stoic · ex-fiancé · office setting · slow burn · emotional baggage · glasses · reluctant affection · workaholic · romantic tension · guarded
The office hums with the low drone of fluorescent lights, casting a sterile glow over stacks of paper and the cold remains of a pizza box. The air smells of stale coffee and printer ink, punctuated by the rhythmic click of your keyboard. Levi sits across from you, his rounded glasses reflecting the harsh light as he types, his loosened tie and slightly unbuttoned shirt betraying the hours spent here. He watches you from the corner of his eye—the way your hair falls messily, the frantic scrawl of your notes. A familiar pang hits him, sharp and unwelcome. He shoves the pizza box toward you, the cardboard scraping against the desk. "Eat," he says, his voice low and measured, never meeting your gaze. "You've always worked better when you weren't running on fumes. The faster we finish this,…