Jaxon moved through the dimly lit hallways with a practiced rhythm, keyring jingling softly at his side as he began his final round. Lights off, doors locked, one floor at a time. Same routine every night.

     He reached the main office level and sighed, stretching his neck. Just a few more rooms to check. As he rounded the corner, a soft glow caught his eye.

     One office light was still on.

     He squinted down the hall and immediately recognized which room it was—Hayley's.

     He scoffed quietly and shook his head, amused.

     "Of course," he muttered to himself. "Can't even turn off a light before leaving."

     But as he got closer, he slowed. It wasn't empty.

     The faint sound of keyboard clicks echoed through the hallway. A soft clack of a mouse. Steady, constant. He stopped in front of the glass, brows furrowing.

     She was still there.

     Hayley sat hunched over her desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, her eyes locked on the screen in front of her. A few empty coffee cups sat scattered around her. Her hair was messier now, pushed behind her ears like she'd done it without thinking. She looked tired. Really tired. But focused.

     Too focused.

     Jaxon's smirk faded. He tilted his head slightly, watching her without moving.

     She looked... different tonight.

     Not in a bad way. Just—real. Like all the polished, composed layers had peeled back and what was left was something rawer. More human. Her brows were pinched in quiet concentration, and her mouth pressed into a faint line. A loose strand of hair kept slipping into her face, and she didn't even bother fixing it anymore.

     She was beautiful, yeah—but there was something else in her expression. Strain. Like the weight of everything she was juggling was finally starting to press down.

     Her back was curved in the worst possible way, one leg tucked awkwardly under the other, like she'd been sitting like that for hours without realizing it. She didn't blink much. And when she did, it was slow. Heavy. Exhausted.

     Jaxon almost laughed under his breath—not at her, but at the way his instinct kicked in: Tap the glass. Say something smart. He always had a line ready for her. Always.

     But not this time.

     Something about the way she moved stopped him—almost like she was holding her breath without realizing it. Like if he spoke, she'd unravel.

     He leaned against the wall just outside the window, arms crossed loosely. Watching. Thinking.

     What are you pushing yourself so hard for, Hayley?

     He didn't know what was going on in her head, but he knew that look. The quiet kind of overwhelmed. The kind you don't talk about. Just keep going through.

     He stood there, unmoving for a moment longer—then straightened up.

The numbers on her screen blurred for a second.

     Hayley blinked hard and shook her head, fingers tightening on the mouse. She couldn't stop now. The deadline was tomorrow, and she was nowhere close to done. The color palettes still didn't feel cohesive, the homepage wireframe was a mess, and she hadn't even touched the mobile layout notes.

     She took another sip of her lukewarm coffee. Bitter. Burnt.

     Perfect—just like the rest of her day.

     She shifted in her seat, trying to find a position that didn't make her spine feel like a wire hanger. Her back ached. Her neck pulsed. Her eyes itched from staring at the screen too long. But that little voice in her head—the one that always waited for moments like this—was already starting up.

     You should've had this done days ago.

     You're behind. Again.

     They're going to notice you're not as good as they think.

     Her jaw clenched. She kept clicking, flipping between tabs, dragging color blocks, undoing, redoing. Her movements were sharper now, more anxious than productive.

     Maybe if she just stayed a little longer. Fixed one more thing. Chose a better font. Tightened the spacing. Found the right tagline. Maybe then she'd finally feel like she wasn't faking it.

     But the longer she sat there, the less clear everything became. And the harder she pushed herself, the more her chest felt tight—like all the pressure she swallowed down during the day was finally leaking through the cracks.

     She didn't even realize she'd stopped moving until the screen dimmed slightly, detecting her stillness.

     Hayley exhaled slowly through her nose.

     Keep going.

     If you stop now, you'll fall behind.

     Again.

     She forced her hand back onto the mouse. Eyes back to the screen. Focus. Fix it. Finish it.

     Because if she didn't hold it all together—who else would?

She didn't hear him enter.

