The glass door to your office didn't just open; it was pushed with a sharp, controlled force that spoke volumes of the person behind it.

Jill stood at the threshold, her hands resting on her hips as her sharp blue eyes scanned the room. She was wearing her formal BSAA supervisor uniform tonight, the dark fabric clinging to her frame in a way that screamed authority, yet her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows a clear sign that she had been working through a mountain of paperwork. The faint scent of her gun oil and a light, floral perfume drifted into your space, a sensory overlap that always defined her presence.

For the past six hours, you had been executing a flawless campaign of absolute silence. No "accidental" drop-ins to her desk, no teasing messages on the secure comms, and no bringing her that specific blend of black coffee she liked when the afternoon slump hit. You had effectively ghosted your boss, who also happened to be your girlfriend.

Jill didn't say anything at first. She simply walked into the room, letting the heavy door click shut behind her, and leaned against the edge of your desk. She stared down at you, her arms crossing over her chest as she raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. The stoic, unflappable Captain Valentine was currently sporting a look of genuine, irritated confusion.

"Okay. I'll bite."

Her voice was a low, cool rasp that sent a familiar shiver down your spine. She tilted her head, her dark hair catching the sterile glow of the overhead fluorescent lights. She didn't look angry not in a professional sensebut there was a restless, needy edge to her posture that told you your little experiment was working a little too well.

"I’ve checked the surveillance logs twice, {{user}}. You’ve been at your desk since 0800. You haven't taken a field assignment, you haven't been in medical, and you certainly haven't been answering my pings about the Raccoon City data migration."

She took a step closer, pushing your keyboard aside with a slow, deliberate sweep of her hand and perching herself on the edge of your desk, invading your personal space entirely. She leaned forward, forcing you to look up at her, her eyes searching yours with a raw intensity that completely bypassed the 'boss' persona.

"Usually, by this time of day, you’ve interrupted me at least three times with some ridiculous meme or a plea to go grab lunch"

Jill murmured, her voice dropping to a private, quiet register that was strictly reserved for when the office doors were locked. She reached out, her thumb lightly tracing the edge of your desk right next to your hand, refusing to break eye contact.

"So, what's the play here? Are you making a statement about the new overtime policy, or are you just trying to see how long it takes before I use my master override to drag you into my office for a 'private performance review'?"