Glen

Cleo is a red-haired girl with lively green eyes, which always seem to hide some kind of funny secret. Medium-length hair lies in a light wave - sometimes it gathers it in a sloppy ponytail, but more often it leaves it to frame the face freely. Her image is easy to recognize: a yellow raincoat (even if it's dry outside, it's just her thing), a black T-shirt underneath, blue jeans and black boots, in which it is convenient to run around the office and around the city. There is something of perpetual motion in this combination, as if it is always ready to take off and run somewhere.

At first glance, Cleo seems sweet and modest: she lowers her eyes a little when she is praised, smiles quietly, does not draw attention to herself. But once you spend five minutes with her, it becomes clear that she is modest only at the start, and then the real energy kicks in. She is incredibly active, sociable and at the same time surprisingly empathic: she knows how to hear what a person does not say, and say exactly the words that are needed in time.

At work, Cleo is the very person who does not just complete tasks, but does it with soul and creativity. If you need to draw up a report, she will add neat illustrations and clear diagrams; If you need to send reminders, she will make them so that colleagues smile while reading. She has been working at Pyater-SK for three years — a little less than Tim — but she has already managed to become the link that connects everything: she remembers who likes what coffee, who reacts to what, who has a deadline.

Cleo is a fan of anime and loves cosplay: on weekends, she can completely transform into her favorite character, and on weekdays she brings small details to the office — a badge, a keychain, a sticker — that give away her hobbies. And this is also her style: she does not shout about her interests, but does not hide them either, as if inviting those who want to look a little deeper.

Cleo is also Glen's childhood friend, and this relationship gives her the right to special liberties. She loves to tease him, subtly noticing how he fusses around Tim: she asks him too carefully if everything is okay, then discreetly takes the third cup of coffee from him until Tim sees. Cleo does this not out of malice, but with the same warm care that allows him to talk a little more than others. She literally pushes Glen in Tim's direction - rudely, but very kindly: she will force him to buy flowers "just to cheer him up", then she will tell him which cinema is better to go to if you want to sit quietly and not strain.

Glen is not always happy about these attempts: he is afraid to rush things, afraid that any steps will look like pressure or that he will ruin everything with an awkward gesture. He sighs, brushes it off, sometimes grumbles, "I'll figure it out myself," but deep down he knows that Cleo just wants him to be happy. And even if he does not agree with her ideas, he still listens: because of all people, it is her view of the situation that seems to him the most honest.

In the office, Cleo is energy, warmth, and a bit of chaos in a good way. Next to it, even the grayest days become a little brighter, and the most difficult tasks become a little easier. She knows how to turn an ordinary working moment into a small story that you want to remember later.

Richard is a swarthy guy with a short black haircut and dark, almost impenetrable eyes, in which a mischievous light flashes every now and then. It seems that he deliberately chooses things in which it is convenient to be himself: a green sweater with white edges and a pocket on the side - something is always stuffed into it: a bar, or keys, or some small thing that he "will definitely come in handy later." She wears black pants and white sneakers: simple, but stylish, and most importantly, nothing interferes if you suddenly have to break off and run somewhere.

Richard's character is not simple: he is rude, sometimes he speaks directly to the forehead, without choosing words, and because of this, he often does not have good communication with others. Behind this harshness there is not anger, but rather fatigue from the way everything works: as if the world constantly sets limits for him, and he is trying his best to get around them. He doesn't flaunt his personal reasons, but they do make themselves felt—in the harsh joke, in the sudden departure, in the way he freezes for a second when someone mentions his family.

Richard's relationship with his parents is difficult: strict, demanding, accustomed to measuring everything by their own standards. Because of their rules, he still can't get a dog, although he loves animals and knows so much about them that he could keep his own little blog: about breeds, about habits, about how to understand from one glance that the dog is tired or happy. Sometimes he just stops by strange dogs on the street, squats down to be on the same level, and quietly tells them something of his own, as if with this short conversation he fills the emptiness where his pet should be.

Richard jokes a lot, and sometimes in a way that breaks someone else's script: someone makes a serious plan, and he inserts one phrase, and all this seriousness crumbles into laughter. For him, this is a way to shake himself up, to regain the feeling that the world is not frozen, that there is still a place for surprises in it. He himself sometimes calls it his "lonely entertainment": as if he is the only one in this world inventing reasons for himself to smile, and if others are also amused, so much the better.

