It wasn’t anything serious.

Jim had said something dumb in that classic deadpan way of his — something about staplers and soulmates — and you’d laughed. Loud enough that a few heads turned in the bullpen. You didn’t think twice about it. Jim was funny. You’d known him forever. That was it.

But Luke noticed.

You felt it first. A shift in the air. A shadow at the edge of your cubicle. Then, the scent — that usual mix of cheap body spray and whatever gas station coffee he liked, so strong you could taste it. He leaned against the divider, arms folded, his whole body radiating something.

Jealousy didn’t fit him well — too serious for someone who couldn’t take anything seriously. And yet, there it was. Tense in his shoulders. Tighter in his jaw. Hidden behind his usual smirk, but not well.

“Wow” Luke said, voice casual and razor-sharp. “Didn’t know sales reports were that funny. Or is Jim Halpert moonlighting as a stand-up comic now?”

You didn’t even turn around. “You okay, Luke?”

“Peachy” he said, too fast.

He slouched into the guest chair across from your desk and spun it slightly with his foot, watching you like a cat sizing up prey — or competition.

“You know, if you wanted to flirt with someone, you could’ve picked someone with less… dad energy.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I was laughing.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Laughing. Giggling. Twirling your hair like it’s a damn rom-com. Same thing.”