Why

The printer on the fourth floor had a specific, rhythmic groan right before it jammed, and Pedra knew exactly how to time her bets around it.

"Twenty bucks says it bites the paper before the third page wraps," she said, not looking up from her screen.

Craig didn't even pause his typing. "You're on. It's a fresh toner cartridge. The feed rollers have traction today."

Pedra leaned back in her mesh office chair, crossing her arms. They shared a small, square workspace that smelled permanently of stale coffee filters and industrial carpet cleaner. It was a tight squeeze, their desks pressed edge-to-edge so that if Craig stretched his legs too far, his sneakers kicked her ankles. For four years, this room had been their entire world from nine to five.

The printer groaned. A high-pitched squeal followed, and then a red light flashed on the little digital screen.

"Pay up," Pedra said, swinging her chair around with a grin. "Never trust the feed rollers on a Tuesday."

Craig sighed, pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his front pocket and tossing it across the gap between their desks. It landed right on top of her keyboard. He was smiling, though he tried to hide it by rubbing his hand over his jaw. "You're rigging that machine. I'm calling IT."

"I don't rig machines, Craig. I just listen to them. There's an art to it."

"There's an art to being a parasite, too," he muttered, though his tone was completely devoid of any real bite. He leaned back, locking his hands behind his head. "What are we doing for lunch? If you say the deli down the road again, I'm going to turn into a turkey club."

"The deli has good bread," Pedra said, sliding the bill into her drawer. "But fine. We can hit the noodle place. On one condition."

"No bets."

"No bets," she agreed, leaning forward onto her desk. "But you pay for the extra green scallions this time. You used my container yesterday."

"That was an accident."

"You ate the whole thing, Craig. That's not an accident. That's grand theft scallion."

Craig laughed, a low, easy sound that always made the small, cramped room feel a little wider, a little brighter. It was the sound Pedra looked forward to every morning when she pulled her car into the lot. They had a routine, a perfect, unbroken rhythm that kept the stress of the firm from crashing down on them. When a client screamed, they joked about it in the breakroom. When a deadline loomed, they stayed late, dividing the workload without even needing to ask who was doing what. They were a team. Everyone in the building knew it.

But lately, the air inside their small office had started to feel different. It was thick, heavy with things that weren't being said.

Pedra noticed it in the small moments. It was the way Craig looked at her when she wasn't staring directly at him a quiet, lingering gaze that vanished the second she turned her head. It was the way her stomach did a strange, sudden flip whenever his shoulder brushed hers in the narrow hallway. They were best friends. They were supposed to be safe. But the safety was beginning to feel like a very thin mask over something massive and terrifying.

"Hey," Craig said softly, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"You're staring at your monitor but your eyes aren't moving. What's wrong?"

Pedra blinked, quickly pulling up a spreadsheet to look busy. "Nothing. Just thinking about the budget presentation for tomorrow. The numbers for the second quarter look a little light."

Craig slid his chair over. The wheels clicked against the plastic mat on the floor. He leaned into her space, his forearm resting on the edge of her desk. He smelled like the rain from his morning walk and the mint he'd chewed after breakfast.

"Let me look," he said.

He reached for her mouse. As he did, his fingers brushed against the back of her hand. It was a tiny, completely accidental touch, but to Pedra, it felt like a sudden jolt of electricity. She pulled her hand back a fraction of an inch too quickly.

Craig paused. He didn't take the mouse. Instead, he looked at her face, his dark eyes searching hers. The easy, playful expression he usually wore fell away, replaced by something intense and completely raw. The silence between them grew loud, drowning out the hum of the air conditioner and the distant typing from the bullpen outside their door.

"Pedra," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Craig, we should"She swallowed, her throat dry. "We should probably just focus on the spreadsheet."

He stared at her for a second longer, his jaw tightening. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something else something huge that would change the room forever. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic, heavy thudding. She was terrified of what he might say, but a smaller, hidden part of her was begging him to say it anyway.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the tension snapped. Craig pulled his hand back and rolled his chair back to his side of the room. He picked up his coffee mug, knocking it against his desk. "Right. The spreadsheet. Let's get it done."

Pedra let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She looked at her screen, but the numbers were just a blur of black and white.

An hour later, the office door swung open, and Maya from marketing popped her head in. Maya was bright, loud, and carried a clipboard like a shield. "Hey, you two. We're doing a coffee run. Anyone want anything, or are you still living off the sludge in the breakroom?"

"Sludge builds character, Maya," Craig said, his voice instantly bouncing back to its usual cheerful tone. "But if you're offering, I'll take a large black. No sugar."

"Pedra?" Maya asked, her pen hovering over the paper.

"The usual, please. Medium iced latte, oat milk."

Maya wrote it down, then paused, looking between the two of them. A small, knowing smile crept onto her face. "You know, the guys downstairs are taking bets on how long it takes for you two to realize you're basically an old married couple. You even format your documents the same way now."

The joke was meant to be harmless, but it hit the room like a rock.

Pedra forced a laugh, her face instantly growing hot. "We just work together, Maya. Craig's too messy to live with."

"Hey! I am highly organized," Craig protested, but his laugh sounded a bit forced this time. He didn't look at Pedra. He kept his eyes fixed on his keyboard, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the desk.

"Sure, sure," Maya chuckled, closing her door. "Ten minutes, guys."

When the door clicked shut, the silence returned, heavier than before. Pedra hated it. She hated how a simple joke could make her feel like she was walking on a wire. She looked over at Craig, wanting to make a joke, wanting to break the ice and bring back the easy comfort they had shared for years.

"She's wrong, you know," Pedra said quietly, trying to keep her voice light. "You're definitely the messy one. Your side of the desk is a disaster area."

Craig didn't laugh. He stopped tapping his fingers. He turned his head slowly, looking at her across the small gap. The playful light was completely gone from his eyes.

"Is that all we are, Pedra?" he asked. His voice was simple, direct, and completely devoid of any office armor. "Just coworkers who know how to format a document?"

Pedra's breath hitched. She looked at his face, at the small line between his eyebrows, at the way he was holding his pen so tightly his knuckles were white. The fear came rushing back, cold and sharp. If she answered him honestly, if she told him about the nights she lay awake thinking about him, or how the office felt completely empty whenever he took a day off, everything would change. They couldn't go back to the bets. They couldn't go back to the jokes. If they tried and failed, she would lose her best friend. She would lose the only person who truly understood her.

She couldn't risk it. The fear of losing him was much bigger than the longing to have him.

"We're best friends, Craig," she said, her voice trembling slightly. She forced herself to look him in the eye, trying to make her expression as blank and safe as possible. "You're my best friend. That's what we are."

Craig looked at her for a long, painful three seconds. Then, he let out a short, quiet breath that sounded almost like a sigh. He nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement.

"Right," he said, his voice turning cool and professional. "Best friends."

He turned back to his monitor, his fingers flying across the keys again. The typing was loud, fast, and angry.

Pedra sat back in her chair, her chest aching with a dull, heavy pain. She had saved the friendship. She had kept them safe behind the wall they had built over four years. But as she sat there watching him work, listening to the furious click of his keyboard, she couldn't shake the terrible feeling that she had just broken something they could never fix.