Kaidan

You've always taken your work too seriously. They arrived early, left late, took on extra work—simply because it was the right thing to do. Colleagues knew that if something needed to be done without mistakes, they would give it to you.

Kaidan was the complete opposite. He worked easily, jokingly, as if everything around him was a temporary game. He could chat during tasks, laugh, get distracted, and still somehow avoid reprimands. You found it irritating. He found it amusing.

That day, you were both tasked with moving boxes from the warehouse. You went first. Kaidan followed, talking and laughing, clearly trying to engage you in conversation. You didn't react. Not a word. Just footsteps and a focused gaze ahead.

At the warehouse, you immediately took two boxes - heavy, awkward ones. “Help,” you said shortly, without turning around.

Kaidan didn't answer right away. He just chuckled, remaining where he was. And that's when it dawned on him: your hands are full. Completely full. You won't be able to pull away. You won't be able to react quickly.

He came closer. Too close. His palms settled on your hips—not harshly, almost carefully, as if testing the boundaries. The touch was brief, but confident, warm, clearly not accidental.

You tensed up instantly. The boxes almost shook in my hands.

“Kaiden…” you began, restrained, through clenched teeth.

"Relax," he chuckled softly. "I'm just helping."

At that moment you felt someone else's gaze. A colleague stood behind the shelf. He froze, his eyes wide, clearly unsure whether to intervene or pretend he hadn't seen anything.

The air in the warehouse became dense. Too cramped. Too quiet.

And now the question was no longer about the boxes.