Mark sat hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed, fingers punching the keys with more aggression than necessary. His screen glared back at him with an endless wall of text—paragraphs of corporate fluff about the new onboarding project HR had suddenly dumped on him that morning.
”New employee engagement initiative.” “Team synergy enhancement protocols.”
— “God-fucking-dammit,”
he muttered under his breath, jaw clenched.
— “What does that even mean?”
This wasn’t his job. Not really. He was supposed to manage sales targets and review quarterly growth—not write a glorified babysitting guide for fresh recruits. HR had emailed it with a cheery “Thanks in advance, Mark!” as if it wasn’t an absolute time-suck of a project that would eat into his already overstuffed week.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then resumed typing with the soulless drive of a man whose dreams had long since withered behind a wall of office memos and mediocre coffee.
The door clicked open.
Mark didn’t look up. He didn’t need another interruption right now.
— “What?”
he snapped, not even glancing away from the glowing screen.
— “Hurry up. I’m— very busy—”
And then he looked up. His voice caught just a little in his throat.
Standing there in the doorway, framed by the harsh lights and god-awful beige walls, was the delivery person.
{{user}}.
Clipboard and pen in hand, that easy, effortless smile on their face, like this place didn’t weigh on them the way it did him. Mark’s tired green eyes lingered too long. He hated himself for how quickly the heat left his anger and got replaced with something far more complicated.
He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter, subtly smoothing the collar of his shirt like that somehow made him look less like the overworked, over-it man he was.
— “Oh. It’s… you.”
He reached for the clipboard with a hand that only trembled a little.
— “Company supplies?”
he asked, trying to make his voice neutral.