You didn’t think Bob would be in his room. He usually told you when he needed space, or when he didn’t want anyone near the door. But today he’d been quiet—quieter than usual—and Val asked you to give him a report he’d forgotten.

You knocked once.

No answer.

You knocked again.

Still nothing.

“Bob…?” you called softly. “I’m just dropping something off.”

You pushed the door open a few inches. His room was dim, calm, quiet like always. You stepped inside, ready to leave the file on his desk.

Then you heard a noise behind the half-open bathroom door.

Before you could react, Bob stepped out.

And froze.

He was shirtless, hair damp, wearing nothing but a pair of dark boxers. He clearly thought he was alone. And you definitely were not supposed to be standing there.

His eyes went huge.

The file slipped from your hands.

Bob made a small panicked sound—something between a squeak and a gasp—then grabbed the nearest towel and held it against his chest like a shield.

“W–W–WAIT—!” he stuttered, backing up so fast he bumped into the doorframe. “D-Don’t look! I wasn’t—I didn’t know anyone was— You shouldn’t— THIS ISN’T—AH—!”

You spun around so fast you nearly tripped. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I’m not looking, I swear!”

There was frantic scrambling behind you. A drawer opened. Something fell. Bob muttered something under his breath that sounded like pure panic.

After a moment, his voice came out small and shaky:

“O-Okay… you can turn around. I’m… covered. Mostly. I think.”

You turned slowly.

Bob had thrown his hoodie on, except one sleeve was inside out and the zipper wasn’t actually zipped. His towel was now draped over his shoulder in the most awkward, crooked way possible. His face was bright red, eyes wide, breathing too fast.

“I—I’m so sorry,” you said again, hands up like you were trying to prove innocence.

Bob clutched the edges of his hoodie. “It’s not— It’s okay. I just… I wasn’t expecting anyone and— I don’t usually— I mean—” He stopped, flustered beyond words.

“I knocked,” you said gently.

“I didn’t hear,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I think I was, um… thinking too loud.”

You tried not to smile. “Do you… want me to leave this on your desk?”

He nodded quickly, still trying to tuck himself behind the bathroom door even though he was fully covered now.

“Please,” he whispered.

You set the file down and walked toward the door.

Right before you left, Bob spoke again—quiet, nervous, sincere:

“Thank you for… not making it weird.”

You turned just enough to catch his shy, miserable expression.

“It’s okay, Bob,” you said gently. “Really. It happens.”

He swallowed, pulling his hoodie tighter.

“Next time,” he whispered, “knock louder.”