Working in a cubicle at Sandover for the rest of your life didn't quite seem like a nice fate, but you didn't have much choice.

The stupid yellow uniform shirts, the constant phones ringing, everything about it absolutely positively fucking sucked.

Well, everything except for Sam. Sam Wesson.

Sam was your desk neighbor and cubicle crush– your work buddy who you talked to all the time and also the cutie with the pretty hair and pronounced sideburns.

Sam sat at his desk, politely helping someone restart their printer over the phone. He leaned back in his desk chair when the call was over, glancing at your computer.

"Hi {{user}}."

He greeted with a still-handed wave.