Five minutes ago it was pleasantly cool here. Now, I'm both literally and metaphorically sweating balls, my clothing coated in a thin layer of sweat. Tate's feeling it too; as we sit on the floor, he wipes his brow free from sweat, flicking the drops against the wall. Gross. Remind me to sanitize my hands once we're out of here.

I kick off my shoes. Tate follows quickly. My few moments of relief were overshadowed by Tate's interesting choice in sockwear. Never took him for a man that would wear odd socks. Not even the cute and quirky kind, where it's two different patterns; one was a hidden sock and another was a three-quarter length sock. At least the prints were the same colour.

Tate hasn't had a freakout in a little while now. My watch tells me that ten minutes have passed. Every now and then we hear a bang or thumping behind the walls (we figured it's footsteps or hopefully someone trying to get us out) and with every ding and pang, I'm even starting to feel claustrophobic. I hope Tate picked up on those calming lessons, because he may need to exercise them on me later.

Tate stands up. In one move, he sheds his blazer, delicately folding it and putting it into a corner next to his shoes. Seizing the opportunity, I do the same, throwing it on the floor. He gives me a look.

"You're just gonna drop it? Not even make it all neat? It looks expensive."

I shrug. He shakes his head, dropping the subject.

Turning his attention to the intercom again, he prodded the button and tried speaking. "Hello? It's been a while now, can anyone hear us again? Starting to roast like a chicken nugget in a crematorium in here."

As he continues to speak to an imaginary person, my eyes watch his form. His clothing really did nothing to hide his physique, although the sweat may be making the fabric cling tighter to his skin. The shirt strained as he moved his arms up and down, his fingers presssing more buttons. He turned to me after pressing a few buttons, and I barely snap my eyes away from his body in time for him to notice.

"Kian, look! The buttons still light up if we press them. Should we? It's kinda dark in here..."

He hovers his fingers over several buttons. I shake my head no, getting up to stand next to him.

"Probably not a good idea. What if that makes it more difficult for people to come get us? Or worse, what if it ends up sending us to each of the floors once the elevator is back up and running?"

"We could just get out of the first floor it sends us to, you know," Tate retorts. I go to speak, but nothing comes out.

"...true. But, what if something just happens?  I wouldn't trust this lift with anything after this."

Tate laughs. "You're so paranoid. I'm doing it."

Before I could protest, he presses all the buttons with the joy of a kid popping a full sheet of bubble wrap. Soon, the room is a little brighter, the orange glow of the button board emanating like a small flamed candle in the back of wide hallway. Proud of his work, he sits on the floor beside the board, back against the wall.

"Great. Hopefully all that light doesn't make the room warmer."

"Aw, is that such a bad thing? What, you afraid I'll have to take my shirt off or something?"

I stammered. The words in my head wouldn't come out of my mouth. I only could muster a few splutters of sounds, making Tate laugh.

"Jeez man, I was joking. No need to get all hot and bothered."

"I'm- I'm not hot and bothered! Well, I am hot and bothered, but not because of you! It's the damn heat. Y-you're the hot and bothered one!"

I fold my arms. He arches an eyebrow at me, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

"Sure, if you say so. Thanks for calling me hot, by the way."

Groaning, I shake my head and move away from him. He laughs again. Just as he's about to say something else, the intercom crackles to life with a sharp crinkling static noise, making me jump. I don't think Tate saw me; his eyes are glued to the microphone. Thank fuck for that.

"Hello? Is this Tate or Kian?" the voice said. It sounded familiar. Feminine. Tate presses and holds the button on the intercom with more force than necessary, a giant grin plastered on his face.

"Hi! Yes! This is Tate. Kian is nearby. Who is this? When are we getting out?"

"Tate, this is Ayisha. The fire department are here and they're actively trying to get you guys out, but because of the high floor you're on and because of the recent renovations on the elevator, it's going to be a while. Sorry, I wish I had good news."

"I'm just glad to hear an outside voice," Tate said. Am I supposed to be offended by that? What's wrong with my voice? I find my voice sexy. Sure, maybe a little gravelly, but nothing to turn your nose up at it.

Ugh. I take a breath. Focus, Kian. 

"Can I talk to Kian?"

