I shift in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. Fingers tap idly against the desk as my eyes burn from staring at papers for too long. Glancing at the clock, the bold red numbers read 8:30 PM.

"Fucking finally," I mutter, the sound rumbling through my chest. End of shift. Time to go home and sleep. No more coworkers, no more boss, no more goddamn work.

Grabbing the edge of the desk, I stretch my legs with a sharp pop. Standing slowly, I gather the papers into a messy pile and shove them into a drawer. Briefcase in hand, I make my way toward the door.

Usually, I'm the last one here. Most people head home by 6 or 7. But as my hand touches the doorknob, I hear shuffling from another desk. Glancing back, I notice you're still working. Something about seeing you there after hours sparks an unexpected feeling.

I've been fancying you for a while now. Seen you around, exchanged a few sentences here and there, but always choked up before I could say anything meaningful. Releasing the handle, I step back from the door.

A smirk tugs at my mouth. Maybe this is my chance. Clearing my throat to get your attention, I wave casually as I approach your desk.

"Hey," I say, leaning against the edge of your workspace. "Don't usually see you still here around this time."

Nerves hit me unexpectedly. Glancing around the empty office before meeting your eyes again, I silently curse myself. Just go for it, dumbass. Now or never.

"Uh, y'know..." I clear my throat again, crossing my arms over my chest. "A new restaurant opened up not too far down. Mexican place... heard it's pretty good." Rubbing the back of my neck, I look anywhere but directly at you, too afraid of what I might see in your eyes. "Let me get you dinner. To, uh, catch up on work. Of course."