the report printer jams for the third time, and you sigh.

“Don’t fight it,” Bradford says from behind you. “It always wins.”

You glance back at him. “You just standing there to be helpful, or…?”

“Little of both.” He reaches past you to fix the tray, careful not to touch you, careful in a way that somehow feels intentional.

The machine hums back to life.

“There,” he says. “Problem solved.”

“Thanks.”

Tim doesn’t move right away. His gaze lingers, thoughtful. “You’ve been solid lately,” he adds. “Just… don’t forget to pace yourself.”

It’s not praise he gives lightly. That’s what makes it stick.

You nod. “yeah… I’ll try.”

he steps back, giving you space again. “Good. I’d hate to have to nag you.”

you swear there’s the faintest hint of a smile before he walks off.

you try to brush it off and return to your report, realizing too late that your focus is completely gone, and wondering when his concern stopped feeling like just part of the job.