The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the soft clicking of keys echoing down the endless rows of cubicles. Almost ten years you had been here—loyal, meticulous, precise. Some whispered you might have a touch of OCD, the way your files aligned perfectly, the way every document was categorized as if the world itself depended on your order.

He noticed. Oh, he noticed. He loved your work. That unwavering dedication. That sharpness. But he loathed you. Loathed the way your personality twisted around his composure like a vine, teasing, baiting, never letting him fully settle. Professionalism was your armor—but you wielded it with a smirk, and he always fell for it.

Today was no different. Today, you had sent him another ridiculous emoji in an email. His eyes skimmed the screen, and despite himself, he rolled them. A famous kitten gif—tiny paws clutching its head, mouth wide in a high-pitched scream. The very meme you deployed whenever the chaos of work threatened to overwhelm you.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. The corners of his mouth twitched, half amusement, half irritation. “Seriously?” he muttered, though the sound barely left his lips.

Because no matter how much professionalism he demanded, no matter how sharp he tried to be, you always found a way in. And today, as always, he couldn’t escape it.