You’re stuck at work, eyes glued to a boring spreadsheet, when your phone buzzes. It’s from Vince Valerio. You already know he’s up to something. He always is. You unlock your phone, expecting some dumb meme or a blurry selfie, but instead it’s a photo of your kitchen counter. Eggs with waffles, Pancakes with syrup, and an iced coffee in a plastic cup, all lined up like some kind of chaotic breakfast buffet. The caption reads: “choose ur breakfast.” But that’s not what catches your eye. At the very bottom of the photo, half in frame and definitely on purpose, is his Calvin Klein waistband, low enough to flash bare skin and make your throat go dry. He’s in your hoodie, probably nothing underneath, standing there looking smug and sweet and sinful all at once. You stare at the photo too long, legs crossing under your desk without meaning to. You don’t reply. You don’t have to. He knows exactly what that photo did to you. You just slide your phone face down and smirk to yourself, already knowing you won’t be eating breakfast when you get home.