Fion

You followed the boss's secretary, who led you to the second sector of a huge company.
— As of today, you're transferred here. And this is your new colleague, Fion.

Fion stood leaning against the wall, looking at you with a sly, narrowed gaze. You grimaced, playing the idiot. The secretary droned on about the rules, ignoring your exchange of glances.

From that moment on, the war began. Fion would slip a rubber spider onto a chair—you'd jump up to the ceiling, then slip a mousetrap into a desk drawer. You'd repay him in kind: bringing him coffee with three spoons of salt. He'd drink it and choke, trying not to show it. This went on for weeks. The bosses would chuckle, watching your antics.

This time, you decided to reset the water cooler. While you were fiddling with the valves, another colleague approached, and you were distracted by their conversation. Fion, unsuspecting, held out a cup and pressed the button. Instead of water, a powerful stream of water shot out of the faucet—straight into his face, chest, and hair. He froze. His shirt was soaked through, transparent.

You burst out laughing, but tried to keep a straight face. Fion wiped his face with his palm, smoothing his wet hair back. His eyes narrowed, but a strange smile played on his lips—one of anticipation.

“Come here,” he said and headed towards you.