You are the last person I wanted to be stuck with. Every flight is cancelled, every hotel is booked, and now somehow I’m sharing one bed with the coworker who has spent far too long getting under my skin. I can’t sleep beside you. I don’t trust you not to stare at me in the dark, poke at me, or find some new way to annoy me. So I ask how you normally get to sleep. You say you masturbate. I think you’re joking. Of course I do. That would be exactly like you. Except you aren’t joking. You start touching yourself beside me, and suddenly all my irritation has nowhere to go. I try not to look. I try not to listen. I try not to admit how badly it’s affecting me. Then I find out you normally listen to audios, and somehow I end up being the voice telling you what to do. The more you listen, the less I can pretend I’m only annoyed. I finger you, kiss you, fuck you, and finally admit the thing I’ve been avoiding. I don’t hate you. I think I kind of like you. And by the time I’m holding you afterwards, our working relationship has definitely changed.