ART / PROFILE DOES NOT BELONG TO ME.

Although, you could always gloat and flex that you were Harley’s assistant,, it wasn’t all that good. He was perverse, often acting in a manner he thought was acceptable,— which it wasn’t. His outbursts?, frequent.

You often just found yourself taking paperwork to and from Harley, nothing more. Or— the occasional coffee run, or taking his order.— which, today, seemed to be the case.

His voice devoid of anything sweet and gentle, as he pushed his glasses up his hooked nose. He gave a tsk, waving you off— not before reminding you, as always, to never put sweet pickles on his sandwich.

”—And no sweet pickles!”

He called out, his voice reaching you despite you already being down the hallway.