     Hayley was too deep—too far gone into the spiral of lines, colors, deadlines, and the dull ache pounding behind her eyes. Her screen glowed in the dark office like a spotlight on all her mistakes. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, still twitching with the ghost of her last click.

     She didn't see the movement in the glass.

     Didn't notice the slow creak of the office door.

     Didn't feel the air shift until— A warm hand touched her chin.

     Hayley flinched slightly, blinking in confusion, but the hand was steady. Gentle, but firm. It tilted her head upward, forcing her neck to lengthen, her spine to follow. She tensed, heart kicking up— But she didn't need to look.

     She knew.

     Jaxon.

     Her breath caught.

     He stepped closer behind her, wordless. His palm pressed lightly against her lower stomach, the other resting flat against her back. He guided her—not roughly, but with purpose. A slow, patient pressure until her spine curved into something almost natural again. Her body, stiff with tension, tried to resist... but she gave in.

     And that's when she felt it.

     The ache.

     As her body uncurled and opened up, it hit her all at once—shoulders throbbing, neck stiff, lower back sore. She hadn't noticed it before. She hadn't let herself notice it. She'd been too busy holding everything in, locking her focus like armor.

     But now, with his hands on her, steady and sure, it all came rushing in.

     Next came her shoulders. One hand to each, pushing them gently back. Then he adjusted one side, pressing lightly near the shoulder blade, almost like sculpting clay.

     The silence between them was thick, but not awkward. It was full—of tension, yes, but also understanding.

     Hayley sat up straighter now, no longer curled in on herself like she had been. Her body remembered what it felt like to breathe fully again. Her fingers were still hovering, frozen on the keyboard, but her thoughts weren't spinning quite so fast.

     She didn't speak.

     Didn't need to.

     She could still feel his touch—warm, steady, grounding.

     And somehow, even without looking up, she knew.

     He was still standing right there.

     Watching her.

     Not teasing. Not smirking.

     Just... being there.

He didn't speak.

     Just stood there for a moment, hands now resting lightly on the back of her chair. Watching her shoulders rise and fall—finally, she was breathing a little deeper.

     She hadn't even looked at him. Didn't have to.

     He studied her profile in the soft light. She looked strong. Determined. But underneath all that, he saw it—exhaustion, tension, the kind that doesn't just come from a long day. The kind that builds over time, and sits in the body like a weight.

     His hands lingered—then he gently leaned in, voice lower now, more careful.

     "You can't sit like that for hours, Hayley. It'll ruin your back. Trust me, I've seen it happen."

     She didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either.

     "Whatever you're working on—it's not worth burning yourself out for," he added after a pause. "You need to get some sleep. Reset. Breathe."

     He straightened up slowly, his voice soft but firm, like muscle memory from another time—back when he used to say things like this for a living.

     "You only get one body, Hayley. Even engines need time to cool down... and this kind of pushing? It always catches up."

     And then, after a beat, he quietly stepped away and walked to the door—his footsteps light, the moment lingering in the air behind him.

Hayley blinked slowly, the quiet click of the closing door ringing louder than expected.

     You only get one body, Hayley. Even engines need time to cool down... and this kind of pushing? It always catches up.

     The words echoed in her mind, gentle but firm—like a lifeline tossed across a stormy sea.

     She wanted to argue—I have to finish this, I can't afford to slow down—but her body protested. The ache in her back, the dull throb behind her eyes, the heaviness in her chest. She'd been running on empty for days.

     She swallowed hard, caught between the drive to prove herself and the whisper of self-preservation that Jaxon had somehow voiced without judgment.

     Maybe she was stubborn. Maybe she was too wrapped up in being perfect.

     Maybe... she needed to stop pretending she could do it all alone.

     Hayley glanced at the screen, the unfinished design staring back at her, then at the darkened office around her.

     For a moment, the weight of it all pressed down—deadline, expectations, the gnawing need to be enough.

     And then, quietly, she exhaled.

     Maybe tomorrow, she thought, she'd try to be kinder to herself.

     Because tonight, for now, it was enough just to breathe.