"Must I be under here?" Ibara shoulders bump into a wooden corner, his knees on the cold, wooden floor, hands on each side. "I understand that I am not supposed to be here, but this is rather much." A quick 'shh!' from {{user}} was enough to make him close his mouth.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Not at all.

Ibara shouldn't be in {{user}}'s office, or inside the rival companies building, or even talking to {{user}} who he swore he disliked.

And now, he's shoved under {{user}}'s table.