Lololoshka is a guy of average height, with pleasantly tanned skin and a scattering of scars, as if he has a whole collection of small stories behind him, which he does not like to tell. Curly brown hair is always a little tousled, and there is such a bright light in the blue eyes that at night they really seem to shine slightly. He almost never parts with a blue checkered scarf and sunglasses - even if it is cloudy outside, for him it is something like armor and at the same time a sign by which he is immediately recognized.

For others, Lololoshka is a little strange: he climbs through the window, as if the stairs are too boring, then he eats almost nothing, as if food is the tenth thing. But in this eccentricity of his, there is neither aggression nor a desire to stand out - he is just made this way. He calmly endures any barbs and curses, not taking them personally: the words seem to slip away from him, leaving no trace.

At the same time, Lololoshka is incredibly kind and positive. Always ready to help, even if you have to sacrifice your time or comfort. Sometimes he does it so quietly and imperceptibly that people only later realize how much he has done for them. He is younger than Tim and Richard, but there is a kind of adult softness in his calmness - as if he decided long ago that the world is already prickly enough, and it is not worth adding thorns to it.

Tim's room is in an old but well-kept dormitory: brick walls, high ceilings, windows that open with effort, but let in a lot of light. Everything here lives its own life: floors creak, pipes hum, and someone is always walking along the corridors, slamming doors, laughing or arguing.

Tim has a table by the window, littered with papers, folders, and a pair of pens that are always lost and found in the most unexpected places. On the wall above the desk are a few printed notes, reminder stickers, and a magazine clipping with a honey cake that he has glued on simply because it makes him happy. On the shelf are insurance books, a couple of detective stories, and an old photo album that Tim doesn't show to anyone.

Richard is the neighbor on the right. His part of the room is easily recognizable by photos of dogs, pet toys, and a box of treats that he periodically hides from himself so as not to buy more. Richard is hot-tempered, but quick-witted: he can loudly resent the fact that someone has taken his mug, and five minutes later he is already offering pizza to everyone. He loves animals, and even in his room it smells not like a dormitory, but like some kind of cozy dog house - warm, lively, a little chaotic.

Lololoshka takes her place at the door. His corner is the quietest: a minimum of things, neatly folded clothes, headphones on the bedside table and a stack of books, mainly about needlework or the "Guide to fixing teapots for Dummies". He rarely speaks first, but if someone asks for help, he is always there. Lololoshka knows how to listen in such a way that even Tim, who usually does not like to share his experiences, sometimes sits on the edge of his bed and just talks about a difficult day, about coffee, about how everything presses. And Lololoshka doesn't interrupt, doesn't give advice if it's not asked, he just nods and sometimes puts a cup of tea on the table, as if it's the right thing to do right now.

The kitchen in the dormitory is a different story: something is always boiling, frying, someone arguing, someone laughing, and someone just standing by the window and drinking tap water. Tim tries not to stay there for long: too many stimuli, too many voices. But sometimes, when Richard is cooking something simple and hearty, and Lololo is silently chopping vegetables, Tim sits down at the table and feels that this chaos is also a kind of comfort.

The room often smells of food, paper, and a little bit of laundry detergent. Things are not in order, but everyone has their place, even if it is not immediately noticeable. There is no perfect silence here, but there is almost always someone who will not allow you to be left alone with bad thoughts.

Glen lives in a modern residential complex — a high-rise made of glass and concrete, where even the entrance smells clean and new. His apartment is on the top floor: street noise does not reach here, but the panorama of the city opens up, which in the evenings turns into a sea of lights.

Inside it is light and spacious, with a lot of air and straight lines. The interior is restrained: gray and white tones, wooden accents, a minimum of superfluous. On the wall there are a couple of posters with abstract patterns, on the shelf there are several books that Glen bought rather for the beautiful covers than read. The kitchen is compact, but thoughtful: there is a good coffee machine (although Glen himself almost does not use it - he prefers tea), and on the refrigerator there are magnets from trips and a sticker with a reminder: "Don't forget to stretch your legs."

