So when a coworker chose that time to come in from lunch and drop the folder in her hands and stammer something about 'G-Gokudera-sama!', and then the boy in question had as many squibs in his hands as he had fingers and quickly chased the woman back out of the room, he learned the boy was /the/ son of /the/ head of directors, the man behind the figurehead president, and he also liked explosives. (That was fine. Explosives weren't on his top three [Japan, giant robots, green tea], but they were definitely somewhere on his top ten. Especially if they were giant explosives /shot/ by giant robots.)
So when he'd tapped the raging boy on the shoulder and invited him to tea, and the two spent three hours discussing topics ranging from improving the current models of amphibious mechas to their personal favourite programming languages to the benefits and consequences of explosion vs selfdestruct, he learned not to ever fucking call him 'Gokudera-sama', his name was Hayato -- no, not 'Hayato-kun', jesus, what are you, his mo-- ... ... It's /Hayato/.
"Psh, if you want them, you're goddamn welcome to 'em," the boy says, snapping him out of his reverie back to the present.
"Eh, I prefer to work alone." It's true enough. He likes his mess where it is. "Here, check this out." He removes the plug from the headphones jack, turns up the volume to the laptop speakers. Waits for the boy's curiosity to overcome his sullen stubbornness, and he does eventually hang over the arm of the couch to watch the screen with a pout.
Spanner hits the enter button to start the tune. This would be a mildly dangerous experimental test if it works, but he doesn't have high expectations that it will. Still, his fooling around with the audio manipulation program had turned out /something/ interesting.
The expression on Hayato's face changes from a fed-up scowl to a mildly confused scowl as the tune continues through the scales. "Not exactly the next hit single. ... What's it ... do?"
The blond shrugs. "It's /supposed/ to be an artificial supersonic, inducing a confused state in pokémon." He would install it in his mecha design, including buttons for synthetic growls, screeches, eventually replicating every known sound move, which could then be put to use in ... something. He didn't like to think about that part. The point was, mechas. That was always the point.
The scowl moves from mildly confused to mildly affronted as he realises he's just been used as an unwitting guinea pig. "Needs work." He flips back on his side, staring at the wall.
Another shrug, and Spanner leaves the noise running as he alt-tabs over to check his mail client. "Kinda neat, in any case. Always going down, without getting any higher or lower..."
A pause in the banter, nothing breaking the silence of the room except the spiralling scales, and then the file cuts out and it's just them. He can hear the boy's measured breathing, pretends to be engrossed in this week's company newsletter.
"... /that/ sounds familiar."
Little more than a whisper, but Spanner thinks he was meant to hear it. He bites the sucker until it crunches, tries to come up with something meaningful and profound that will fix whatever it is that needs to be fixed even though he doesn't know what that is and he doubts Hayato knows either, when the boy sits up, stands, facing the door and not him, and says, "I'm leaving."
Oh, there's a resolution in those words now, and he is not talking about the office room. He flips the candy stick to the other side of his mouth, feeling careful, cautious. "Okay."
The boy's frown manages to wrinkle even more, his glare burning holes in the back of Spanner's hair. "I'm serious."
"I know." There's no lilt in his words, no knowing sarcasm; it is a fact as true as the boy's declaration to go.
He blinks, drops his gaze to the floor. Was he hoping Spanner might stop him? But Hayato is a (... perhaps not /mature/ ... perhaps not /rational/ ...) smart kid. If he wants to leave, it's his choice. "... Okay. Then." He shuffles towards the door. "Guess I'll go." His hand on the knob.
"Hayato."
The word falls out before he can think of anything to follow it with, and he runs his fingers through his hair with his back still turned to the boy who pauses for him. Meaningful, profound, wise; helpful brotherly advice.
"Try not to get yourself killed."
An eyebrow arches, then he shakes his head slowly. "Che," he states, but there's a smile in it. "Same to you." And the door opens and he steps through and he's gone.
Spanner leans far back in his chair, lets out a heavy, slow sigh, and unwraps another sucker.