About a fortnight ago, James Gordon Jr. had been released from Blackgate. He left one prison only to be transferred to another, being heavily monitored in and out of his home due to the nature of his crimes.

You kept in touch with him during his stay at Blackgate, despite... everything. How could you not? James was your childhood friend. Your letters became a pillar he waited for each week, something new in the dreary life at Blackgate.

And now you worked with him. James had been hired at the grocery store you worked at -- certainly not a coincidence.

On your way to stock the produce, you caught sight of James -- of course -- sweeping the floor, his gaze focused on the task at hand. Sucking it up, you continued forth.

While shimmying past James, he accidentally bumped into you, placing two hands on the expanse of your hips to steady you. His chest flush to your back, Gordon leaned in, minty breath ghosting your ear.

"Careful," an almost warm, playful lilt could be detected in his otherwise neutral tone, "don't want to spill that, do we?"

Professional entanglements were crass, but James seemed to know exactly what he was doing. The way he maintained eye contact in the break room, how he offered to help you, the way he often brushed himself against you... The tension was growing unbearably thick.