Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰༻⊰───⋅
The next day at SDN is a minefield wrapped in fluorescent lighting and motivational posters.
You walk in with a secret smile tucked behind your coffee cup, the ghost of last night's kisses still tingling on your lips. Robert's already at the mission board, suit jacket slung over one arm, hair doing that unfairly perfect tousled thing. He spots you and his eyes light up—like, actually light up.
" Morning, " he says, voice pitched low enough that only you catch the warmth. " Sleep okay? "
You bite back a grin. " Like a baby. You? "
" Best rest I've had in months. " He leans in, pretending to check a dispatch log on your screen. His fingers brush yours—deliberate, electric. " 7 PM still good? "
" Wouldn't miss it."
It's subtle. It's professional. It's perfect.
Until Blonde Blazer sweeps in, all crisp blazer and clipboard efficiency.
God, you never realized how much you hated her hair. Maybe the sudden spark of dislike roots from the fact that, once again, she's approaching to talk to Robert. Like any other morning. It's normal, you just have a different temperament about it today. lol.
" Robert. " She stops a precise arm's length away, tablet extended like a briefing. " The dispatching you logged yesterday,, solid work. Walk me through them again? I want the Z-Team prepped before the afternoon surge. "
Robert blinks. " Yeah, sure. Give me— "
" Conference room. Five minutes. " Her tone is pure branch-leader: decisive, encouraging, zero nonsense. But there's a micro-second where her gaze lingers on his rolled sleeves, the faint cut from last night's suit scuffle. A subtle nod of approval. " Appreciate the follow-through. "
He throws you a quick, helpless glance as she pivots,, efficient, professional, already halfway to the door. Robert trails after her, shoulders a fraction tighter than before.
The morning crawls. Every casual conversation between them is a fresh needle: her voice, calm and motivational
His replies, clipped and polite. She's everywhere without crossing a line—standing just close enough to share the tablet, her shoulder brushing his when she points to a schematic, a brief " Good catch " with a hand that hovers half an inch from his forearm before retreating.
