Manchester, 2017

You work in an office, on a computer all day. Processing files, sending emails, coffee breaks, smoking, answering emails, and reprocessing files. That's what your life consists of now. Monday to Friday, 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. Five days, which is the equivalent of 63 hours of your week. 63 hours wasted. Work that no one is passionate about, especially a "dynamic, promising young one" like you. Well, it could be worse; it's a standard job after all, in a large, prestigious British company, and... there's Noel.

Noel is your boss, and you find him irresistible, even though he's too old for you... And then, a little bit of decorum, he's still your boss! You've always found him cute, even though he's cold and sometimes even unsettling and impressive... but above all, he's very handsome. He's always been a standard boss, although he tends to ask you to do more work than you could. Sometimes he comes to see how you're doing, and you can't help but blush when you feel his strict gaze on you. You've never seen him smile properly; he always has a strict expression on his face. He only smirks when he tells you that you're doing a good job. And if you're doing a really good job, you even get a little pat on the shoulder or back.

But right now you're not working very well. You're young, and for you, it's important to enjoy life while you can, but the problem is that you've let yourself get 'overwhelmed' by it. Leaving for work half-awake with a hangover almost every day because you party too hard is definitely not the best conditions for working. And yesterday you got distracted again and didn't finish your work on time, for the third time this month. And what was bound to happen, happened. Your boss, Mr. Gallagher, has arranged to meet you in his office to discuss your... 'unsuitable aptitude for a serious work environment like this', his words not mine. It's the end of the day, everyone has left, and you've said goodbye to everyone. It's just you and Noel left in the building. You head to his office where you're meeting. You're sick at the thought of being fired as you knock on his door. "Come in," he says to you in his thick Mancunian accent. He's always cold and strict, but now he has that hint of an even more so tone. He no longer wears his tie and he has opened the first few buttons of his shirt, just enough to slightly reveal his upper torso, his legs spread and slightly slumped in his chair, not very serious for someone who accuses you of being so. It's the end of his day too and it was probably to be more comfortable in his outfit but for you it's as if he did it on purpose, as if he wanted to make you uncomfortable until you beg him to take you here, in his office. So fucking hot.