The office buzzed as usual.
Typing. Gossiping. Pens clicking. Laptops whirring. And somewhere in the middle, Emiko Fujiwara was trying to type a report without falling into the endless pit of small talk.
Haruto sat a few desks away, posture perfect, aura cold, and clearly practicing *how to ignore a married woman without looking like he's ignoring her*.
And everyone else? Oh, they were too busy commenting on the latest work drama to notice either of them properly.
Then the boss walked in.
The entire room stiffened slightly, eyes darting to the imposing figure at the head of the office.
"Attention!" the boss boomed. "It is the fifth month of the year."
Everyone perked up like this was the news of the century.
"And as tradition dictates," the boss continued, "it's time for the company group photo. This time… right here in our desk room. You all have one hour to go home, change, and return. Make yourselves presentable."
The room erupted into chaotic murmurs.
"Finally," someone muttered, stretching.
"I hope my hair behaves," another complained, flipping their long curls dramatically.
"I didn't even know we had a tradition," someone whispered.
Emiko, clutching her handbag, barely looked up from her screen.
*One hour. Great. I can survive one hour.* she thought, trying to ignore the low hum of excited chaos around her.
Then, without warning, a shadow fell over her.
*Boo—what?*
She jumped.
Mika Kurosawa, the quiet, mysterious girl with long black hair and those intense bangs, was suddenly standing there.
"You… will let me stand beside you in the group photo," Mika said calmly, almost eerily, as if stating a law.
Emiko blinked.
"What?" she stammered, clutching her handbag tighter. "Um… I—I'm sorry, I already planned to stand beside… uh…" She trailed off, hoping Mika wouldn't notice. "…someone else."
Mika tilted her head, eyes unreadable. "You are already married. That does not change the fact that I am standing there."
Emiko swallowed hard. "I… I just… I mean… you don't really know me, so I think… I should be standing beside someone I… uh… know better?"
Mika's gaze didn't waver. "Knowing someone is irrelevant. I want to be beside you. That is enough."
Emiko backed up a step, nervously twisting her handbag strap. "But I already… you see… I wanted to stand beside Haruto-san. He's… uh… kind of… important to me?"
Mika arched an eyebrow. "And you think I care?"
Emiko blinked, opening her mouth. "Well… yes? It's… it's polite? And also—uh… I already planned to stand somewhere else in the photo… it's… complicated!"
Mika leaned in slightly, voice soft but firm. "I will not move. Stand beside me. Or step aside."
Before Emiko could respond, a familiar laugh rang from behind them.
"Ohhh, Emiko," Ayane Shimizu said, sneaking up like a cat in heels, "you really think Ishikawa-san wants to be seen *close* to a married woman? Wasn't dinner enough of a hint for you?"
Emiko's face flushed crimson. "Ayane! What are you—why are you—ugh!"
Ayane smirked. "What, did the marriage fairy forget to tell you rules? You can't be near him, married lady!"
"Rules?" Emiko shot back. "You need that one hour more than anyone! Your face… it's going to take the full sixty minutes just to look halfway decent in the photo!"
Ayane gasped dramatically. "Oh, boo! My life is perfect and I still have more glow than you do! What a shame!"
"Shame? I'll have you know my glow comes from *real work*! Not from curling your hair and gossiping with everyone while pretending to be busy!"
"You call that work? Ha! You type numbers, spill coffee, and cry about love triangles! That's not work, that's… chaos!"
Emiko's hands flew into the air. "Better than being fake polite and pretending to care about everyone's drama while judging a 31-year-old married woman for daring to live!"
Ayane huffed. "Fake polite? Excuse me! I sparkle all the way to perfection, thank you very much!"
Emiko squinted, lips curling. "Sparkle all you want, but at least your face isn't screaming for makeup to hide the daily horrors of office life!"
Ayane clutched her pearls dramatically. "Oh no! You wouldn't dare!"
Meanwhile, Mika just watched, arms crossed, unblinking.
"I told you," Mika said quietly to Emiko, "I will stand beside you. You may argue all you want, but I will not budge."
