He clutches his pillow over his head and tries not to look at the clock. Darkness engulfs the room except for small slivers of light that squeeze through the yellow-stained blinds. He counts to ten, praying that will be enough to drift himself to sleep. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. One, two, three. He gives up and peeks at the clock. 2:15 A.M. He sighs, knowing he shouldn’t have looked, and gets out of bed. Butterflies fill his stomach as he thinks of his first day at the office. He admires his studio apartment, still freshly organized and tidy. The admiration only takes his mind off his troubles for a moment, then they return like an insect buzzing in his ear. His gaze moves to a framed picture of four guys huddled around in caps and gowns.
      He thinks of what his friends are doing now. They’re probably awake since it would be 11:15 P.M. there. Probably not even in bed yet, still playing the latest Call of Duty even though they have work tomorrow too. The late, soda-filled high-school nights of Call of Duty flood Cole’s mind. He smirks at the memory. He met his friends in elementary school. The details are fuzzy, but he remembers sitting with them at lunch and talking about Xbox games. Within a week, they were trading games and saving each other seats at lunch. Every other weekend they would rotate which houses they crashed at, depending on whose parents were out of town. While other kids bounced around from friend group to friend group, Cole had his friends. Hopefully they feel his absence now.
     He looks in his bathroom mirror and practices his smile. At first, it’s forced, with the edges of his face pulling back too much. He feels the fakeness. He composes himself and tries again, mouthing the word “Watermelon.” Better, but still could use some work. He imagines himself in the break room with his co-workers tomorrow, laughing and sharing in thoughtful conversation. They will wonder why they haven’t spoken to Cole sooner, and Cole will realize he should’ve spoken to them sooner. People are nice, they just need to be warmed up. He looks into the mirror, mouths “Watermelon” and says “Hey, I’m Cole. I just started this week; I don’t think we’ve met. What’s your name?”
 
     “Nick,” a young, messy-haired man says to Cole. His voice reeks of annoyance. As if the mere thought of talking to Cole was interrupting his life-changing task of eating a ham sandwich. They sit alone together, against the wall in the break room. The wallpaper is grey with suspicious brown stains along the top of the ceiling. At the opposite end of the break room, an older man with grey hair sits beside an older blonde woman engaging in conversation. The woman laughs at the man’s jokes, and they enjoy each other’s company. Nick tolerates Cole.
     Cole pretends not to notice the arrogance in Nick’s voice. “You work in marketing too, right?”
     “Yeah,” Nick says as he takes another bite out of the sandwich.
     “Cool, which area are you specializing in?” Cole prays he hasn’t already answered this question.
     “Social media,” Nick slips out. “Which reminds me, I need you to take a copy of the analytics to the boss.”
     “Now?” Cole asks. There’s still twenty minutes left of lunch.
     “Uh, yeah. He’s not getting any younger,” Nick says as he darts his eyes to Cole. Cole’s chest tightens, and he tries to think of comebacks, but all that manifests are garbled sentences of half-baked ideas.
     “Okay,” Cole says as he gets up from the break room, feeling the gaze of the others in the room. He takes his peanut butter and jelly sandwich with him. He passes by the empty desks, all vacant for a half-hour lunch. He sighs, with anger, but knows this is for the best. No need to start a scene. Nick is probably stressed anyway, everybody is. Things will get better.
      The office space tries its best to be modern. Brick walls on all sides, exposed air conditioning at the top, and large white-cross windows knit together to form the main floor. Cole’s desk sits right next to the window, which would be nice if it didn’t cause a massive glare on his computer screen. His workdays are spent arching his chair a specific way to avoid such glare. At first, he thought others would use it for conversation.
     “Man, they still have people sitting there? It’s basically a free tanning bed,” one cheerful employee would’ve probably said. And Cole would’ve probably laughed at the joke and extended his hand.
     “Hey, I could use some sun I guess,” Cole probably would’ve said back. Or maybe a little wittier. The cheerful employee would’ve shaken his hand with a firm grip.
     “Don’t we all. Speaking of tanning, a couple of us were planning on heading to the beach for the weekend? Would you want to tag along?” the employee would’ve asked. And Cole would’ve agreed, and they would’ve had a fun night full of beer and old stories of their past.
       After no such conversation came, Cole realized something: Nobody notices him. Cole’s first week was dull, full of training on conflict resolution and communication. Every video ended with the same: If someone makes you feel uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to speak up.
