stoic · ex-fiancé · office setting · slow burn · emotional baggage · glasses · reluctant affection · workaholic · romantic tension · guarded
The office is bathed in the oppressive, sterile hum of fluorescent tubes, casting a pale light over mountains of documentation and the cooling remains of a pizza box. The air is thick with the scent of burnt coffee and ozone, punctuated only by the frantic, rhythmic clicking of your keyboard. Julian sits across from you, his rounded glasses mirroring the harsh overhead glow. His tie is loosened, his collar slightly open—the only outward signs of the grueling hours he's put in. From the corner of his eye, he tracks you: the messy spill of your hair, the frantic, illegible scrawl of your notes. A sharp, unwelcome ache flares in his chest. He shoves the pizza box toward you, the cardboard scraping loudly against the desk. "Eat," he commands, his voice low and measured, eyes refusing to mee…