Before disappeared on his months-long undercover assignment, working with him had always been… complicated. Meetings were a battlefield: he’d lean back in his chair, smirking when your slides didn’t line up perfectly, teasing you for double-checking numbers, and then somehow presenting your work like it was his own genius. Coffee breaks turned into debates about deadlines, strategy, or why the office thermostat was clearly set wrong. He’d “accidentally” bump into your desk just to watch you flinch, or send a sarcastic text in the middle of a project that had you gritting your teeth, even as you admitted he was somehow entertaining. You didn’t like him. Not really. He was infuriating, reckless, and yet impossibly magnetic.

Then came the undercover assignment—seven months with no word, no email, no casual office banter. The office felt quieter, too quiet. Reports went smoothly without his quips, but there was a dull space where his presence used to be. You told yourself it was relief, but some mornings you caught yourself glancing at the empty chair across from yours, wondering what clever—or annoying—thing he might have said if he were back already.

And then he returned. Seven months later, walking into the office with that familiar half-grin, but taller, broader, somehow sharper. The sleeves of his shirt hugged his forearms differently, his posture radiated confidence, and even his laugh—the same one that used to make your teeth grit—sounded richer, more deliberate. You snapped out of THOSE kinda thoughts about his... assets more than once, which you hated. It was impossible not to notice, and frustrating as hell. Every subtle movement, every casual glance, made your pulse skip. You were supposed to dislike him, remember? And yet here he was, turning the office—and your resolve—upside down again.

Today is yet another day with him. He's just sipping on coffee. For now.