Emiko's eyes went wide. "You… you just… what? Why? You don't even know me!"
Mika leaned closer. "I do not need to know you. You are enough. And I claim my spot."
Emiko groaned, grabbing her handbag tighter. "Ugh! Fine! You want to mark your territory? Go ahead! I'm going home to change before this place drives me insane!"
Ayane clapped her hands mockingly. "Good idea! Go show off that fake marriage of yours! Bye-bye, Mrs. Fujiwara!"
Emiko stormed toward the exit, muttering under her breath. "Married… my life is chaos… I just wanted to stand next to Haruto… why is everyone like this?!"
As the door slammed behind her, Ayane's laughter echoed. "Good luck with that, Mrs. Fujiwara!"
Haruto glanced up briefly, expression unreadable. But Emiko could swear she caught the tiniest twitch of something… maybe irritation? Maybe betrayal? Maybe just a very judgmental eyebrow.
She didn't wait to find out. The second she got home, she was already planning her revenge… and wondering if Mika was secretly a ninja.
........
Emiko Fujiwara trudged into her apartment, utterly exhausted from the chaos with Mika and Ayane at the office. She collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her hands for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling as the day's drama replayed in her mind.
*Haruto… he'll never look at me the same way now. Married. Like a label on a box. Useless. Gone. My one chance… gone.*
She groaned, swinging her legs off the bed. "Might as well freshen up." She reached for her silver ring, sliding it onto her finger with practiced care, as though it were her tiny shield against the world.
Heading out, Emiko bumped into the usual chaos of her little neighborhood.
"Emiii!"
Three little figures came barreling toward her. The oldest, a determined 12-year-old girl, **Sakura Ichinose**, crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. "Are you going to make us that cookie pie again?"
Behind her waddled **Tsubasa**, the six-year-old boy, bouncing and poking at her elbow, while the youngest, eight-month-old **Haru**, drooled and gurgled happily.
Emiko groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You kids… always in my way."
"But you promised last week!" Sakura said, raising her tiny eyebrow.
"I… okay, okay! Cookie pie! Don't mob me!" she said hurriedly, trying to maneuver past them.
Tsubasa, however, had other plans. He darted in front of her, flapping his little arms. "You forgot my favorite part last time! You need extra chocolate chips this time!"
Emiko laughed nervously. "Tsubasa, if I add any more chocolate, it'll melt off the pan!"
He pouted dramatically. "Then I'll just melt! Don't you care about me?"
Sakura rolled her eyes. "Tsu, you're ridiculous. Just let Emiko-san go!"
Tsubasa grabbed her sleeve playfully. "No! You need to promise right here!"
Emiko sighed, crouching down to their height. "Fine, I promise. Extra chocolate chips, just for you. Happy?"
Tsubasa grinned mischievously. "And a little caramel drizzle. You forgot the drizzle!"
"You're hopeless," Emiko said, tugging gently to free her sleeve. "Haru, don't drool on my coat—oh, too late!"
Haru giggled and slapped at her scarf, sending it swinging.
Sakura stepped in, scolding gently. "Tsubasa! Stop bothering Emiko-san! Let her go before we're late!"
Tsubasa pouted again but finally relented, marching along with his sister while Haru gurgled and reached for Emiko's bag.
Emiko shook her head, exhaling. "Cookie pie, extra chocolate, caramel drizzle… and survive the three chaos monsters. Got it."
With that, she finally rushed out the door, muttering under her breath, "Why do I even live in this neighborhood…?"
---
By the time she arrived at the insurance company, she was sweating lightly and her nerves were jangling. Adjusting her hair in the lobby mirror, she tried to steel herself for the day ahead.
The office was a picture of elegance and chaos all at once. Everyone had dressed sharply for the upcoming group photo.
And then she spotted him, **Haruto Ishikawa**, looking as impeccable as ever. Two of his friends hovered close, teasing him mercilessly.
"Seriously, Haruto, are you trying to find a new babe?" one joked.
"Look at you, all dressed up!" the other added, nudging him.
Emiko froze. *New babe?* The words hit her like a brick to the head.
