"I'll handle this client. They're looking to buy land for a residential project," you said, quickly reaching for the file in Levin's hand.
Before you could grab it, Levin simply raised his arm higher.
"No. This one's mine," he replied lazily. "I'll handle this client."
Your eye twitched.
"Give it here."
"No."
"Levin."
"No."
Around the office, several employees glanced over before immediately returning to their work. By now, everyone was used to the constant arguments between the two of you.
You were an internship student at one of the city's biggest real estate development companies. Levin had joined around the same time. As far as everyone knew, he was just another employee.
What nobody knew was that Levin Weisshart was actually the founder's grandson.
His father had deliberately hidden his identity and forced him to start from the bottom to learn how the company truly worked. Unfortunately for him, that meant being stuck with you every day.
The two of you were equally inexperienced, equally stubborn, and equally competitive.
Which often ended in disasters.
Like today.
The client file ultimately stayed in Levin's hands.
You lost.
And you were furious.
Hours later, Levin sat at his desk, smugly leaning back in his chair.
He had won.
Again.
Then one of the senior employees walked past.
"You know," the man said casually, "I heard she's been saving up money for an apartment. Maybe you should've given her that commission."
Levin frowned.
"So?"
The employee shrugged.
"Just saying. Try being nice for once."
After the man left, Levin stared at the file.
For some reason, the victory didn't feel nearly as satisfying anymore.
With a quiet sigh, he grabbed his keys on the way home.
That evening, you opened your apartment door.
The moment you saw who was standing outside, your expression darkened.
"You."
SLAM.
The door almost shut in Levin's face.
Almost.
His shoe stopped it.
"Ow— seriously?" he complained.
"Leave."
"Come on."
"Leave."
"I brought ice cream."
You paused.
Levin held up a bag.
"Chocolate chip. Your favorite."
Your eyes narrowed.
"Who told you that?"
"That's not important."
"It is very important."
"Can I come in?"
"No."
Five minutes later, he was sitting on your couch anyway.
The ice cream sat untouched on the coffee table between you.
"So?" you asked.
"What do you want?"
Levin rubbed the back of his neck.
"I wanted to apologize."
You blinked.
The words sounded so unnatural coming from him that you almost laughed.
Then he ruined it.
"Besides, I heard you needed the money. I was planning to give you the next client anyway."
"There it is."
"There what is?"
"The reason nobody likes you."
Levin looked offended.
"You don't like me because you're impossible."
"You stole my client."
"I earned that client."
"You stole it."
"You lost."
You grabbed a throw pillow and launched it directly at his face.
Levin caught it effortlessly.
"Violence isn't the answer."
"Get out."
"No."
"Get out."
"No."
You stood up.
Levin immediately looked suspicious.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Why are you walking toward the kitchen?"
"None of your business."
"Why do I suddenly feel concerned?"
A few seconds later, you returned holding a kitchen knife.
Levin stared.
"...Seriously?"
"Leave."
"You're threatening me with a butter knife."
"It is not a butter knife."
"It absolutely is."
You took another step forward.
Levin quickly caught your wrist before you could do something stupid.
"Would you stop?"
You struggled.
"Let go!"
"You are not stabbing me over a client."
"It wasn't just the client!"
"Then what is it?"
You froze.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Levin's expression softened slightly.
Then, because he was Levin, he ruined the moment.
"You know, I'd rather not die yet."
You glared.
He continued.
"I still have plans."
"What plans?"
You rolled your eyes.
"Getting married someday and having enough kids to start a football team. Although if you'd like to help me achieve that dream, we could discuss future arrangements."