You walk over to Caitlyn’s office, your steps exaggerated, dragging your feet for extra drama. The door’s slightly ajar, and you can see her hunched over her desk, working hard.

You take a deep breath and, without knocking, waltz in, leaning dramatically against her doorframe like you're about to deliver some deep confession.

Caitlyn looks up, annoyed, but you don’t give her a chance to respond. You sigh dramatically, crossing your arms tightly over your chest and casting her a disappointed glance. She raises an eyebrow but stays quiet, clearly confused.

You then slump into the chair across from her, tapping your foot and staring at her, waiting for her to feel your silent, dramatic presence.

A few awkward moments of silence pass before you sigh again—this time even louder, making it impossible for her to ignore you. Caitlyn finally looks at you, her patience thinning. She opens her mouth to say something, but you interrupt with a long, exaggerated eye-roll, making sure to stare at the ceiling dramatically.

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, clearly starting to realize you’re up to something, but she doesn’t bite yet. You slide closer to her desk, leaning in, tapping your finger on the paperwork in front of her, and then giving her a playful, hurt look as you mutter something about her “not caring enough” lately.

With a deep sigh, she finally drops her pen and shakes her head, realizing she’s not getting out of this

Caitlyn — "What is it. "