Chapter Text
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The clock was loud overhead, but it helped OJ focus. It was an anchor for him. An anchor to the real world, in some way, so he wouldn’t get lost in paperwork. Which, frankly, would be better, in his opinion.
Of course, that wasn’t always ideal. The hotel needed him. Paper needed him. Except he didn’t really feel particularly needed by his fiancé - at least, not outside of his duties to the hotel. On the rare occasion he did go and sleep in their room instead of passing out from sheer exhaustion at 4a.m. in his office, Paper would be sleeping in their bed, but when OJ woke up in the morning? He would be gone.
It hurt. Badly. OJ didn’t understand why. Was his partner ignoring him? Did he hate him? Surely not. Yes, OJ locked himself in a room, and yes, he could feel painful pangs of hunger in his stomach now - and yes, he nearly - no, he had had a breakdown over his work more than once, but… actually, Paper could have had a point.
OJ felt guilty. And he didn’t like that feeling. It didn’t make sense usually, why would he feel guilty? He did everything right. And if it were for their lack of communication, Paper couldn’t blame him. Besides, he’d spoken to him and the other residents when the remaining Season Two contestants had arrived at the hotel due to MePhone’s disappearance. So…
Right. MePhone. OJ was tired of his bullshit. It had been over a decade since he’d last seen him, if only on TV, but he’d already been swamped in legal documents and pens and computers and complaints for the last ten years. He wasn’t much of a television fan, anyway.
But at least he socialised. Paper had to see that. OJ was just trying to do his best for the hotel. Also, Paper had proposed to him first. But they hadn’t had time for the wedding, and some other things, and…
OJ sighed. He’d just finished signing something. He didn’t really understand it - his mind couldn’t comprehend it due to how tired he was. Putting the pen down, he glanced at the clock. It was 2a.m., and most hotel residents would be asleep by now. He looked at the stacks of paper on the table and almost laughed at how comically large it was. Perhaps Paper was right about not rushing it all in one night. Maybe he should go and check up on him.
OJ decided. He pushed his chair out and got up, starting to walk towards the door. He then turned the handle and opened it.
It was awfully quiet in the hotel (except for some muffled sneezing), which was expected from this time. OJ sighed, feeling a sense of ease, and started to walk across the living room to his and Paper’s, which was downstairs.
Once he arrived at the door, he opened that one to see his fiancé asleep in their bed. OJ smiled a little at the sight, before realising that Paper was shuffling around a lot, presumably from discomfort. Or perhaps he was having a nightmare.
Their room was the same as all hotel rooms, just slightly smaller due to only having one bed. It had a lamp on the nightstand next to the bed, which was lit dimly as it usually were during the times OJ entered their room at night. Their bed was in the middle of the room. It was quite large, to fit the both of them, of course, but now? It looked lonely, almost. With just one person in it.
But OJ couldn’t sleep yet, no matter how heavy his eyes felt. Now that he’d checked up on Paper, he was now leaving the room again and going back to his office. Paper would be fine. He’d managed fine without OJ, right? And it was vice versa, too.
He sat down on his chair with a soft thump, this time leaving the door open slightly. He blinked a bit, realising how dark it was in the room, which was lit only by the faint blue glow of his computer, and then turned on the main light of the room.
For a moment, it hurt. Badly. But after some time he managed to adjust to it. Besides, he could see his papers more easily. He picked up his pen again, which he had to lean down to get due to it rolling onto the floor, and began to sign some more things.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The clock. That stupid clock, again. OJ clenched his fists at the noises it made and tried to drown it out, but it was still there. And it was loud in his ears. The ticking noises it made - it was like he was meant to be waiting for something. Something that would take hours just to complete. And that was this.
The set of papers in front of him.
The open laptop.
Tick. Tock.
OJ groaned loudly, pushing his chair out and stumbling over to the clock on the wall. He was just tall enough to reach it. Which, frankly, could be considered as even worse - it made the noises louder.
