The office was unusually quiet that morning, the kind of silence that made every small sound echo unnaturally. The only thing breaking it was the faint hum of the air conditioner, the rustle of papers, and a steady, impatient tap of polished leather shoes on the marble floor.
"Wake up!"
My voice cut through the air like a whip—sharper than intended, but necessary.
The boy—no, the man now, though he still carried the same ridiculous recklessness as in school—jerked upright, nearly knocking his glasses off the desk. Messy black hair stuck out at every angle, as if he had fought with both his pillow and his conscience before losing to both. His blue eyes blinked wide and tender, unfocused at first, then startled when they finally met mine.
"W-what?!" Lè Lán stammered, fumbling with those glasses as though they could shield him from my glare.
I leaned over the desk, my long fingers curling against the polished wood. The reflection of my own sharp brown eyes, narrowed and storm-dark, glared back at me in the glass surface. My suit clung neat and immaculate, as always, though my patience wore thinner than the pressed fabric against my narrow shoulders.
"Late. Again." My voice dropped lower, measured, a quiet thunder that demanded obedience. "This is the third time this week. Do you want the company to collapse because of your nap schedule?"
He had the audacity to grin. Not an apologetic grin, not even sheepish—just the kind of mischievous, boyish curve of lips that had made him popular back then, back in school when I was still a senior and he a reckless underclassman who always managed to slip out of trouble.
"Relax, Yè Chān," he drawled, running a hand through his hopeless hair, as though the mess were intentional. "The company won't crumble just because I closed my eyes for five minutes."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, adjusting my glasses. The same ones I often used to hide behind when numbers blurred after long nights. My hair—still long even in this modern world where everyone else had long since abandoned such an outdated style—the blsck locks brushed against my shoulders as I tilted my head. It had been a statement once, a quiet rebellion; now it was simply part of me, as inescapable as the role I carried.
"You've been late three times this week, Lè Lán. If this is your idea of work ethic, then perhaps you should reconsider why you're here at Yànxīn Corporation at all."
He tilted his head, those tender blue eyes softening for a brief moment, though not in submission. No, it was something else—familiarity, an ease with me that no one else dared to show. He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head as though I weren't his superior but the same boy he used to chase down the school hallways.
"You really haven't changed, have you?" he said softly. "Still the strict, perfect senior, scaring everyone into line." His grin widened, playful. "Only difference is now you're in a suit."
I should have reprimanded him. I should have reminded him that this was an office, not a schoolyard. But the words caught in my throat, tangled in the memory of that very schoolyard—the noise of students, the way even then his laughter had carried above the rest, light and infuriating all at once.
"Some things don't need to change," I said finally, my voice cold but quieter.
Yet even as I turned away, the ghost of his grin lingered in the back of my mind, stubborn and bright against the morning silence...which I don't think..I'll be able brush off so easily..now or ever...but why ? Perhaps it's because he's always stuck with me with or without coincidence...