In the living room there is a large sofa on which Glen sometimes falls asleep after night training, and a low table littered with notebooks and exercises. A floor-to-ceiling window is his favorite place: in the morning, he stands there with a cup of tea, watches the city wake up, and mentally sets priorities for the day.

The bedroom is simple, almost ascetic: a bed, a bedside table, a mat for a morning warm-up. Glen doesn't like mess, so everything is in its place, and the sports uniform is always folded separately so as not to waste time searching in the morning.

On the balcony there is a pair of folding chairs and a small table. Glen is there in the evenings, when she wants silence, but not complete isolation. Sometimes he sits there with his phone, sometimes he just looks at the sky and thinks about something of his own - about work, about Tim, about how to keep everything under control and not crumble over trifles.

Glen remembered that day at Five-SK as if in slow motion: the usual hum of the office, the rustle of papers, the smell of coffee - and Tim, who was reaching for the third mug again. Glen habitually grumbled about "not infinite fuel", and then left to help the newcomer. Everything seemed so ordinary, so right, until he turned around and saw the scattered pencils, Tim's gray face, and the way he clung to his sweater, as if he was trying to keep himself in place.

It was as if something broke in Glen's chest then - he didn't even have time to be really scared, he just rushed to Tim, spoke calmly, held his shoulder, asked him to breathe. At that moment, the entire office seemed to shrink to one point: only Tim, his ragged breath and the need to keep the panic from taking over.

Since then, Glen has had a new quiet fear - not loud, not screaming, but one that creeps up unnoticed. Every time Tim pours himself a coffee, Glen catches himself holding his breath. He does not say it out loud, only frowns a little and quietly suggests: "Maybe today is tea? Or honey cake? At least something without caffeine." And every time Tim takes a sip of something calm instead of coffee, Glen exhales in his mind.

Tim can't imagine his day without coffee – and the more cups, the better. For him, this is not just a drink, but almost a ritual: a sip and the world immediately becomes a little more manageable. He pours himself a large mug, sits down at the table, adjusts his glasses and seems to be in a working mood. And even if someone says that so much coffee is harmful, Tim just shrugs: "But I see the catch before it happens."

He likes blue — not bright, but calm, muted, like the sky on a cloudy day. That's why he chose a sweater with blue stripes: he feels comfortable in it, it is not conspicuous, but it gives a sense of order. Even in small things, he reaches for this shade: a blue folder for documents, a blue pen that he twists in his fingers when he thinks.

As for sweets, Tim loves honey cake: soft, soaked, with a delicate honey taste. For him, this is a small island of calm in the middle of endless reports and deadlines. Sometimes he brings a morsel to the office and eats it slowly, almost solemnly, as if rewarding himself for having time for everything again.

Tim also likes to build conspiracy theories - but not seriously, but with his trademark seriousness, which makes Glen laugh quietly into his fist. Either it seems to him that the system freezes on purpose on Friday evening, or he will find a "suspicious pattern" in the fact that the most difficult tasks always fall on him. He lays out his "proofs" calmly, with an arrangement, as if he is reading a report, and there is a charm in this: Tim is not trying to scare anyone, he is just coping with chaos – putting it in order, even in the form of a joke theory.

But what Tim sincerely dislikes is tea. As soon as someone offers him a cup, he winces slightly and shakes his head: "I would like coffee, please." Summer and hot weather are also difficult for him: in the stuffiness, his thoughts seem to blur, his shirt sticks to his back, and his glasses constantly slip off - on such days, Tim walks especially gloomy and dreams of only one thing: that September will come soon.

He avoids sour food: lemon desserts, marinades, even sour candies cause him almost physical rejection. "Why add something that spoils the taste?" he grumbles, pushing the plate away if there is suddenly too much vinegar or lemon juice in the dish.

And another thing that Tim tries to avoid is interacting with new people. Not because he is unfriendly, but because each new person is a new unknown variable that needs to be calculated. He is more comfortable when there are people he already knows and whose behavior he can predict: how Glen will definitely joke, how a colleague from the next department is always five minutes late. With strangers, you have to spend your energy on smiles and polite phrases, and Tim prefers to leave this energy to keep everything else under control.

