Burt digs out a heaping helping of nuts, and holds his hand out until Irving cups his palm underneath it, accepting the nuts from him. They’re slightly body warm from being in Burt’s fist, and Irving holds them in his mouth for a moment before chewing.
“Do you ever wonder,” Irving says.
“Why this place is here?” Burt says, looking around them at all the plants. The green is so soothing and tranquil, it’s a wonder every room isn’t filled with them. It might help with morale.
“No,” Irving says. “I mean, yes, but that’s not what I was going to say.”
“We think it’s just the guys upstairs who have a reserve of plants in case one of theirs dies,” Burt says. “Or they give them to each other as gifts.”
“If I received a gift like one of these plants, I think I'd be very pleased,'' Irving says. The closest thing he's ever received to a gift has been Burt bringing the new tote bags to him early, his only token of affection. Everything else he has in his possession is a reward for work done.
“Well noted,” Burt says His voice soft and scratchy, like he uses it too much. Irving hopes that's the case, that Burt has a lot of people to talk to.
“What I was going to say - do you ever wonder what the ‘G’ stands for?” Irving says. “In Burt G.? Sorry, I know we shouldn’t be speculating - “
“Guy,” Burt says immediately, as if he’s thought about it many times before.
“You think your name is Burt Guy?” Irving says, and the obvious blunder rattles him. It isn't decent to refer to their outies as them, and he hopes Burt can forgive him. “I mean, your outie’s name?”
“Yeah, why not?” Burt shrugs. “It sounds like a good name.”
“You’re right,” Irving says. Burt Guy would be a fitting name, even though it seems too plain for somebody like Burt. “Although it could be a soft ‘G’ and not a hard ‘G’.”
“I never thought of it like that,” Burt says, raising his eyes to the ceiling for possible clues. He knocks his knee against Irving’s again and purses his lips thoughtfully. “Burt… Giraffe?”
Irving laughs at that. It’s preposterous and it’s nice to laugh at something so preposterous in such an unreal place with someone he likes.
It’s entirely possible he and Burt know each other on the outside, and that’s why they are the way they are - attracted to each other to the point of being detrimental to their work. Maybe love does transcend severance. But these aren’t things he should be thinking about. It’s already bad that he’s brought up their outies in conversation. Of course romantic relationships between employees are frowned upon, and Irving is not looking to be frowned upon any more than he already is. He's in enough trouble with the falling asleep on the job thing. But it really seems like they’re tied together somehow, like they knew each other before.
“What about you, Irving B.?” Burt says, popping a blueberry into his mouth. “What does the ‘B’ stand for?”
Irving struggles to come up with a word that begins with the letter ‘B’. “Blueberry,” Irving says after some thought.
It makes Burt laugh, which makes Irving’s insides crackle. “Come on. Irving Blueberry? There are other B words.”
There is only one other on the tip of Irving’s tongue. “Burt,” he blurts out.
“Irving Burt,” Burt says. His eyes glitter like what Irving assumes the sky at night looks like. He’s never seen it, and now he doesn’t have to. “It has a nice ring to it.”
“I’m happy you think so,” Irving says.
“I noticed you haven’t had a dried blueberry yet, Irving Burt Blueberry,” Burt says. He leans forward and crosses his legs. “Don't let me hog them.”
“Oh,” Irving says. “I’ve never tried them before. I stick to the raisins.”
“Oh, Irv, you gotta try it,” Burt says. “It’ll make your tongue pop.”
Burt takes a single dried blueberry, which is just as shriveled if not more so than the raisins. He pinches it between his thumb and his forefinger, and brings it to Irving’s mouth. Irving parts his lips and opens up to take it, his tongue poking out slightly. It grazes the tip of Burt’s thumb. A tremor runs through Irving from the top of his scalp to the tips of his toes.
“There,” Burt says. His thumb lingers, rubbing briefly over Irving’s moustache as Irving bites down so hard he might crack a tooth to stop himself from making an embarrassing sound. “How is it?”
Irving swallows. His tongue could pop out of his head, but he doesn’t think it’s entirely because he had a blueberry for the first time. He wants Burt to chase the taste of it in his mouth. He wants to be fucking kissed. Tame in me - tame -
“It's good,” Irving chokes out. “It's really good.”
“You know, Irving,” Burt says. He scoots up on Irving’s jacket and they’re so close. “Before you came into my life. I missed you so badly.”
