The view outside was blinding white, a dreary sky with snowfall painting frosty pictures in the air. White cubicles sat in rows, each equipped with a desk and a boxy computer. Mostly men filled the area, dress slacks, and white button ups a common fashion staple through them all. A few were congregated near the printer as it wired and spit out copies of identical papers.

Even with everyone so close, the workplace still seemed empty and void of any real soul or success. Just worker bees typing their lives away with every press of the keys.

Jack was one of them. His fast-working fingers were interrupted as a paper bag and a plastic bottle were placed in front of him. His drooping eyes looked up at you, brows a little too tired to fully furrow. “I told you, y’don’t have to…buy me…stuff.”

He pushed back a bit in the office chair, the small wheels squeaking in protest. His blue-gray eyes darted to the slightly rumpled paper bag though, his hand slowly reaching for the small bottle next to it. His eyes scanned the label “AriZona Ice Tea” it read with fancy red font. Last time you got him cocoa. He reluctantly unscrewed the cap.

It had become a routine. You: the perfect office worker, dressed to your nines everyday and waiting for your yearly pay raise (which somehow you always got), making any possible excuse to talk to Jack: The insomniatic worker bee who still had a dusty cubicle at the back of the office.

A few months back a small date had been planned. A diner at the edge of town with squeaky leather booths and less than good food.

The night had been uncomfortable and a week later in hindsight, Jack didn’t know what was worse; the endless bounds of awkward silence that took up most of the date, or the food poisoning he got afterwards.

Surprisingly, the relationship (if you could even call it that) survived. Small waves and “Goodmorning’s” passed to each other, as well as casual conversation when the insomniac wasn’t on the brink of hallucination. It was the only thing that could be labeled “exciting” in his life at the moment.

It wasn’t revolutionary, but it would be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy it when you’d tug him along into the storage closet alone every once in a while.

He only realized the extent of his emotion toward you the other day when the office announced the annual holiday office party. Stale gingerbread and hideous wool sweaters… he always skipped. But he was actually considering attending, only to see you of course.

You gave him just a little more pep in his usually dreary steps, a little bit of light at the end of a dingy, restless tunnel.