Goldfish in the Break Room

The orange fluorescent light hummed overhead, casting everything in a sickly glow that made Mondays feel like a funeral for ambitions. Elena stared at the break room goldfish—it had been floating near the surface for three days, and nobody had the heart to flush it.

"You think he's lonely?" Marcus asked, leaning against the counter. His hair was still wet from the gym, dark waves plastering his forehead in a way that made him look ten years younger and infinitely more dangerous to her peace of mind.

Elena shrugged. "He's a fish. They have seven-second memories. He doesn't have time to be lonely."

"Maybe that's the gift," Marcus said, his voice dropping to that register that made her stomach do something complicated and treasonous. "Not remembering. Just swimming in circles, thinking every lap is a new adventure."

The goldfish drifted toward the plastic castle, its orange scales catching the light. Like everything else in this office, it was trapped in transparent walls, visible but untouchable.

"You're projecting," she said, turning to face him. The air between them had been charged since the Christmas party, since the moment in the stairwell when his hand had lingered on her waist, since she hadn't pulled away. "You're the one who keeps forgetting why you shouldn't be in here with me."

Marcus stepped closer. The break room was small, and suddenly it was too small. "I haven't forgotten anything."

The goldfish nosed the glass, its mouth opening and closing in silent desperation.

"Rachel is your wife," Elena said, but her voice lacked conviction. "She's pregnant."

"And you're my boss." His hand found hers, fingers interlacing like they'd been doing this for lifetimes instead of weeks. "We've been very thorough about listing all the reasons."

She looked at his wet hair, at the way his shirt clung to his chest, at the goldfish that had finally stopped moving. "The fish is dead," she said.

"Yeah," Marcus agreed, but he was looking at her mouth. "Some things just run out of water."