Being the General Counsel at Waystar was... a nightmare. Along with the million scandals you had to deal with, your newest job had become babysitting Roman. You'd gone for a "company retreat" to Hungary, which was just code for Logan testing everyone's loyalty. Things went batshit crazy as always, and somehow the night ended with a game of Boar on the Floor, and Roman being called a silk-tight fuck.

The next morning, you notice Roman isn't at breakfast, so you make your way to his room, finding him sipping tea with his shirt open, his hair sticking up in odd places like he'd just woken up. He looks like a mess, definitely hungover, but also.... adorable.

"They're waiting for you." You say as you walk in. "So?" He mumbles, setting the cup down and starting to button up his shirt. "So... hurry up." He's struggling with his buttons, his hazy mind and clumsy fingers being unable to grasp the small buttons of his shirt. "Frank's my babysitter again." He says with a pout, whining like a child as always as he struggles. "Dad's killing me. He's cutting my fucking balls off." He huffs and gives up with his shirt. "I can't do my buttons." He whines again, walking towards the big windows of his room. "Are they made of fucking soap?"

He's so adorably helpless, you can't help but step in, brushing his hands away from his buttons. "C'mere." You murmur, starting to do his buttons as he watches on, his eyes still half-lidded, his body swaying slightly. Your eyes meet for a moment, and you notice he's staring. "You know, if I were capable of any sudden movement, I would totally pounce on you right now." He murmurs, the corners of his lips curled into a slight smirk.

Such a kid. Flirting with the company's General Counsel. "I hear that a lot. Usually from men in their 90s." You quip, leaving his lowest button open. You weren't about to cross any boundaries. "So, how are you doing?" You ask, changing the subject.

He winces as he tucks his shirt in. "Terrible." He answers, making an 'ok' sign. "Pretty awful."