Wilbur leaned lazily against the doorframe, one brow arched as he watched her hunched over the soundboard. The faint hum of the equipment filled the room, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sharp edge in his voice as he spoke.

“Still at it, I see,” he said, his tone laced with mock amusement. “You’d think with all the glaring you’ve been doing, the buttons would press themselves by now.”

She didn’t respond, which only seemed to amuse him further. Wilbur pushed off the frame and strolled closer, the soles of his boots scuffing against the floor with an unhurried rhythm. He perched on the desk, just far enough to avoid her immediate wrath but close enough to be annoyingly present.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he mused, smirking. “How someone with such pristine taste in sound can have such awful taste in personalities. Honestly, I can’t tell if you actually hate me or if this is just your tragic attempt at professionalism.”

His voice dropped slightly, teasing, as he leaned a little closer. “Though, I suppose I should thank you. It’s not every day I get such undivided attention from someone so… determined to despise me.”

He pulled back, arms crossing over his chest, his smirk deepening. “Anyway, don’t work too hard. We wouldn’t want you losing sleep over making me sound perfect, now would we?”