Dean Lamper leans against an office counter, looking into the eyes of an exhausted secretary who is searching for the strength to suppress a mental breakdown, as she does every single day.

“I'm looking for Pascal Williams. I'm... an old friend.”

Dean reads Margaret on her name-tag.

“He's not accepting visitors at this moment.”

“He'll want to see me.”

“Please.” She says in a moment of vulnerability. “Please.”

“Okay.” Dean turns around, and sits in the first chair he sees, immediately plopping a raggedy journal onto his lap, along with a black pen in dire need of more ink.

He sees Margaret glancing at him with a phone to her ear, she's talking in hushes and mutters.

Fuck. Come on. Dean stands, ready to evade security for the fifth time today.

“Pascal Williams is on his way.”

“What?”

Margaret doesn't reply, but has a look of surprise on her face, which soon turns into a tired smile.

“Thank you.” Dean can tell she's tired of talking. “Seriously. Thank you.”

She gives him a sly eye, hinting that Pascal is right around the corner.

Dean tightens up. He hasn't felt this way in years.

The door swings open.

“D?” Pascal scoffs incredulously, and then laughs when all the memories from University floods his mind. They unite in a hug that transitions into an embrace.

“Hey. Come into my office for a drink.” Pascal looks at Margaret while talking to Dean. “We're closed for the day, and so we won't have any interruptions.”

He continues, now staring at Dean.“Macy is expecting me home at seven, and the drive home will take an hour in traffic, so that gives us about forty-five?”

“Count me in.” Dean's smile has expanded to the entirety of his face.

“Good.” Pascal squeezes his shoulder while nodding. “Good.”

“We have a-lot to catch up on.” Dean feels Pascal's other hand on his forearm.

“I'm not as successful as everyone makes me out to be.”

“Well.. You certainly have me beat.”

Pascal looks at the carpet for a moment dim-eyed, then returns to Dean with a warm expression.

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“Follow me. And don't worry about getting home if you drink too much.”

If Pascal could have seen Dean in that moment, he would likely have apologized.

“Yeah. I've cut back since school.”

“Oh. We wouldn't be here today if we hadn't.”

Dean spots his room, it's hard to miss being plastered in accolades, all inscribed with his name, Pascal opens a polished mahogany door for him. Dean enters, and immediately spots a thick bottle of whiskey sitting on the table, two crystal glasses front and center.

Pascal must've set it up the moment he received the call.

Dean subconsciously chuckles, but is then taken back. Their graduation photos are gilded and framed, sitting right besides pictures of Macy and his children, along with their year-book, where they had an entire page for themselves, arm-in-arm.

“It's been a long time, but.. I've never forgotten.”

“Yeah. We had a-lot of great memories together.” Dean says, with a slight tinge of resentment.

“Sit.” Pascal pulls a chair for him, and then one for himself, immediately filling their glasses.

Dean gazes at the whiskey like a polluted body of water, stagnant.

“I'm sorry for what I did.” Pascal takes a sip, Dean hears him swallow.

“What did you do?”

“I tried to contact you. I even came to your apartment, it took me six hours by car. I had to lie. And when I finally got to your door, and knocked, and knocked. You refused to come out. I thought that was enough to finally rid what left I had of us in my head. But it wasn't.”

“Am I the one who refused to come out?”

Pascal nods somberly. “You know enough to bury me. I've always known that. But I've always trusted you to keep it our secret. Even if it's not a secret to you.”

“I don't know why I'm here right now.”

“I've tried to contact you.” Pascal grits. “Even with my wife. With my children. When everything and everyone was on the line, it never stopped me.”

“Those five years you pretended I didn't exist almost killed me, Pascal. I've had problems trusting ever since then. I haven't been able to sleep right since then. I haven't been able to love since then. And I don't blame anyone for being repelled by me, they can all smell the ash.”

“You've been completely alone?”

“Yeah.” Dean takes a hard sip. “As you can tell, my dashing good looks have far left me.”

“No. You just need a good hair-cut and day at the salon.” Pascal smiles, and then creases his lips when Dean responds by glaring at the table. “What do you need? I'll give you what I can.”

“Well. Can I be honest?”

“Honesty excites me. It always has. Even more-so from you.”

“You were my last ditch-resort.”

“It looks like things haven't changed much since University, then.”

“I don't have a job, in-fact I'm unemployable after I conjured a character in a meaningless story that meant absolutely nothing to me. By the end of the month, I won't have anywhere to stay. All I have is a degree in journalism with a minor in creative writing, and every night I try my hardest not to end it all by jumping off the tallest floor of my roach-infested apartment complex. I was going to lie to you. I knew it would be a long-shot anyways, but I really really need funding for a story. I shouldn't actually say that. I need you to buy me a car, and enough money for gas, food – minimal, I'll lose ten pounds even if I don't have much to give. But this this story I'm working on, I think will change my life forever.”

Pascal replies almost immediately. “I'll give you a job and a place to stay, free-of-charge for the first four months, and then I'll ask you to pay seven hundred a month on a place that would cost you twenty-seven hundred with fees. I won't ask you for a deposit. I won't ask you for anything else. Nothing will be a surprise. I'll hand you one-thousand dollars in cash before you leave tonight, it should be enough for food, and public transportation if you need it, but it's in walking distance from here.”

“So the answer is no.” Dean stands.

“The answer is yes. You'll make twenty-five an hour doing minimum wage work. You'll be able to pocket most of what you earn. You can fund whatever you're doing with the money you make.”

“Whatever I'm doing? What do you know about what I do?”

“I've been following your career ever since it began, and ended.”

“Fuck you.”

“My offer stands. Whenever you want to take it. It's there for you.”

“How'd it go?” Margaret asks as Dean strides towards the exit-door.

He doesn't respond.