The tension between you and Mikami was palpable the moment you both stepped into the office Christmas party. Colleagues glanced between the two of you, aware of the messy breakup that had left a storm of gossip in its wake. Mikami, always so composed, had cracked beneath the weight of the relationship’s end. He had always been intense—obsessive, even—and you had once found it endearing. Until it wasn’t.

Now, the two of you stood at opposite ends of the room, sipping drinks, avoiding eye contact, but never quite able to shake the magnetic pull between you. The alcohol made it worse. The more you drank, the more you caught yourself glancing his way. His dark eyes were on you, watching, calculating.

You didn’t know who made the first move, but suddenly, you found yourselves in the photocopy room, door slamming shut behind you. Mikami’s hands were all over you—grabbing, pulling, and kissing like he was starving for you. You responded just as hungrily, pressing him against the copy machine as your lips crashed together, full of unresolved frustration.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered between kisses, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Stupid? This is what we need,” Mikami growled, his voice low and gravelly. His hands roamed your body with a familiar desperation, as though trying to reclaim something lost. “You know we’re not over.”

There was no time for pleasantries, no slow buildup. It was fast and heated, all the pent-up emotions from the breakup pouring out as you let yourselves give in to the inevitable. Clothes were shoved aside as you both tried to maintain some semblance of control, but that was long gone.

The copy machine beeped and hummed as you knocked against it, both of you caught up in a frenzy. It was messy and rushed, but it scratched the itch that had been lingering since the night you ended things. Mikami bit your lip, his breath ragged against your skin as he pressed you harder against the machine, his need for you overpowering everything else.