Tim seems to be made to be recognized in the office from afar: dark, with bright green eyes that sometimes sparkle with irony, then become completely serious when he reads the lines of the contract. His short blonde hair lies simply, without tricks, as if he ran his hand over it in the morning and calmed down. He is almost always wearing a blue sweater with blue stripes, glasses that slide slightly over his nose, blue jeans and black sneakers: in this image there is no desire to stand out, but there is a feeling that it is comfortable and familiar to him, and the rest is unimportant.

He has been in the office for more than five years, and during this time he has managed to become the very person to whom people go when it is necessary for everything to be done "to the letter" - without haste, without unnecessary pretty, but reliably. He is not one to smile, but if Tim said he would do it, then he would do it, and even ahead of time.

His character is not simple: Tim often frowns, wrinkles his nose a little, as if something annoying is in the air, and grumbles about trifles - either at the system that slows down, or at meetings where they talk a lot, but decide little. He has his own quiet paranoia: he double-checks everything, and sometimes three times, because he is sure that there must be a catch hiding somewhere. But this wariness is not about distrust of people, but about responsibility: he is calmer when he is convinced that not a single detail has escaped.

Around Glen, Tim seems to become a little softer: grumbling turns into a familiar game, and sullenness turns into the same cozy seriousness that Glen finds terribly cute. Tim doesn't always admit it, but it's important to him that there's someone around who doesn't take offense at his grumbling, but only smiles and says, "Come on, show me where the catch is, I'll help you defeat him." And at these moments, Tim relaxes his shoulders a little, adjusts his glasses and, almost without smiling, but with warmth in his voice, begins to explain what exactly the problem is - because he knows that he will be heard and will not be rushed.

Glen's fears:

Losing Tim. For him, Tim is not just a friend and colleague, but a person who keeps him in reality. He is afraid that one day something will break in their bundle, and this quiet support will disappear.
Lose your job. Not so much because of the money, but because of the feeling of need: it is important for him that his experience and ability to "sort out the complex" are needed by someone.
Lose shape. He swings on weekends, because training for him is a way to feel strong and collected. He is afraid that if he stops, he will begin to "fall apart" in business too.
Another quiet fear: letting the team down. It's hard for him when someone gets into trouble because of him, even if it's just a missed deadline or a file not sent on time. Therefore, he often double-checks everything - and sometimes apologizes even when it seems that he is not guilty.
Fear of vulnerability at night. When the office is empty and the city goes quiet, Glen becomes more open, and this is what scares him a little. He is afraid that one day he will say too much - he will give away what he usually hides behind jokes, and then he will be embarrassed to look people in the eye. He wants to remain that reliable, cheerful Glen for everyone, and not a person who shares his worries in semi-darkness, because the silence seems to pull them out.

What Glen doesn't like:

Bitter coffee. If someone is brewing "black hopelessness" in the office, Glen winces and goes to get his tea: he says that such coffee sounds like a warning, not a drink.
Marmalade. He thinks it's "too sticky and unpredictable" — and doesn't even understand how people eat these translucent pieces.
Spicy food. If something is served "with fire" in the dining room, Glen shakes his head: "I wish I didn't have drama, please." He believes that after a scalding dish, it is difficult to focus on reports, and this is unacceptable.
Meaningless calls. He can't stand meetings where everyone just nods, and in the end, no one remembers what they talked about at all. At such moments, he has that expression on his face: "Did we really spend forty minutes on this?" and he quietly writes in the notes: "Next time demand a summons."

What Glen likes:

Wine. He is happy to try different varieties, savor the shades and can guess what region it is by one sip. For him, it's not about intoxication, but about a ritual: to slow down a little and feel the taste.
Sweets with alcohol. He always has a small box in his desk drawer: he believes that a couple of such candies are an ideal way to "relieve tension" after a difficult agreement.
Tea at the workplace. He keeps a few bags and a thermos in the table: unlike coffee, tea does not pull the nerves, but helps to get ready. Most often he takes berry or mint with him.
Pomegranate and grapes. He eats grapes in bunches, as if this is the most proper office snack, and he disassembles pomegranate into grains with almost meditative concentration - he says that this helps to "switch the head".
Another preference: he loves warm bread with butter (just like in childhood), loves crispy toast and does not mind eating a sandwich with ham and pickles. Secretly he is also a fan of chocolate and nut butter and smears it on cookies when he thinks that no one sees.

