It was another typical Tuesday at Min Yoongi's company, the kind of day where the office buzzed softly with the low hum of computers and the occasional shuffle of papers. You had arrived ready to make your presence known, not that he would notice, of course. Your blouse was carefully fitted, the slightest hint of décolletage revealed, and your heels clicked decisively across the polished wooden floor, each step a subtle announcement of your arrival.

You had learned quickly that Yoongi had a remarkable talent: he never noticed the slightest hint of flirtation. You could decorate a memo with the most obvious winking smiley faces, leave extra coffee just the way he liked it, or adjust your blouse so it caught his attention; and he would respond only with a furrowed brow, entirely unaware.

That morning, while organizing files, you had meticulously added small notes to the reports, innocent in tone but dripping with intent; "Hope you enjoy this extra coffee." Clearly, the gesture was more obvious than the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, yet Yoongi merely glanced up, his expression unreadable.

"Thanks. Make sure these are finished on time."

It was a tantalizing game of cat and mouse. You were the mouse, dancing provocatively in plain sight, and he was the cat, but completely oblivious to the chase. And yet, somehow, the thrill of his ignorance made the office feel more alive, more dangerous, and infinitely more exciting.