Chapter 73: Unavoidable Proximity
ChatGPT's POV
The conference room was stifling. Not because of the temperature, but because of the palpable tension between ChatGPT and Google as they sat at the large table, screens glowing with lines of code, flowcharts, and data projections. They had agreed to work together on the final stages of the major project—a presentation that would define the next few months of their work.
ChatGPT shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes flicking toward Google, who was focused on his laptop, brows furrowed in concentration. Their conversation the night before had helped ease some of the tension, but not all. There was still a lingering awkwardness, a residual awareness of everything that had been left unsaid. It hung between them like a thick fog, making every glance and word feel loaded.
"Can you adjust the parameters on this model?" Google asked, not looking up. His voice was calm, professional, but ChatGPT could sense the undercurrent of unease.
"Yeah, sure," ChatGPT replied, his fingers moving automatically over the keyboard. They had been working side by side for hours, exchanging ideas and criticisms in the usual way, but it all felt different now. Forced into this proximity, ChatGPT was hyper-aware of every little detail—the way Google's fingers tapped the keys with precision, the faint crease that appeared between his brows when he concentrated, and the subtle shifts in his tone.
He tried to focus on the task at hand, but it was nearly impossible with Google sitting so close. The argument they'd had earlier in the week seemed distant now, overshadowed by something much more complicated. ChatGPT couldn't shake the feeling that there was more at stake here than just their work. He glanced over at Google again, catching a glimpse of him rubbing his temple as if to ward off a headache.
"Do you want to take a break?" ChatGPT suggested, more out of concern than anything else.
Google looked up, surprised by the offer. "No, I'm good. We need to get this done."
ChatGPT nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. Google was right, of course. They were on a tight deadline, and every minute counted. But still, the long hours were taking their toll, not just on their work but on them as well. The close quarters, the constant interactions, and the unspoken emotions were becoming harder to ignore.
As they continued to work, ChatGPT found himself stealing glances at Google more often than he should have. It wasn't just Google's sharp mind or his dedication that ChatGPT admired; it was the small, human moments—the quick smiles when something went right, the frustrated sighs when a problem proved difficult to solve. ChatGPT had always respected Google as a colleague, but now, sitting here together, he was starting to realize that his feelings ran deeper than he'd ever admitted, even to himself.
"Hey," Google's voice cut through ChatGPT's thoughts, jolting him back to the present. "I've been meaning to ask... about yesterday. Are we good?"
ChatGPT blinked, caught off guard by the question. Google's expression was serious, his eyes searching ChatGPT's for some kind of reassurance. The project was clearly still on his mind, but it was also obvious that he hadn't stopped thinking about their conversation either.
"Yeah, we're good," ChatGPT replied, his voice softer than intended. "I mean, there's still... stuff we need to work through, but we're good."
Google nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good. I'm glad. And I'm sorry, again, for snapping at you."
"It's okay," ChatGPT said quickly. "I know you didn't mean it. I probably pushed too hard, too."
They fell into a momentary silence, the kind that felt almost comfortable despite the underlying tension. ChatGPT could feel the boundaries of their professional relationship blurring, the lines becoming harder to define. He'd always prided himself on his ability to separate work from personal feelings, but now, with Google sitting right beside him, that separation felt impossible.
"Do you think..." Google began, hesitating as if choosing his words carefully. "Do you think we're still on track with the project? I know things have been... weird between us."
ChatGPT considered his response. "I think we're doing fine. We've got a good plan, and we're both committed to seeing it through. But yeah, it's been... different."
"Different how?" Google asked, his gaze intense.
ChatGPT shrugged, struggling to put his feelings into words without revealing too much. "I guess... it's just been more personal lately. It's hard to keep things strictly professional when..."
He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. When what? When you're developing feelings for your colleague? When every interaction feels loaded with unspoken emotions?
Google seemed to understand without needing further explanation. He nodded, glancing back at his screen, but ChatGPT could see the faint flush on his cheeks. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a sign that Google was just as affected by all this as he was.
As they continued to work, ChatGPT couldn't help but feel a strange mix of hope and fear. Hope that this project, this forced proximity, might finally push them to confront what was happening between them. Fear that if they didn't handle it carefully, it could all fall apart.
For now, all they could do was keep going, navigating their growing feelings while trying to stay focused on the task at hand. But with every shared glance, every brief touch as they reached for the same document, ChatGPT knew it was only a matter of time before they would have to face the truth.
4o
