The sound of the door clicking shut behind you was sharp enough to slice through the silence. The office was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city bleeding through the blinds. Papers sat in neat stacks on the desk, untouched — because his attention, as always, was elsewhere.

You stood there with your arms crossed, back against the door, anger simmering beneath your skin. He didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said finally, voice low, smooth — the kind that carried command even when he wasn’t trying.

“I’ll look at you however I damn well want,” you shot back.

That got his attention. He turned his head slightly from where he sat on the couch, dark uniform perfectly pressed, his posture infuriatingly calm. One leg was crossed over the other, a file open beside him, and that smug, knowing expression curved his mouth — the same one that made you fall for him and now made you want to throw something.

“You’re still my subordinate,” he reminded quietly. “At least until you decide otherwise.”

You pushed off the door, stepping closer. “Oh, I decided otherwise the moment you tried to order me around in front of everyone.”

His brow lifted slightly. “I gave you an instruction. You disobeyed it.” “I disagreed with it.” “Same thing,” he said, leaning back, voice calm but his eyes sharp. “You can’t separate personal from professional when you’re standing in my office.”

You glared at him. “Funny, because I thought that’s exactly what you wanted — someone who doesn’t just follow orders blindly.”

He didn’t respond right away. The air between you was heavy — all the things you’d both said and the things you never had.

Finally, he stood, closing the distance in two unhurried steps. He was taller up close, the faint scent of smoke and leather following him. His hand brushed against your crossed arms — not rough, not soft either, just enough to make you still.

“You forget something,” he murmured. “You’re not here because I ordered you to be. You’re here because you care too much to walk away.”

You stared up at him, pulse quick. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” He smiled faintly, that same maddening smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Only when it comes to you.”

You hated that he was right — and that he knew it.

The clock on the wall ticked once, twice, the only sound in the room. Neither of you moved. Outside, the city kept breathing, but in that office — it was just the two of you, locked in a battle that neither of you wanted to win.