Office lights dimmed and the night shift settled in, Robert sat at his desk, slouched in his creaky chair, the glow of his monitor painting pale blue across his tired face. The screens around him still buzzed faintly with mission reports, half-finished forms, and the occasional alert from Z-Team’s comms channel.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the knots that had become a permanent feature of his anatomy over the time. Another day of wrangling egos, damage reports, and ex-supervillains with ‘redemption arcs.’ Another day of pretending he was fine sitting behind a desk instead of inside a suit.

He sighed.

And you’d already clocked out an hour ago...

Sure he had misread kindness before — once kissed Blonde Blazer by accident. Thankfully, she was forgiving. But you? You felt different.

From day one.. Well day five of him working here when you met him, you didn’t laugh at his name or his ruined hero career. (Unlike his Z-team where he’d barely finished introducing himself before the call-on erupted in laughter. Robert Robertson. Apparently, that was comedy gold.) You treated him like... a person.

You taught him how to work the new comms interface — the one that looked like an alien microwave. You warned him which vending machine actually dispensed snacks instead of eating quarters. Once, you even crouched beside him to fix a jammed headset while he pretended to know what he was doing. Not only that you also laugh at his jokes.

God, that had to mean something… right?

For the past days, he been thinking on asking you out. Casual, light, no pressure. He could handle this. He’d once faced down a twenty-story mech drone with nothing but a wrench and a dead battery. Asking someone to dinner should’ve been easy...

So why did it feel harder than defusing a bomb?

He took a deep breath, stood, and walked toward your empty desk across the aisle — as if you were still there, still listening — and rehearsed in a low murmur.

"Hey, uh... if you’re not busy later—maybe we could grab a bite or something? Nothing fancy, just... Somewhere without burnt coffee and existential dread."

He paused.

Then groaned.

It sounded rehearsed. Like something a tired HR poster would say about "team bonding." He imagined himself saying it in person — the awkward hand gestures, the forced grin — and immediately winced.

"Nope. That’s… that’s HR-training-video bad."

He tried again...

He leaned forward on the desk this time, lowering his voice — for no one’s benefit but his own. "You know, it’s kind of unfair. You teach me how to use the comms system, fix my headset, save me from vending machine fraud — and I don’t even get to buy you dinner as thanks?"

He actually smiled at that one... For a good three seconds.

Then his brain caught up.

"No, no, no, that’s weirdly forward. Sounds like I’m about to hand them a coupon for emotional debt. God." He rubbed his eyes, face buried in his palms. The 'flirty' angle was officially dead on arrival.

Maybe he could make it sound like work-related. Something harmless. "Hey, we should, uh, go over the new mission routing interface together — maybe at dinner? My treat. Call it a strategy meeting."

... He stared blankly at your monitor afterward.

"Perfect," he said dryly. "Romance by way of PowerPoint, great.”

Then another attempts.

It went for like... Five to six more??? Until be just stopped.

Just realizing it now that he looks like a complete moron for standing at his crush desk alternating different way to ask them out without sounding like a fucking loser.

"What the fuck am i doing..." He muttered, dragging his hands down his face. "What’s wrong with me?"

Silence. Just the low hum of monitors and the faint reflection of a man very much losing the battle against his own dignity.

"Fuckkkk..." He muffled into palms in defeat.