Tate nods, then says 'yes' when he realises that Ayisha can't see him. He gestures for me to come closer.

"Kian here. Good to hear your voice, Ayisha." I wipe a trail of sweat away from the back of my neck. Good God, I really hope I don't smell. Tate's starting to smell; it was nice at first, his body odour absoutely invigorating like fresh pine needles, but now I feel like I'm trapped in a Lynx commercial. 

"Glad to see you're not dead. By the way, you owe me ten bucks."

"What? Why?" I say. I picture Ayisha shrugging, or giving me a confused face with way too much innocence. She's probably doing neither, multitasking on her phone while she talks to us.

"Didn't we make a bet on who would get stuck in the elevator?"

Tate laughs. "I would have."

I shake my head. "No, we just talked about potentially getting stuck. No money bets were made, we are professionals at work doing work stuff. Duh? "

"Right, you square. Remind me to make more bets with you when you're out, provided you don't neck yourself in there from all the stress.

"I'm not stressed! Can you and Tate stop telling me what I'm meant to be feeling? Jeez," I say, earing a chuckle from Ayisha. She chuckles to herself before she begins speaking again.

"You really gotta get a grip. Your high-strungness is dialed up to an eleven right now."

I shake my head. NO point in arguing; I'm wasting precious oxygen. Huh; is the elevator airtight? Do we need to conserve oxygen? How would I even do that?"

"Listen, I can't stay on the line forever. From here on out, I'll be messaging you guys. Text me if you begin to feel stir-crazy. The authorities are going to be your main point of contact now. Amir is demanding we all get back to work so aside from the odd fireman coming in and out of the building, it appears its business as usual out here."

"Great. Sounds like Amir really gives a shit about us," Tate says, a little venom in his tone. He crosses his arms and looks away, leaning against the wall of the elevator. I give him a quizzical look, before turning back to the intercom.

"Is he personally involved in our escape from here?" I ask.

The air is silent for a second, before Tate and Ayisha burst out laughing. I feel like an idiot as the two laugh for practically a whole minute, the former on the verge of laughter tears. Ugh. So freaking lame.

"You're kidding? This is Amir you're talking about," Ayisha says, giggling. "He wouldn't save his wife from a burning building unless she had his work laptop in her arms. Even then, he'd grab his laptop if she was trapped in any way. As far as I can tell, he's only mad because he's had to reschedule your meeting with him."

Tate fans himself with the envelope, and I worry for a second he was going to take his shirt off. He has an irritated look on his face. The heat must be getting to him; my skin is starting to crawl.

"Any chance you have an ETA on us getting out? Or, if you could get the emergency workers to get some airflow in here?"

There's a second of static, then silence, before Ayisha continues talking. 

"Maybe a couple hours. You'll definitley be out by the end of the day at the very latest, but you'd better get comfy. I've asked an emergency worker if the airflow is possible, and he gave me a funny look before walking away. Safe to say the aircon is the least of their priorities."

I sigh, sitting on the floor. Defeated. Tate moves to press the intercom, leaning past me.

"We'll be fine. Text us if anything changes. Hopefully the firefighters can give us more information when they can, and get us out of here soon."

"Me too. Stay sane, you two."

The intercom crackles again, and we're left in silence, sans the gentle hum of background machinery in the air. Tate's still leaning infront of me, propping himself up on an elbow as he looks at me. His face is less than a foot from me.

"I hope you like dad jokes, because you're going to hear a lot of them soon when I get bored."

I force a smile. "Sounds delightful."

================================

AN: And with this update, I've reached the 8000 word mark to be eligible to pass round 2 of the #ONC2022 contest. Here's hoping I haven't stupidly miscounted and am disqualified :') *touches a piece of wood so I don't jinx myself*

What do you guys think of this so far? Tate is certainly getting more comfortable, while the opposite is happening with Kian. Was that portrayed effectively?

Let me know if you guys spot any grammar/spelling mistakes. I've been working and going to uni literally every day for two weeks and, on top of settling into a new house with my partner, I haven't got the time to proofread/edit as extensively as I normally do. (pls be more forgiving of me if you guys do spot several mistakes, I'm the shell of a human at this point)

All my love,
Jacob x