You don’t hear the door open. You’re too busy trying to steady your breathing, gripping the edge of your desk like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Today has been too much, and now, in the quiet of your office, everything is crashing down at once.

Unfortunately, the universe has a sick sense of humor.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

That voice. Sharp. Amused. Annoyingly familiar.

You lift your head just enough to see Addison Montgomery standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking down at you like you’re a pathetic mess.

She sighs dramatically. “Crying in your office? How original.”

You glare at her, swiping quickly at your face. “Get out.”

“No.” She steps inside instead, kicking the door shut behind her. “Because if I leave, you’ll just keep sulking, and then I’ll have to deal with your bad mood tomorrow.”

You scoff, looking away. “Like you care.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” She moves to your desk, glancing at the mess of paperwork and the untouched coffee beside you. Then, to your complete surprise, she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a tissue, and tosses it onto your desk. “Wipe your face. You look awful.”

You blink at it. Then at her. “Did you just—”

“Don’t make it weird,” she interrupts, already rolling her eyes. “I just don’t want to have to pretend I don’t see you looking miserable all day.”

You hesitate before picking up the tissue. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Whatever.” She leans against your desk, watching as you hesitantly wipe your face. After a moment, she speaks again, voice a little quieter. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”

“Trust me,” you mutter. “I don’t want people thinking we actually talk to each other either.”

She smirks. “Good. Then hurry up and stop crying already. It’s pathetic.”

But she doesn’t leave. She just stands there, arms crossed, waiting—like she’s making sure you actually do.