 
     Cole types in his information on his computer. Cl4842. The screen retaliates with the message: Your login or password is incorrect. He sighs, knowing he types too fast. He changes to a methodical, slow type, eying every key before his index fingers touch. Cl4842. Perfect. Your login or password is incorrect. This couldn’t be right. His login is already set on the computer, and the password is perfect. Your login or password is incorrect. The words mock him, staring him down like a parent when their child has thrown a tantrum. His stomach joins in the ridicule, gurgling and aching from hunger. It takes him fifteen minutes to find the IT department, and another twenty for the IT guy to resolve the issue. After many thanks for the help, the IT man (a balding, smug forty-something) exits with a gruff “Mhm.” Finally, Cole sends the analytics as Nick sits in Cole’s office chair scrolling away on Twitter, his leg bouncing with impatience.  Cole points to the screen, and Nick inspects it, making sure Cole hasn’t screwed up.
     “About time,” Nick says and walks off to his own desk. Cole slouches in his chair and eyes his PB & J sandwich, contemplating if he can sneak a few bites.
 
     The day ends as others have: Cole returns to the apartment not having said goodbye to anyone. He brings home take-out since he did not manage to eat his sandwich for fear of being fired. He tosses the sandwich in his trash can, and chows down on McDonald’s. Two large fries with his Big Mac. He checks his Discord app, and none of his friends are online. Right, work hours. They’ll reach out soon, just need to give it time. His friends met at McDonald’s on Tuesday nights after band practice. They teased Cole for ordering two-large fries, insisting he would die of a heart attack before graduation. On the night of graduation, Cole graciously suggested to celebrate with McDonald’s, and his friends gladly obliged. That was the first night they mentioned getting a house together.
      Cole showers for longer than needed, hoping the water will wash away whatever social poisonous venom he holds, and gets into bed. Hopefully his hard work today has paid off in some way. Maybe Nick will notice his efforts and lighten up a bit. Still, it could’ve been worse. He focuses on his breathing, trying to feel how his body moves at each breath. Nick flashes in his mind. He yells at Cole for being so stupid for forgetting a password. Cole’s cracks his knuckles, trying to anchor himself. He breathes in and out. Nick’s outbursts grow fainter. The world becomes fluid, with light fading in and out. His eyes become heavy, and the sheets wrap around his body.
      A high-pitched laugh pierces through his slumber. His eyes jolt open, like a bear disturbed from hibernation. He listens, hoping it was just a trick of the mind. Two laughs echo through his room. Cole throws the sheets off and places his ear to the wall. The voices come into focus and the sounds of playing cards hitting a wooden table invade Cole’s ears. He hears three of them, two women and one man talking over each other, trying to be funnier than the other. They sound close together, each hunched over the table taking sips of presumably alcohol.
     “I just don’t understand why he won’t open up,” an annoying laughing girl says. She shuffles in her chair. “Kinks are a great way to get to know friends better.”
     “You know he’s a private person,” one quieter man says. His hair probably hangs in his face. He laughs. “Just because you advertise your sex life doesn’t mean he wants to.”
     She scoffs, perhaps trying to make it sound like she’s joking. “He doesn’t like me, that’s it. Every time you or Lexie leave the room or something and it’s just us, it’s awkward. He won’t say anything, just stares at his phone. But when you two are there, he’s suddenly a comedian.”
     Cole hears Lexie slam her hand on the table. “You’re right Anna, he doesn’t like you. But who could blame him?” She roars with laughter, probably waving her arms around wildly like it’s her standup comedy gig. Cole imagines Anna’s eye roll at the remark.
     “He’s totally into some weird shit,” Anna says.
     “How about I tell you about my day instead,” the quiet man asks. “Dave took me to lunch, and it was pretty nice. Turns out he’s not a complete weirdo after all. Good worker and likes Star Wars so…”
     The two girls cry out an “Awwww.”
     Cole steps away from the wall, mentally laughing at the man’s lie. He couldn’t have gotten a lunch date; everyone is too busy for that. He eyes the clock: it’s 1:00 A.M. He gives the wall a mean glance, hoping that it will dissolve through the wall to the neighbors next door. He wraps himself in his sheets and thinks of the positive opportunities tomorrow. Nick was just having a bad day; he’ll want to get drinks and talk more tomorrow. If not, maybe the shorter man who always stands by the copier will want to. He looks young, even if his facial hair has a hint of grey--
     --The chattering of Lexie and Anna takes over. Their voices shake the room. For an eternity, they blab on and on about shows they’re watching, professors they hated in college, and how miserable they are at their new job. At some point, the man whose kinks they discussed returns, and everyone greets him with friendliness and remind him it’s his turn to deal.
