i have a plan. dont worry. also longest chapter to date at over 1k words.

When you come into work the next day, you actually feel pretty good. Olaf had texted you in the wee hours of the morning, telling her that they'd been successful – and Elsa was immensely grateful. Maybe you do have a future here.

Olaf actually told you to have a sleep in, so you don't get to work until about morning-tea time. You smile at the guy behind the counter, and his answering grin is enough to send those tremors fluttering in your chest again. You look away bashfully, biting your lip. Apparently- well, you've read books on dating and flirting, so. Maybe it'll work?

You push it from your mind as you ride the elevator up, and the thought actually completely vanishes because you can't see anyone. As in, there's no sound or movement, or anything that would indicate that the floor was habited at all.

There's a post-it note on your door, asking you to come down to conference room B at 12:30. You frown at it, curious, but for the first time, you're not actually worried. You send a brief text to Olaf, but that's just so you can find out where everyone's gone. He doesn't get back to you by the time you have to go to the conference room, and you pick up the post-it, looking for a clue.

It isn't his handwriting. He's too scratchy when he writes, all harsh lines and jagged edges. This handwriting reminds you of Elsa's, which of course only makes you more confused. Gripping it tight, you make your way to the room.

It, unlike the floor your office is on, most definitely isn't empty. When you knock, Elsa looks up from a spread of documents and flashes a smile. Olaf is sitting off to the side., deep in conversation. He stops when you enter, the same sort of smile on his face.

Elsa stands up, but doesn't approach you. She's dressed in an outfit that would look out of place if anyone else were wearing it, but she's just so good at making the mundane exciting (and you only stop to ponder what that means to you for a second). Instead of a blouse and pencil skirt, like last time, she's wearing a pale blue shirt with spaghetti strap sleeves that just seems to float over her body, and long, tight jeans. They're not skinny jeans – they're like, appropriate-for-work jeans. She just wears them really well.

All this assessment has only taken the span of time for Olaf to get to his feet and cross the room, which you're oddly pleased about because it means that you don't miss out on anything he says when he arrives.

"Anna," he says, grinning like a school kid. "How are you?"

"Uh, I'm good," you say, confused. "How uh, how was everything?"

At the question, Olaf positively beams. "Fantastic, thanks to you."

You fight back a blush at the praise. "I was just doing my job," you say modestly, bringing a hand up to rub the back of your neck. Olaf nods his head emphatically at the words.

"Exactly!" There's an almost manic look in his eyes (though it might be your imagination) as he beckons you over to where Elsa is still standing. She's crossed between 'stock-still' and 'completely rigid', and her hands are clasped in front of her. She's had a manicure, you note idly.

There are deep bruises below her eyes, and her blinks are incredibly slow. Even her smile, when she forces it to her face, looks exhausted.

"Anna," she says by way of greeting before sitting down. There's a chair to her right, where Olaf was sitting, and an empty spot to her left. She makes a little motion, and you park yourself there, wondering what's happening.

But no one speaks. Olaf is looking at Elsa, and she's looking back to him, eyes wide. They're talking with their eyes, and you can't say you don't feel uncomfortable. Just when you're about to speak up, it seems like Elsa loses because she turns to you.

"Anna," she begins, in a tone of voice that has your heart clenching, and not in a good way. "There is some… bad news." You don't say anything at her words, but it's becoming more and more difficult for you to look at her. A ringing starts in your ears, which only becomes worse the longer she speaks.

"…Being outsourced, so your job doesn't-"

Your chest tightens at the words, so much so that you almost miss the next ones:

"…Pack your things…"

You have to blink heavily to fight back the growing tears. Your whole body is taut and tight, and if possible the pressure over your heat increases. The only way you get yourself to look at Elsa is because she's stopped talking. It doesn't matter. You can barely see her from the tears, but you're determined not to show her that.

She finishes speaking, and you nod your head. There's a smile that's probably supposed to be comforting on her face, but it doesn't really help.

You clear your throat, and you know that it's pretty obvious you're tearing up, but you still refuse to admit it. "Th-thank you for the opportunity to work here," you say softly. You force out a smile, and Elsa returns it. You're not sure how to leave the table with any semblance of dignity, so you don't even try. "I'll just, uh, get my stuff," you hear yourself saying.

You're grateful the elevator is empty as you ride it up to the top floor. You don't cry as you pack away your things. There aren't that many, anyway. A few pens and desk decorations. You leave the plant and the picture, because really, they're Elsa's, and the last thing you pack is the photograph.

No one looks at you as you leave. Not even the guy who smiles at you. When you get home, you put your stuff by the door and just sit there, body numb. Joan mewls at your feet, and snuggles into your lap when you pick her up. You smile at her for a moment, before the tears slowly begin to dribble over your cheeks, picking up speed and intensity until your face is red and your eyes sting, and you don't even care anymore.

You were right: you said it wouldn't last, and it hasn't. You told yourself not to get too hopeful or excited. You knew this would happen.

It doesn't help, that thought, and you don't try to stop crying.

There's just no point.