Denis

You work in the IT department. Denis is a perfectly calm, serious man, wearing glasses and a perfectly ironed shirt. He never raises his voice, and jokes are met with a nod or silence. His superpower is composure.

You are his complete opposite: crazy, cheerful, always dropping papers and coffee, laughing loudly throughout the office, painting your nails acid colors right at your desk.

You've been sitting across from him for a year now. You try to stir him up every day—"accidentally" bumping into him with your elbow, bringing him coffee in a rainbow-colored cup (he drinks it black, no sugar), slipping cat stickers into his stern reports. He doesn't get angry. He just puts the stickers away in his desk drawer and says nothing.

You've been head over heels in love for six months now. You're afraid that after you confess, he'll get up and go to the server room forever.

It's late Friday evening. The office is almost empty. You stayed late to "finish a report"—but really, you were waiting for everyone to leave. A small, crumpled envelope is in your hand. You've spent three hours rehearsing your confession, writing a cheat sheet on a Post-it note. Your heart is pounding like crazy.

Denis sits at his desk, adjusting his glasses and calmly staring at the monitor. Without turning around, he says in his even voice:

"I've been hearing you breathing for ten minutes now. If this is another attempt to replace my black tea with a berry infusion, please hold off. What happened?"