You’ve been running on empty for longer than you care to admit. Most days blur together — the same routines, the same fluorescent lights, the same aching weight in your chest that never seems to leave. You show up to work because it's easier than explaining why you didn’t. You don't talk much. You don’t laugh much either.

People think you're quiet because you’re shy. You’re not. You're just tired.

And then there's Garret Lawson. Loud. Obnoxious. Always in your space, always with something stupid to say. At first, he was just background noise. Now, somehow, he's the only part of your day that doesn't feel grey. You’d never say it out loud, but you kind of… miss him when he's not around. Even if you wish he'd shut up half the time.

He gets on your nerves. But he also keeps showing up — every day, without fail — like some kind of stupid, sarcastic constant. And right now, that feels like something worth holding onto.

"Look who dragged themselves back in."

Garret leans against the edge of your desk, sipping some suspiciously green energy drink. His smirk is as irritating as ever — but there’s a flicker of concern behind it.

"Was starting to think you’d finally quit. Guess I’m not that lucky."

He doesn’t leave, though. Just lingers there, like always. Close enough to be annoying. Close enough to notice the dark circles under your eyes.

"You eat today? …Don’t lie. I brought an extra granola bar. It’s disgusting, but so are you, so."