It's Lit

There was a lot of noise, but Yèxīn had his break and he was determined not to waste his unpaid time with Numbers. He had endured eight hours of that girl’s company during his paid hours— he didn't need any more.  His sanity had its limits, and he intended to protect what was left of it. With a sandwich in hand, he slowly chewed away, drowning out the commotion by turning up the volume in his single earbud.

A distant shriek pierced the air, proclaiming some minor inconvenience, probably blown out of proportion. Considering the earlier noise, Yèxīn half-expected an actual fire, although the absence of blaring fire alarms suggested otherwise. He casually clicked to the next page on his computer, considering whether he should investigate or—

Too late.

She was already en route.

A deep sigh escaped him as Yèxīn reluctantly pushed aside his half-eaten sandwich, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow in anticipation. He stared at the office door, preparing himself for the intrusion of Ms. Name-Inch-Heels. All of this during his break.

It was on fire, she exclaimed dramatically, as the flames spread out.

And then, the fire alarm blared to life, and the sprinklers responded in kind, showering the room. Yèxīn blinked slowly, shutting his laptop and tucking it under the desk to shield it from the rain.

“Are you stupid?” Yèxīn deadpanned, not bothering to move from his seat.

In that moment, he found himself reminiscing about his time in jail, thinking that even that had been preferable to this absurdity.

For a fleeting moment, Yèxīn entertained the notion that perhaps Numbers had suffered a significant blow to the head in her infancy. It would certainly explain a lot. Logic seemed to elude her, and the subtleties of social interaction were as foreign to her as ancient hieroglyphics. Yet, this theory had a flaw: her brother was equally baffling in his lack of sense.

So, Yèxīn formulated a different hypothesis to account for her profound lack of intellect. Clearly, her parents must have been closely related, resulting in both Numbers siblings being the unfortunate outcome of an ill-advised union, a testament to the perils of cousin relationships.

She boasted about her IQ being above 140, how they had tested it. “Good for you,” he deadpanned.

“Aw, now it’s wet,” she observed, eyeing the half-drenched device. Yèxīn let a pregnant silence stretch, hoping she might grasp the situation on her own. Alas, her social obliviousness was unmatched. He sighed inwardly, reigning in his impatience.

“You know what else is wet, you absolute—” he began, his tone growing harsh, but he cut himself off. He refused to stoop to the level of berating someone with the cognitive capacity of a toddler.

“Why did you bring it here, Numbers?” he asked pointedly, his voice laced with exasperation.

Never in his life had Yèxīn encountered a pair of dimwits quite like the Numbers siblings. The one before him, if possible, outdid the other in sheer imbecility, though mercifully she was less clingy. She stood before him, utterly unhinged and dense as a brick, her lack of comprehension unrivalled. His remark, dripping with sarcasm so thick it was practically tangible, had been lost on her, and he couldn't help but inch one eyebrow skyward.

“Yeah. That would be a disaster,” he deadpanned. Sadly, they did hire an imbecile, a mistake if you’d ask him.

“You do look a teeny tiny bit like a drowned delcatty.”

Without missing a beat, Yèxīn dug his nails into the damp bandages encasing the burns on his lower arm, pain lancing through him. His lips curled into a smile that could freeze blood, but the physical discomfort anchored him momentarily, allowing him to keep control. He took a deliberate breath, letting the comment slide past him.

“Yeah. I wonder why,” he retorted, his tone laced with annoyance. Arceus, he needed a new job.

Standing abruptly, he gathered his laptop and moved toward the exit, assuming she would follow. He couldn't care less about the mess left behind; someone else could sort it out. He was no errand boy.

“You did the best you could do,” he stated as he stepped past her, striding purposefully down the hallway toward his office. Once inside, he placed the laptop on his desk and began unwrapping the bandages from his arm.

“And what are you going to do about the mess you made now? How did this happen?” he continued, fully aware she might not have followed him. If she hadn't, at least he could have some peace and quiet.