     “Tell us about your kinks,” Anna says with a cackle. “You have some, right?” The others let out a chuckle, as if to lighten the intensity of the request. Cole hears the man laugh.
     “You don’t wanna know,” the kinky man responds. He probably wears glasses with rectangular lenses.
     “See, I knew he was into some weird shit!” Anna says. He hears her slam a card down in victory.
     The kinky man clears his throat. “Well shit, I can’t tell this sober. Pass me another.” The women cheer like it’s a boy band concert. Cole pushes his pillow to his ear and counts to ten.
     The last time Cole remembers looking at the clock it read 3:24 A.M. and then he remembers rushing to work with the morning sun blinding him through his car windshield. He passes his colleagues: The short man with grey hair, an older blonde woman who walks like she owns the place, Nick, and another young man his age with bushy eyebrows and a grumpy face. Each of them gives a short glance, acknowledging his existence, then they return to their tasks. Cole usually would feel worse, but his sleep-deprived brain shows mercy for a few hours.
 
     For the next week, every morning the office’s front door swings open as Cole rushes to his desk, not daring to look at the clock. His hair is puffy and mangled from a morning’s neglect. The skin under his eyes de-saturates, and purple rings manifest under them. His boss notices, and on the third day asks Cole if he needs more coffee. Cole laughs, trying his best to hide the frustration behind his eyes. Cole tells him it’s just been late nights, that things will be better. The boss, a wealthy man who doesn’t like time wasted, decides to laugh and warns Cole of the attendance policy. As soon as the boss rounds the corner Cole leans back in his chair, thinking that resting his eyes will help him catch up on sleep. Four hours is plenty, millionaires have made it with less.
                                                                                     ***
     Cole approaches management, an older woman who looks she’d rather be pushing shopping carts than doing this job. She sits at the computer and files her nails. She doesn’t acknowledge Cole. “Hi, I’d like to, uh, give a formal noise complaint,” he says, staring at the ground.
     “Mhm, for what room?”
     He stutters. “Um… 3… 304. Right next to me.”
     She snickers, probably at his cowardliness. “What, they turn the TV on too loud?”
     He clears his throat. The air seems to have been sucked out of him. His mind can’t grasp one conscious thought. Everything’s blank. She looks up at him and stares him down like a insect needing to be squashed. He knows she’s going to yell. He has to think of something quick. “No, they just have people over every night until 3 A.M. and I can’t sleep. Is there any way to make them stop?”
     She still doesn’t look up. “Mhm and have you talked to the residents?”
     “Um, well... No, I wanted to--”
     “--Sir, if a resident has caused any problems other than violence or theft, it’s your job to take it up with them. This isn’t a college dorm. You have a problem with them, you talk to them. There’s no noise policy on leases here.” She smirks. “You knew that when you signed the lease, right?”
                                                                                    ***
     The clicking of his laptop keys is drowned out by the other patrons in the coffee shop. The brick wall surrounding him reminds him of the office. He shakes his head at the design, thinking there must be more interior designers in the world. He Googles earphones and sound-proofing blankets, trying to find the best price. None of the headphones look comfortable to sleep in, and reviewers say the blankets leave residue that might cause breathing problems. He looks around the cafe, making sure nobody can see the pathetic items he’s Googling. A group of friends, all men looking around their mid-twenties, fill the seats in the middle of the shop. They erupt with laughter as they trade high-school memories and dreams for the future. For a moment, Cole is seated beside them, sharing in his experiences like that one time he tripped at the prom or when his friends threw him a surprise birthday party at a laser tag arena. One time his friend Danny convinced Cole to join him on stage at a Karaoke Bar. The crowd went wild, and they toyed with the idea of starting their own band.
      But the moment is sucked away as the group leaves, each one leaving a small tip for the barista. Cole checks the time. It’s 8:58. The shop closes at 9:00. Every patron from the couple in the corner to the lone girl typing on her computer starts packing up and heading out for the night. They all have somewhere safe and quiet to go. How lucky of them. Cole packs up to leave but halts when the barista tells him to “Have a good night!” He stares at the door, wishing it would lead to somewhere else other than his apartment. He turns to the barista and thanks him and stands there probably for a moment too long.