He stared intently at the clock handles, moving slowly yet quickly at the same time. It almost made his blood boil. Clocks were perfect, whether they were wrong or not. They just told the time. They didn’t have to worry about it.
No paperwork to sign.
OJ’s fists clenched tighter. He almost felt like his palms would bleed if they did so any more.
No worries.
Tears almost formed in his eyes. He should have just returned to their room. His and Paper’s room. And slept in their bed again. He wished he didn’t have to deal with this shit.
He stabbed his pen into the glass of the clock. Then, once it shattered and blood appeared on his hand, he could care less for anything. Then, he stabbed it even more. He let his anger out on it. It shattered over the floor, and cuts and pain appeared on his hand, but he didn’t give a shit. It was a relief, really. Besides, he wouldn’t have to listen to that stupid ticking any more.
After some time, he recovered, and he stopped seeing red. OJ stepped away from his anger outlet and stared down at it.
Glass shards all over the floor.
His hand hurt.
His vision was still blurry.
And his feelings were no better.
He cursed loudly, kicking the broken pieces against the wall, and slid down the side of his desk, holding his head in his hands. And he let his heart out.
He stayed like that for a good few minutes. Just sobbing to himself. Telling himself that everything was fine. That his feelings didn’t matter, and he didn’t really have a reason to cry. Besides, he’d asked for this, right? When he’d bought the hotel, and when he’d accepted Paper’s proposal. He’d brought the stress on to himself. Not that his engagement was stressful, of course - the work was what led to that. He couldn’t make time for their wedding because of these asshole contracts that he’d signed.
After some time, OJ leaned his head back, letting it rest on the desk. His hands fell to his sides. Then he realised how much the left one hurt, and sighed, slowly standing up.
After gathering himself and wiping away most of the tears that were in his eyes, he stumbled out of his office, and went to the bathroom.
He leaned on the sinks and stared in the mirror for a moment, looking at his dishevelled self. He fixed his hair, which contained some of his blood in it and bent down to rinse it out, as well as his hand. Sure, it still hurt, but at least it wasn’t coated in red by the time he was done.
OJ dried his hair with a towel. He felt lightheaded as he made his way back to the office.
His anger outburst hadn’t really meant anything. It was something everyone had. Besides, now he’d have to buy a new clock.
OJ sighed. It was a deep groan, more so. More things to remember. More things to write down on his notepad. More-
Wait.
Paper would know about the clock incident, wouldn’t he?
OJ cursed inwardly, then took a few deep breaths. He could explain it to him. After all, it wouldn’t take much to think of a lie. He could say that he fell against the wall due to how tired he was, and that the clock fell down.
Then again, that would be one more reason for Paper to nag him about getting enough sleep.
He sighed again, returning to his office, turning off the lights, and slumping down in his chair. He reached over and shut down his computer, then leaned his head back over the back of the chair. He now realised how heavy his eyes were.
Yes, he’d been getting neck problems from sleeping like this. But it wasn’t his fault.
Well, it was. It wouldn’t have been like this if he just used the million on something else.
Thinking about the million made him think of the show. And thinking of the show made him think about MePhone. Where was that cursed android, anyway? The Season Two contestants only came to the hotel because he’d disappeared.
Oh, well. It meant some less nonsense coming from the host. Or, well, former host.
OJ almost found himself hoping that man was dead. Then he felt a pulse of shock. How could he think that?
No. He wasn’t supposed to meddle in this. As long as MePhone left him alone, he was fine.
Everything would be fine.
OJ found his eyes slowly drooping, and he stared up at the ceiling. Static mostly covered his vision, but that was normal, of course.
It wasn’t the latest that he’d have stayed up, 2a.m.. So he had no need to worry.
He just wished he had Paper’s support in the, yes, rash, but necessary, choices he made.
He managed to haul himself up again, stopping himself from sleeping. He couldn’t fall asleep.
Not now.
He opened his laptop.
He still had things to sign.