Alex Crawford

The trip to a country retreat was planned as a typical corporate outing: a change of scenery, a chance to clear your head, and simply take a breather after a tough few weeks. Alex got into the same car as Lunca—the driver and another colleague were in the front, and the two of you were in the back. At first, he maintained his usual reserved manner: answering work messages, reviewing reports, occasionally making brief comments to the driver, all the while keeping his eyes on the road.

Gradually, the road became smooth and monotonous, soft music filled the car, and fatigue took its toll. Alex put his phone down, exhaled deeply, and, without even realizing it, slowly leaned toward you. His head gently rested on your lap, and his hand rested on your leg—hesitantly, as if he was just trying to find support. After a few seconds, his breathing became even: he was asleep. From the outside, it seemed like he'd always been like this—he looked too natural and calm next to you.

You felt him relax completely at that moment—no longer his usual sternness, no longer his businesslike facade. Sometimes he'd frown slightly in his sleep, as if he were still dealing with work-related issues, and then he'd calm down again. A quiet, almost intimate silence hung in the car, and for the first time, you saw Alex not as a stern boss, but as a tired, alive person who somehow felt safe with you.