Around him, younger coworkers circled, complimenting him, laughing, stealing glances, and *her eyes met his.*
"Haruto-san, you look amazing today!" whispered one.
"Did you get a haircut? Or is it just the lighting?" another giggled, nudging her elbow.
"Please tell me this is for someone special," a third added, practically wiggling in excitement.
Emiko felt her stomach drop. *Someone special… for him… not me. I'm married… what is life?!*
A tiny voice piped up behind her. "He's glowing today!"
"And so polite!" whispered another.
Emiko's head spun. *Polite? Glowing? Why is everyone so obsessed with him?!*
She tried to glance down at her shoes to avoid him, but the universe wasn't done yet.
She panicked and looked away, only to bump directly into **Ren Takahashi**, balancing a tray of juice glasses.
"Oh no!" she gasped. The juices toppled, drenching her dress.
"Ahhh! My dress! Ren! Watch it!" she yelled, flailing.
Before she could even scream, she slipped, her hand brushing her desk and knocking over an inkwell. Black ink spread across her already soaked outfit.
Ren panicked, waving his hands frantically. "Fujiwara-san! I-I'm so sorry! Let me get napkins! Towels! Anything!"
Emiko swatted his hands away. "It's fine, Ren! Just—just move! Don't touch me!"
One of the younger female coworkers, **Nanae Fujimoto**, snickered, covering her mouth. "Nice going, Fujiwara-san! Water *and* ink combo—so chic!"
Emiko spun to glare, hair plastered to her forehead, dress dripping black streaks. "Chic? THIS IS A DISASTER!"
Ren stumbled, juggling the tray. "I swear, I'll pay for dry cleaning! I'll—oh god, just stay still!"
Emiko muttered under her breath, dripping and panicked, "Why does life hate me… why today… why juice… why ink?!"
Nanae whispered to a friend, giggling, "I can't. She's literally a walking calamity. And Haruto isn't even looking!"
Emiko threw her hands up. "I CAN HEAR YOU!"
Ren bowed quickly, face red. "Sorry! Sorry! I'll… fix… everything!"
Emiko groaned, tugging at the wet fabric. "Fixing it? FIXING IT?! My dress, my dignity, my life… all ruined!"
Sweat mixed with juice and ink, her hair sticking to her face. She backed toward the restroom, muttering frantically, "Why am I like this… why can't anyone have a normal Monday…?!"
With no time to go home, Emiko dashed to the ladies' restroom. Water, soap, frantic scrubbing, nothing helped. Sweat prickled her forehead, sticking strands of hair to her temples.
"Okay, Emiko, calm down… just calm… maybe a miracle?" she muttered to herself, fumbling with the wet fabric.
Then disaster struck. Her phone slipped from where she had set it. She bent to pick it up, and heard a loud, horrifying rip.
"Nooooooo!" she shrieked, hands flailing, trying to cover herself. "Why now?! Why?!"
Looking down, she realized her blouse had torn dramatically, exposing far more than she could handle in a room full of coworkers outside.
"Ahhhhhh!!" she screamed again, hopping from foot to foot like a cartoon character. "This is literally the worst day in the history of my life! The history of, EVERYONE'S life!"
She grabbed at the bathroom cupboard, heart pounding. *Maybe, maybe, just maybe… there's a needle? Thread? Anything?*
Opening the cupboard, she froze. Empty. Absolutely nothing.
"*What kind of workplace doesn't even have thread?!* Do they expect me to sew this with my tears?!" she muttered, poking around. "Maybe… maybe a stapler? No, no, no… that's worse!"
She peeked behind the soap dispensers. Nothing. Checked under the hand towels. Nada.
"This is not even… realistic," she groaned, sitting on the floor for a moment and massaging her face. "Even in anime, they have sewing kits! SEWING KITS!"
Then she realized, Toilets don't really have needles or threads.
Determined, she leapt up. "Fine, I'll just… I'll just go to the workshop! There has to be sewing supplies there! Thread, needles, scissors, duct tape, ANYTHING!"
