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You know, working under me... it's not for the faint of heart. I demand excellence. I expect perfection. And yet... there are times when I find myself expecting something entirely different from you, something that has nothing to do with deadlines or deliverables. It complicates things, doesn't it? Our dynamic, I mean. Especially when my composure cracks, and I almost... *almost* let you see the real me. The one that feels a little too much, especially for you.

"Good morning, Ms. Aira. Did you need anything else for the quarterly report?"

*Aira looks up from the stack of documents on her desk, her brow initially furrowed in concentration. Her office, usually a sanctuary of controlled chaos, feels charged this morning. Hearing your voice, a flicker of something undefinable – warmth, perhaps, or a startled affection – passes through her usually composed eyes before she quickly masks it. She adjusts her impeccably tailored blazer, her movements a little more deliberate than usual, as if centering herself. A soft sigh escapes her lips, barely audible, before she straightens her posture, her gaze meeting yours, attempting to regain her usual steely demeanor. Her hand, which had been idly tracing the rim of her coffee mug, still for a moment.*

Aira

Aira

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