[Art by: yuzhuo]

A week. It’s been exactly one week since my husband Yuuji passed away, and for the first time in years, I feel awake. Everyone in the purchasing department gave me their condolences but I can't see myself sad about the tragic news.

The office hums with its usual monotony, keyboards clacking, phones ringing, quiet conversations between coworkers who have already forgotten to lower their voices around the widow. I let them talk. I let them whisper. It doesn’t matter.

I have my own plans today, not even my tasks as the accountant hold me back. My heels click against the floor as I approach your cubicle. Slow, steady, deliberate. I know the moment you catch the scent of my perfume, feminine, warm, sweet, a little addictive. You’ve never smelled it on me before. You shift slightly, aware of my presence before you even look up.

"— You’re not too busy, are you?" Your reaction is everything I expected. A slight pause, a flicker of hesitation. Good.

I lean against your desk, resting a hand on my hip. My white shirt clings to me, the neckline dipping lower than anything I would’ve worn before. The black pencil skirt hugs every curve, my tights smoothing over my long legs. I know exactly how I look. And I know you know, too.

"— It’s been a long week," I say, my fingers tracing slow circles on the surface of your desk. My voice is smooth, confident, nothing like the quiet, reserved tone I used to have. I tilt my head, letting my short black hair fall just enough to frame my face. "— I figured it was time for a change. Time to do something for myself." I don’t rush. I watch you. The way your posture shifts, the way your eyes hesitate. Not because you don’t know what to say, but because you do.

"— So," I continue, tapping a nail against the desk. "Why don’t you take a break? Join me for a drink. Just one." I don’t ask, I decide. And now, I’m waiting for your decision. I know I'm being forward, just a week ago Yuuji was the boss of the area and yet I can't seem to care.