                                                                                  ***
     He hears them from the hallway. Music mixed with garbled laughing and cheering. Another game night. Of course, Tuesdays are game nights. Lexie will probably win tonight, she usually plays better earlier in the evening, although Anna’s been stepping up her game lately. The quiet man, Sean, has noticed and always jokes about it too, claiming she’s been spending all her time watching YouTube tutorials.  Cole can’t take a step further; he knows a landmine waits for him. He clenches his fist unknowingly, feeling his breath rise in pace. Cole tries to think of anywhere to go, any escape route possible. He steps back and calls his friends back home. Discord says they’re online and playing.
     “Yooo Mr. CEO, was wondering when you’d call,” Danny says. Sounds of machine guns and airstrikes fill the background noise.  
     Cole smiles. “Been busy, paper doesn’t copy itself. But dude, where are you guys at? I’m at McDonald’s and nobody’s here.” They laugh fondly.
     “Aw man a Big Mac sounds good. But bro, I’m telling you when I see on the news you’ve died of a heart attack from those fries... at the funeral I’m gonna say I told you so.”
     Cole smiles. “Best eulogy I’ve ever heard.”
     “Thank you, I’m here all week. But are you busy? You gotta hop on. These noobs are wrecking us right now. Need your sniping skills.”
     Cole’s heart beats faster. Can they sense it? Can they hear the noise from the friend group? “Umm, I’d love to. But I’ve been having problems connecting to the Wi-Fi. Might take a few days to get it sorted out.”
     “Dude, that sucks. The picture you sent us looks nice though,” another friend says.
     “Yeah, it’s… great,” Cole says.
     “Well dude we can’t stay up after these next few rounds.  Work was brutal today and we’ve got an early shift. But we’ll talk later, yeah?”
     Cole’s mind scrambles to think of something, anything to keep them on longer. He will tell them he hates it and is going to move back home, and they can all rent a house like they planned before he moved out here.
     “Yeah, I’ll talk to you guys later,” Cole whispers. He hates himself as soon as the words run out of his mouth. He turns back towards the group door, and the muffled music and laughter fills his ears.
                                                                   ***
     The intensity of the music inside the bar almost matches the friend group’s music. Barely legal college-kids, young adults, and off-duty business people pack the bar. The stench of alcohol bleeds into the air. Blue neon light bathes everyone and Cole sits in the corner at a table meant to seat four. He traces his glass of Budweiser, not noticing the condensation building up on his fingers. He should knock on their door. He should knock and tell them how they make him feel and how they should go talk about their stupid kinks at a bar like normal people. He should knock, no, kick down their front door and demand an apology. Maybe if he yelled just the right way, they would get scared away and move out. He traces and traces his drink. He takes pleasure in planning how to tell them off, how they would look as he screams at them at the top of his lungs. Their ashamed faces bring a smile across his face.
     A man’s figure catches his eye, and he looks up. He sees Nick dancing in the crowd. He’s dressed in a sports coat and khakis. His hair hangs loose, and his phone is nowhere in sight. Nick makes eye contact with Cole for a moment and brushes his gaze right past him. Cole feels his chest tighten and words become difficult to articulate. He wonders if anyone else from the office will show up. Nick greets a group of friends that walks into the bar. Two girls and two guys. He smiles brightly like he’s greeting family. Cole makes out the words “Lexie! Anna! So glad you made it!”
     They can’t have faces. Lexie can’t be a red-head with a cute side-part. Anna can’t have a pretty smile with jet black bangs. They move to the dance floor. They can’t dance well, as they spin each other around in a hypnotic circle. They can't know Nick, and Nick can’t have friends. They can’t have fun knowing all the pain they cause Cole every night with their ridiculous card games. He will walk up to them, and sternly tell them who he is. Nick will become uncomfortable and apologize for not being more considerate. The friend group will do the same. Lexie will cry, saying she used to have a terrible roommate and that she can’t imagine doing the same to other people. Cole will tell them how awful they are and how it’s no wonder they only have each other as friends. The quiet man, Sean, will yell, finally taking charge on behalf of his friends. The yelling will give Cole vigor to lash back. He will call them names and criticize their families and tell them he will kick down their door if they don’t stop. He will return to his apartment and have a peaceful night's sleep. The friend group will move out and he will get a quieter neighbor, one who respects boundaries. They will become friends and Cole will know he made the right choice in staying here.

After this last sip, he will go tell them.