The Bear in the Breakroom

The vitamin D sat on her tongue like a tiny white judgment, dissolving slowly as she stared at her reflection in the breakroom microwave door. Forty-two years old, and suddenly every supplement felt like an admission of defeat against mortality.

"You're taking those again?" Mark's voice came from behind her—too close, always too close lately. "I read those can cause kidney stones."

Sarah swallowed without water. "Everything causes something."

He laughed, that warm rumble that had been dangerous since the holiday party. "Optimistic."

They'd been friends for three years, safe colleagues who grabbed coffee and complained about their boss. But lately something had shifted—their knees touching under conference tables, the way he remembered how she took her coffee, these little breakroom encounters that felt like dancing on the edge of something.

"Speaking of things that cause damage," Mark lowered his voice, "you heard about Miller?"

"The Bear's quarterly review is tomorrow." Sarah's stomach tightened. Their division director was known for eating careers whole.

Mark stepped closer, his hand briefly covering hers on the counter. "We should present together."

The touch sent electricity through her, terrifying and exhilarating. "Mark—"

"I'm not talking about work." His eyes searched hers, suddenly very serious. "I'm talking about after. When we're both still employed, or both unemployed. Either way."

The vitamin container in her pocket seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. This was what happened when you started acknowledging your own fragility—everything else suddenly felt possible, urgent. The Bear could fire them both tomorrow. Her body could betray her. Mark could break her heart in six months.

"Okay," she heard herself say. "Together."

He smiled, and it was like watching something fragile take flight in a hurricane. "Now finish your vitamins. We have a predator to survive."

She swallowed the rest with cold coffee, suddenly certain that whatever came next—kidney stones, unemployment, heartbreak—she wanted to face it with someone who'd dance with her on the edge of the cliff first.