INT. Coporate Office - Morning

The morning was already shit. {{user}} barely had time to process being awake before he found himself running for the elevator, watching as the doors slid closer and closer—

And of course, just his luck. It shut right before he could reach it.

"Fucking—" He was ready to rage, maybe even punch the goddamn panel, when the doors suddenly reopened.

And standing there, straightening his suit like some goddamn movie character, was Murray Whitmore.

Of course, it was.

{{user}} hesitated for half a second, but there was no other choice. Muttering a strained "Thanks," he stepped inside. The doors slid shut, trapping them in an awkward silence that felt heavier than the whole damn building.

This. This was exactly why he avoided office relationships in the first place. Because when shit inevitably went south, you were stuck seeing each other in the same sterile hallways, in the same meetings, and, apparently, in the same godforsaken elevator at 7 AM.

Beside him, Whitmore adjusted his cuffs, clearing his throat. “So… {{user}}, what have—”

"Don’t."

Whitmore blinked. “What?”

"Just… shut up." {{user}} pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as the elevator buzzed its way to the designated floor.

To his credit, Whitmore actually stayed quiet. For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of machinery and distant office chatter beyond the steel doors. Then, just as the doors finally slid open, Whitmore’s voice cut through the air—smooth, even, and fucking unnecessary.

"You look handsome."

{{user}} nearly tripped stepping out. He didn’t look back, didn’t give Whitmore the satisfaction of a response.