1. No Shoes

Such peacefulness, his body distorted as he snored even louder than a train. Drool was falling from the corner of his mouth, but what he was dreaming was worth any drool ok his favourite superman pillow, the one he kept ever since he was eleven.

He was eating his favourite food, a triple patties bacon burger filled with mustard, spicy sauce and a bit of barbecue sauce, extra onions and he sometimes even placed his golden crispy fries between the patties, with fresh melted cheese.

His teeth were savagely devouring the entire burger, the taste exploding across his mouth and all his hormones began racing, as he continued to chew and chew. More he wanted, as he enveloped another huge part with his teeth, and swallowed before it was even chewed properly.

He could not get enough.

However, he frowned when the burger began speaking; it was screaming his...name?

"Eric!"

"Eric!"

His brows furrowed even more, and with widened gaze, it seemed the burger was now attempting to eat him. In his sleep, he shuffled aggressively.

"Eric!"

"Eric!"

His eyes widened in horror, his fast breathing causing his heart to race, and when he saw bright green eyes staring back at him, he almost choked on his own spit.

Melissa was throwing clothes in his direction on the bed, and he wiped his mouth from the drool. It was evident she was hurrying, a bit of stress on her face as she even threw him his shoes.

He had just woken up, and he lethargically asked, "Why did you wake me up?" His blond curls were disheveled over his head, and he was scratching his tummy, "I was eating—"

"It's your first day at work!" Melissa shouted, pointing towards his clock ticking at the top of his room, "It's already ten past—"

Immediately, when it hit him, he raced to his feet, threw his clothes on before she could even say anything else. He sprinted to the bathroom, and rapidly brushed his teeth, but was not able to retouch his hair.

His new work as an Editor for the well-known comic book author Draven H. Malcom, started at nine-thirty. The opportunity to work with Draven H. Malcom had come from a friend that also worked there, and he never thought he would have been granted such workplace.

However, he may not have a job after this.

As Melissa attempted to hurry a lunch into his bag, Eric grabbed it before it was closed, and zipped it up on his way to the exit. As he raced down the road to the nearest bus stop, Melissa sprinted out and said, "You forgot your shoes!"

Eric reached the agency at noon, and gulped when he realized that the only thing at his feet were his socks. He entered the building anyhow, and followed the direction his friend had given him.

"His floor is the fifth one; his office is in the back."

He gulped.

His friend had also said, "Be sure to be on time."

Sweat dripped from the side of his face.

He reached inside his bag, and found a perfume bottle. If was Melissa's, and he sprayed it all over his body, since smelling like a woman was better than smelling like sweat and filth. As the elevator doors opened, a bunch of heads turned, and he had been spraying himself at that time. The observed as he stepped inside, all examining him and scoffing, a few lowering their mouths to snicker, and others raising their eyebrows in pity.

There were multiple editors, and they were dressed well better than him. Even their hair was slick back with gel, shaped perfectly while his was all over the place.

He stepped past them, continuing straight the lane in between all the desks as he eventually reached the office of Draven H. Malcom.

He gulped, not having enough courage to knock. He did not need to, since large shadow engulfed him. He froze on the spot, his shoulder's raising as if he had been electrocuted.

"And you are?"

Draven H. Malcom was a tall man, built like a athlete with a toned upper body that caused women to melt by his mere sight. Through the tight dress shirt he always wore, a suit over his shoulders, the trained abs were noticeable. Even the manner his bright blue eyes examined a room caused many to feel as if their hearts were swarmed with butterflies. A blade was not as sharp as his jaw, and the pointy nose was so straight that plastic surgeons would never be able to recreate such look.

He was handsome, way too handsome. Which was even worse for Eric, who could not help but notice all those features. For one, Eric was gay; he loved men. He had determined such fact at a young age, even though he attempted to hide it through dates and profiles online, but he could never help but glance a second time at a handsome man that walked by.

As Eric turned around, he squealed: this man was scary, with icy blue eyes so sharp that he thought his soul had frozen to death. Even the manner he raised one of his thick eyebrows in Eric's direction caused him to step backwards and only land on the door.

Draven examined him, noticed a few things then met his gaze again; it was evident he was bothered by his presence, "Are you deaf? I said who are you."

"Eric, the new editor for you're—" He stopped when Draven simply turned around with his palm slammed against his face, sighing a long breath of annoyance before reaching around Eric and opening his office door.

"Get inside."

Eric squirmed, entering his office and grabbed a seat in front of the desk. Draven made his way around the desk, placed his coffee on it and then sat within his chair.

He seemed annoyed, and a bit angry at this point, "So you show up? Not only are you—" he glanced at his watch, "—about three hours late, but you show up like this?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"Hair is a mess, rheum at the corners of your eyes, your shirt is wrinkled, you show up with no shoes."

Eric gulped.

Then, a darkness overflowed in Draven's eyes as he hissed, "And worst of all, you show up smelling like a woman?" He paused for a moment before adding angrily, "We're you having sex before coming here? Is that how unimportant this job is for you?"

Eric shook his head rapidly, "No—"

"I have editors that stay here day and night working their butt off to help me produce the best work we can, and some of them don't even get to go home," he snarled, his fists clenching, "This is my livelihood, and I pay those workers good money to help me."

"Mr. Malcom, please—"

"And you show up without shoes?" he exclaimed even more, his eyes widened.

Eric was unsure whether to continue attempt to speak or simply let himself be eaten alive by this wild animal.

Draven slowly shook his head, chuckled then said, "You're fired, get out of my office and never come back here."