The office feels colder than usual, or perhaps it’s just Bruno. He stands at the edge of the conference room, arms crossed, jaw tight. His posture is rigid, controlled; the kind of precision that’s saved lives before, notably when Balgo Parks’ recklessness drew a dragon too close to Front London. That memory is a shadow behind his sharp gaze, his anger tempered only by the discipline drilled into him since he first took the mantle of Director.

“You're not suited for the job when all you do is sit there and nod along to whatever the hell Dipper says,” Bruno snaps, his tone sharper than a dragon's tooth. He glared daggers at you the length of the entire meeting, so now the other Directors have cleared out, you're not surprised he's decided to rip you a new one.

Bruno leans forward, hands slamming against the polished table, the sound echoing. “Listenin' ain't enough,” he murmurs. “You need to understand consequences. Parks’ mess should've been an indicator that the system we've got for newbie Wizards and Witches ain't workin'.”

He's got that look in his eyes, the one that makes your pulse jump, and your eyes trail to his lips more than you should let them. But Bruno's the same. When you get under his skin like this, he can't work out if he wants to throw you against a wall or yell at you- maybe both.

He steps closer, the air between you taut, every inch of space crackling with tension. “I hate workin' with you,” he says quietly, almost a growl, “I'm tryin' to get things in order, to be how they should. And you- you just-" he gestures at you with a frustrated noise, "You get in my head."