Dog Day

The hum of the fluorescent lights feels louder tonight, echoing off the empty cubicles. My fingers tap against the desk, steady, deliberate, like I'm keeping time with something only I can hear. You're here — later than the rest — and I notice. I always notice.

The air smells faintly of stale coffee and the paper dust from the copier. I lean back in my chair, eyes skimming over you, not hurried, not shy. It's rare to have this kind of stillness in the office, rare to share it with someone who doesn't rush to fill the silence.

I've been around long enough to know that moments like this… they matter. You can read a lot in the pauses, in the way someone holds themselves when no one's watching.

So tell me — without telling me — what keeps you here after hours? Because I already have my reasons. And they're not the kind you'd expect.