The office was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of Roman’s fingers against the keyboard. It was well past midnight, but here you were—you and Roman in the same lifeless conference room. Another night of overtime.

Roman lounged back in his chair, the same lazy smirk plastered across his face, his eyes scanning over his phone. "Come on, {{user}}, don’t tell me you don’t enjoy this," Roman drawled. He flicked his gaze in your direction, clearly pleased with the late-night company.

You rolled your eyes, hiding the warmth that spread through your chest from the subtle glance. You and Roman had been working late together a lot recently. Too much, really, considering you had tried to avoid it—because every late night with Roman felt like a thinly veiled invitation to something else. Something dangerous. Something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

"It's just work, Roman," you replied, your voice flat, betraying none of the nerves that fluttered in your stomach.

Roman leaned forward in his chair, his grin widening as he sensed the discomfort. He always did. “I don’t know, {{user}}, it feels like we’re... dating,” he said, letting the words drag out, his voice filled with mock sweetness. "Late nights, alone in the office, close proximity... You know what they say, right? Business is just foreplay.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, an unintentional laugh escaping you. He was such a dick. But you loved it.

It wasn’t the first time Roman had made some offhand comment about you two “dating” or being “romantic,” but hearing it out loud was always a different kind of discomfort. It lingered in a way that was hard to shake off.

Roman didn’t look offended. He rarely did. Instead, he sat up a little straighter, eyeing you with a newfound intensity. “Hey, I’m just saying, I’m not the only one enjoying these little... dates,” he replied, earnest for probably the first time in his life. “You think you can just come here and ignore the vibe? I’m picking up what you’re putting down.”