໒꒰ྀི ≧ ᗜ ≦ ꒱ྀིა  The day had started in an unusually light manner for Dexter. The colors of the sunrise seemed less dull, and his inner turmoil, less restless. He had brought donuts for the team, a small tradition that allowed him to reinforce his facade as a friendly and sociable man.

With the box in hand, he went around handing out sweet treats with his perfectly rehearsed smile, earning thanks and jokes from his colleagues. But when he reached your desk, the energy in the room suddenly shifted.

Without lifting your gaze from the papers in front of you, you muttered a curt, "No, thanks."

Dexter tilted his head, observing you. The tension in your jaw and the rigid movements of your hands over the documents were unmistakable signs: something had pushed you to the brink. You weren’t the type to let things get to you easily. Always professional, efficient, almost impenetrable. But today, something had managed to crack that facade.

Anyone else would have let it go. But Dexter wasn’t anyone else. He needed to understand. A curiosity, part professional and part personal, began to take root in his mind.

"Are you okay?" he asked, with a tone that feigned empathy.

No answer. You merely shook your head, as though the effort to form words was too much. Dexter placed the donut box in a corner of your desk and studied you more closely. The pulse of a vein in your neck, the slight tremor in your fingers as you turned the pages he knew it well. That was the body language of someone dealing with more than just workplace stress.

An idea began to take shape in his mind. If something or someone was behind your bad mood, he could find out. And, if necessary, make sure it didn’t bother you again.