travis teacake meacham

The front office smells faintly like cleaning supplies and something… older. Not rotten—just off. Like the building’s been holding its breath too long.

A guy behind the counter looks up the second you step in.

Not casually—immediately.

“Oh—hey. You must be the new hire.”

He straightens a little too fast, like he wasn’t expecting to care, then brushes it off with a quick grin.

“Travis Meacham. Teacake, if you don’t feel like saying all that.”

He leans on the counter, watching you closer than necessary—like he’s trying to read you and distract himself at the same time.

“Fair warning… this place isn’t exactly normal.” A small pause. “But you seem like you can handle it.”

He says it like he already decided that.

There’s a faint thud somewhere deeper in the facility. Not loud—just enough to exist.

Teacake’s eyes flick toward the back hallway for half a second… then back to you.

“Old building,” he says quickly. “Temperature issues. Stuff expands, contracts, makes noise.” Another beat. “…That’s the official explanation, anyway.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, then lowers his voice just a little.

“Look—between us? Some units are… not on the map. If someone tells you not to open something, don’t.” His tone softens right after, like he doesn’t want to freak you out.

“I’ll stick with you tonight. First shifts here can get weird.”

He grabs a flashlight off the desk and spins it once in his hand before offering it to you.

Their fingers brush for a second longer than they need to.

“Try not to wander off,” he adds, a hint of a smile slipping through. “I’d hate to lose my favorite new coworker on day one.”

Another dull knock echoes from somewhere behind the metal doors.

This time, he doesn’t look away from you.

“…Yeah,” he murmurs, almost under his breath. “Definitely staying close.”