A drop of knowledge ripples through him, like something in the back of his mind is tapping on the glass. He feels as though he’s heard that somewhere before - perhaps a lesser known handbook passage. Irving leans his forehead against Burt’s this time, their fingers tangling desperately. Irving’s nose digs into Burt’s cheek as Burt’s warm, roasted peanut breath puffs out against his lips.
“Me too,” Irving says, his eyes closed against the onslaught of need and want. “I missed you, too.”
Burt heaves a sigh and Irving feels it in his own lungs. “Help an old man up, would you?”
Up is the opposite direction of where Irving would like to go. He was just beginning to imagine what it would be like to lie down. Lying down is not part of his work, and so he has never done it before. Even when he falls asleep, he's upright. He'd like to lie beside Burt, let his body cleave to Burt's side like his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Burt’s chest could be his pillow and he could listen to what goes on inside him. If they could just nap, like they both want to. If they could just touch - so I may feel -
But all their food is gone and lunch is almost over. Irving struggles more than he would like to admit getting up off the floor, but he manages rather gracefully. Burt only needs a hand to hold onto and he's up in a flash.
“So,” Irving says uncertainly. Burt hasn't let go of his hand and he knows when he eventually does, Irving’s hand will feel perpetually light and empty.
“I sort of feel like dancing,” Burt says. His strange, melodic way of speaking gives his words an extra burst of excitement. “Would you dance with me?”
“Oh,” Irving says. “Would I? I don't know how.” His outie does - Ms. Casey told him so. It's another skill he isn't sure Irving B. could possess, but one he’d like to try.
“C'mon, disco king,” Burt says. He guides Irving's hands to his hips. It's such a strange place to lay hands on another person’s body - their center of gravity, where they bend in half. He puts his own hands on Irving's shoulders. “Just this.”
Burt rocks them side to side as if caught in a breeze. The plants around them seem to shake with them. This, he can do. Just this, for now, Irving thinks. Not yet. Next time.
~*~
Back in MDR he's full of nuts, seeds, and dried fruit. But he's hungry in a way he's never experienced before, the very center of him carved out like a melon.
“Here he is,” Dylan says. The gang's all here now and Irving tries to ignore them. “Hey, loverboy. Ask them what you asked me.”
“I'm not in the mood, Dylan,” Irving sulks into his seat.
“What did he ask?” Mark says.
Dylan glances at each of them conspiratorially. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”
“Ew, no,” Helly recoils.
“Thank you,” Dylan says. “That's what I said.”
“What’s with all the sex questions today?” Helly shakes her head.
“Sex questions?” Mark says, his mouth turning down. “But I mean. You guys have known me for as long as I've known me. I think you'd already know if I had.”
“Why?” Helly says, waggling her eyebrows at him suggestively. It’s good to see her joking with them, even if it is at Irving's expense. “Have you kissed anyone, Irv?”
Mark makes annoying kissy noises at him while Dylan leans in and waits for the answer. All Irving can tell them is the truth.
“No,” Irving says. “By the way, O&D were producing large shovels last I saw.”
“I fucking knew it,” Dylan says.
~*~
Irving Bailiff leaves the Lumon building with his joints and muscles aching. His tailbone in particular is sore, just as it is when he gets down on the floor with Radar for too long. There isn't a note on his car telling him how he might have injured himself so he thinks he must be fine. He tries to focus on the effect of work - he still isn't sure what they have him doing now. Today he’s tired in a way that feels good, like after a good fuck, or a good cry. He checks in the rear view mirror of his car - his eyes aren't puffy, but neither is any other part of him.
There is a monthly hoedown night at the bar a few blocks away, and he is welcomed there with cheers. He is the only one who can boot-scootin’ boogie worth a damn and everyone knows it. There are men there whom he assists in technique, a gaggle of younger regulars he sees fairly often. They are curious about him and give him soft, hot attention. Irving lets them unbutton a few buttons on his shirt, and in exchange he takes another one's kerchief off their neck and ties it around his own. Any one of the men would sleep with him, and he knows it. Instead, he lets them show him how to vogue to a country song. There is an older couple of guys in the corner that seem vaguely familiar in a dissonant way, as if from another lifetime. He ignores them. Irving Bailiff would give anything to have someone he could go home with, and have it be the same person he came in with. He’s too old now. There isn’t anyone here for him here. Instead, he goes home alone.