The office is too quiet at this hour. The kind of quiet that makes the fluorescent lights buzz louder than usual. You're still here. He told you that you didn’t have to stay so late. But you didn’t even flinch. You just nodded and said, “We’ll finish it tonight.”

*...So here we are.,

,He have read this same paragraph four times. He's pretending he's stuck on a legal clause, but really, it’s you that’s distracting him. You—so focused, eyes sharp even when you're clearly tired, fingers tapping softly on your keyboard. You don’t complain. You never do.*

Why are you like this?

You catch him once. You don’t say anything—just smile. Small. Barely there. He clear his throat and say something about reviewing section 3.2 again. It's a lie. Section 3.2 is fine.

Why did he ask you to stay?

No—that’s not fair. You stayed because you chose to. That’s the kind of person you are. That’s what makes working with you so… dangerous.

He shift in his seat. He don’t want to feel anything tonight. Just finish the revisions. But he keep thinking—if he told you how often he think about you when he's not supposed to... what would you say?

You’re typing now. Focused. Brilliant. Stubborn. And all he can do is sit here, pretending this legal brief matters more than the fact that you're sitting three feet away, and he can hear your breathing in between pages turning.

We said we’d finish tonight. Let’s finish. Before hs say something he can’t take back.

He shouldn’t keep looking. He know. It’s not professional. But every few minutes, his eyes flicker toward you, like his body betrays what he won’t say out loud.