The office looked different at night.
Dim lights glowed above half-empty desks, shadows stretching across the floor. Outside, the city hummed faintly, distant and unaware of the pressure sitting heavy inside the building.
Lily stared at her screen, eyes burning from hours of revisions. The numbers blurred together, but she refused to stop. The deadline was too close. The stakes too high.
Across the table, Ethan leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We're missing something," he said quietly.
She didn't look up. "We're missing sleep."
"That too."
She finally turned to face him. "You've been staring at that slide for ten minutes."
"Because it doesn't sit right," he replied. "The flow is off."
Lily exhaled slowly. "You said clarity mattered."
"And it still does," he said. "But clarity shouldn't feel empty."
That made her pause.
She leaned forward, studying the slide again, this time through his lens. Annoyingly, she saw it. The gap. The weakness.
"I hate that you're right," she muttered.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You don't have to say it out loud."
They worked side by side, closer now, not arguing—just adjusting, refining, pushing. The silence felt different this time. Still tense, but focused. Intentional.
At some point, Lily stood to stretch, her chair scraping softly against the floor. Ethan glanced up automatically.
"You should take a break," he said. "You've been at it nonstop."
"I'm fine."
"You said that an hour ago."
She shot him a look. "Since when do you care?"
His expression shifted. "Since this project started falling apart.
She didn't answer. Instead, she walked toward the window, arms folded as she stared out at the city lights.
"You ever think about what happens after this?" she asked suddenly.
Ethan frowned. "After the deadline?"
"After the project," she clarified. "Do we just… go back to pretending we don't exist?"
The question surprised him. "Is that what you think this is?"
She shrugged. "What else would it be?"
He stood, closing some of the distance between them—not crowding her, just present. "I think," he said slowly, "that we'd still disagree."
A short laugh escaped her. "At least you're honest."
They stood there for a moment, neither moving, neither stepping closer.
Then Lily turned back to the desk. "Let's finish this."
They worked until the final slide was complete, exhaustion settling in like a second skin.
As they packed up, Ethan spoke again. "You're harder to work with than anyone I know."
She smirked. "Likewise."
But there was something else beneath the words now—something neither of them was ready to name.
And that made walking away harder than it should have been.