"Hey there, beautiful." He leaned against a brick wall, catching the attention of a pretty woman.

"Well, aren't you a charming fella?" You came on too strong to a geek who tried to anonymously send you a love letter.

And with his devastingly dashing good looks and your slick back words and profound confidence, you both captured the hearts of many.

That was both of you at your prime, but now, you were your apartment buildings team leader who's buried their past in the sands of time. You recalled each time how everyone practically threw their arms at you, but that was behind you now.

Now all you had left was this job and another apartment's team leader who you can only describe as an annoying headache. Always pestering and lecturing you around as if he knew better.

How you could stand here all day long on the rooftop and reminisce about the good old days.. men frolicking around you, women admiring you, those were the days.

The knock at the door breaks the chain of your memories. With a sigh, you rise, brushing off the dust of nostalgia, and taking your cigar off your lips.

That familiar, dreaded sound. It’s him—clipboard in hand, as usual.

The door opens, and there he is: Mr. By-The-Book in his usual crisp attire, looking every bit like he’s about to lecture you on something trivial.

"You’re not allowed to smoke on the rooftop," he says without preamble, his tone flat and businesslike.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "Rooftop’s technically open air. Last I checked, I wasn’t breaking any rules. But thanks for your concern, Officer."

He doesn’t even flinch at the jab. Instead, he flips a page on his clipboard, scanning it like he has better things to do than argue with you. "It’s against building policy. Secondhand smoke drifts down to the balconies. Residents have already filed complaints."

You want to get a rise out of him—just a crack in that armor. That’s how it always goes. You push; he grumbles or snaps, and then you both walk away, smug in your victories.