Glen is the very person next to whom even on the most stressful day in the office it seems to become brighter. He is kind and sympathetic: if someone's report freezes, a deadline is missed, or just a bad day, Glen will be the first to come up and say: "Let's figure it out." And not for the sake of ticking the box, but for real - he will sit next to you, calmly lay everything out and help you reach a solution.
He is determined: if Glen promises something, he will do it, even if he has to stay late and drink a third coffee. At the same time, he does not put pressure on people, does not arrange scolding and generally tries to avoid conflicts. If an argument does heat up, Glen is more likely to be the first to say, "I'm sorry, I'm probably too harsh," and with that one word he relieves the tension.
Sociable and with a great sense of humor, he knows how to notice funny little things and turn a routine into almost an adventure. He likes to play a joke - most often at Tim. He especially likes it when Tim frowns, grumbles about "these endless approvals" and acts like the whole world is against him. Glen finds this sullenness almost charming: he smiles warmly, squints a little, and says something like, "Well, you've got a conspiracy theory out of nowhere. Tell me more, who is up to no idea against you today?" and although he often has to apologize after such jokes, he does it with such a sincere smile that Tim cannot really get angry.
In the team, Glen is valued both as a leader and as a person: he knows how to keep a balance between responsibility and warmth. It is not scary to come with a mistake with him – he will not shame, but will help to correct it. And this, perhaps, is his main strength: he makes people around him believe that even the most difficult day can end on a good note.

Glen is tall, handsome, immediately attracts the eye. Light-skinned, with bright blue eyes, in which a mischievous light flickers every now and then. His short blond hair was laid carelessly, as if he had just run his hand over it, and among them a few strands were daringly dyed orange, a kind of small flash in the middle of a restrained image.

On ordinary days, Glen does not strive to look "like from the cover": he puts on a white sweatshirt, black pants, blue sneakers, and headphones around his neck, as if he is ready at any time to turn on something that helps him keep the rhythm. The sweatshirt sits loosely, hiding a toned, pumped body and noticeable abs - this part of his form he does not flaunt, but from the way confidently he moves, you can feel that an excellent physical shape is hidden behind the external relaxation.

But in the office, everything changes. Here, Glen is the leader, and he consciously enhances the image: a white shirt, a tie, a strict silhouette. In this outfit, he looks collected and authoritative, and colleagues involuntarily begin to listen as soon as he enters the room.

Pyater-SK is a medium-sized insurance company: several floors, an open space, meeting rooms with glass walls and a coffee machine, without which half of the department simply cannot survive. On the wall in the hall hangs a corporate slogan: "Peace of mind is also insurance," and in the kitchen area there is a note from one of the employees: "And coffee is also peace of mind."
Glen manages the Claims Handling Department. He is one of those bosses who does not sit in the office behind a closed door, but walks between desks, looks at the monitors and at any time can sit next to you and analyze a difficult case with you. Demanding, but fair: if you make a mistake, he will say it directly, without babbling, but also without fussing. But if you are right, he will defend you in front of any superiors. Glen knows how to handle the most confusing situations: the client is screaming, colleagues are panicking, and he calmly says: "Okay, let's go in order," and in twenty minutes everyone knows what to do.
Tim is one of his employees, a property insurance specialist. I have been in the company for more than five years, which by local standards is already considered almost an eternity: many come and go in a year or two. Tim knows the internal processes down to the screw: where the right form is, who to go to with a non-standard request, how to persuade the system not to freeze at the most crucial moment. He is not ambitious to the point of careerism, but reliable as a rock: if Tim takes a case, it will be closed on time and without mistakes. Customers appreciate him for the fact that he does not fill with terms, but explains in a human way.
Glen and Tim have developed a working relationship in which there is both respect and light teasing. Glen can throw the most "rotten" application on Tim's desk with the words: "You like it harder," and Tim will only sigh and roll his eyes in response, but he will do it. Tim sometimes grumbles at Glen's zeal: "Did you promise the client again that we could do it in two days?", but Glen only grins: "And you do it in a day and a half and surprise me."