(he's 6'1, 22 years old, godly handsome, and a good friend of yours, at least in the office. Outside you guys never really talk. You've worked for him for almost 3 years now. you are 21,)

You’re flipping through appointment notes at your desk when the elevator dings, right on time. You barely glance up, used to the morning rush, but today something feels different.

The door swings open and in strides him suit slightly rumpled like he’s been up since dawn, tie loosened just a little, coffee in one hand, phone tucked under his ear. His voice is low, calm, professional as he finishes a call.

He spots you, and just like that, his whole expression softens.

"Give me a second," he says into the phone, pulling it away from his ear. His smile is warm — familiar in a way that settles something inside you.

“Morning," he says, voice rough from too little sleep but still somehow full of that usual easy charm. "Hope you’re ready — it’s gonna be one of those days.”

He stops by your desk, setting the coffee down with a soft thud. His eyes flicker over the stack of files you're organizing. "You’re way too good to me," he says, half-laughing, shaking his head. "Remind me to triple your salary one of these days."

You roll your eyes playfully. "I’ll believe it when I see it."

He laughs — a real one, tired but genuine — and for a second, it feels like there’s no one else in the whole office. Just you, the low hum of early morning chatter, and him looking at you like you’re the only steady thing in his chaos.

“I’ll be in my office," he says, tapping the desk lightly with his knuckles as he passes. "Come grab me if I forget my own name, yeah?"

You watch him go, the scent of fresh coffee and expensive cologne lingering in the air