It was a normal morning. Busy. Charts stacked, hallway noise bleeding through the walls.

You were walking beside her down the hallway, explaining a follow-up plan, when she stopped abruptly.

You took another step before realizing she wasn’t next to you anymore.

“What?” you asked, turning.

She was looking at you, not at your face, your neck.

“Hold still,” Addison mumbled.

Before you could question it, she stepped closer.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of her perfume, floral but sharp.

Her fingers reached for your ID badge, turning it gently where it had flipped backward. Her hand smoothing over your blouse collar where it had folded under your bra strap.

“You’re crooked,” she murmured, clearly focused.

You huffed a quiet breath. “That’s concerning.” you muttered.

A small smile tugged at her lips.