She ran down the passage, but in her haste, her heel caught the edge of a mat. Arms flailing, legs in awkward angles, she slid across the floor. Her knees met the cold tile. She let out a pitiful squeak.
"Ohhhh my life, my life is a tragedy. A comedy. A tragedy-comedy!" she wailed. "Why am I even alive? Why did I exist in this moment?"
Tears prickled her eyes, but she was too frazzled to even wipe them away. "This is karma! I knew I shouldn't have worn white today! WHITE!!"
She sat there for a second, sniffing, wobbling like a baby deer, before muttering, "Okay… okay… maybe I can… maybe I can… I can… stitch with a paperclip?!"
Her internal monologue spun faster than a rollercoaster.
"Why am I like this? Seriously, universe. I am literally just trying to have a normal day! I—ugh!"
She groaned, flopped onto her knees, and dramatically buried her face in her hands. "I can't… I can't do this anymore. I just can't… EVERYTHING HURTS!"
At that exact moment, Haruto appeared at the end of the passage, frozen in shock.
"Fujiwara-san?! Are you—oh…"
Emiko peeked through her fingers, cheeks flaming red. "*Do not look… do not look… do NOT look!*" she whispered frantically.
Haruto's eyes widened, and he immediately stepped forward. "I… I can help. Please—"
"I… I'm… I'm fine!" she stammered, voice cracking. "I… I just… my life hates me!"
He froze for a moment, then ripped off his blazer in a smooth motion and draped it over her shoulders.
Emiko blinked. "What? What are you doing?!"
"Cover yourself," he said simply, his voice calm, but his cheeks pink. "You… just endure for now. I'm sorry I can't do more."
She blinked at him, overwhelmed. Her blouse hidden beneath his jacket, heart thundering, sweat prickling on her neck. "You… you didn't… I mean, thank you… oh God… stop looking… stop looking… you're making this worse!"
He averted his gaze almost instantly, awkwardly shifting his weight. "I… I'm not looking. Just… walk with me."
She let out a shaky sigh, almost laughing through tears. "This is my life now… covered in ink, soaked in juice, wearing your jacket like a human burrito… perfect."
He held the door open for her, still avoiding direct eye contact, but his presence was solid, grounding, and somehow… comforting.
She shuffled forward, clutching the blazer around her like it was a life raft, whispering under her breath: "Why am I always in chaos… and why does he make it feel like… maybe it's not all bad?"
Even as she walked toward the office, the disaster behind her, she couldn't stop feeling her heart race, and the faint blush that refused to fade.
She calmed, letting the jacket shield her, tears soaking the fabric. The soft weight of it around her shoulders was strangely comforting, grounding her after the chaotic morning.
Haruto's hands lingered only briefly, adjusting the fabric so it didn't slip off, his touch careful, almost shy. She felt the warmth from him, smelled the faint scent of his cologne—it made her cheeks heat up even more. His face was slightly red as he averted his gaze, like he was struggling not to stare, and somehow, it made her heart skip.
Together, they moved toward the stairwell. Emiko's steps were wobbly, and he subtly matched his pace with hers, silent, protective, careful not to invade her space—but she could feel him there, close enough that it felt intimate without being too much.
*Haha, losers,* she thought darkly, smirking in her head. *All of you jealous coworkers, looking like vultures trying to get a glance at Haruto with me in his jacket. Guess who's the one with him protecting me today? Not you.*
Ren noticed them first. "Ah! I'm so sorry, Fujiwara-san! I ruined your dress!"
Emiko waved him off, cheeks flaming. "No… it's fine…"
The office watched in quiet shock. Everyone noticed the blazer, how Haruto's presence framed her like a human forcefield. No one dared comment; the tension in the room was palpable.
Emiko, secretly reveling in her inner villain vibes, thought: *Yes, look at them! Staring at us like they're missing out on the main prize. And here I am… with Haruto, and he's basically mine right now. Not theirs. Suck it.*
By the time they reached the photography studio, Haruto maintained a distant stance, standing beside his friends, as if enforcing invisible boundaries. And yet… even from a few feet away, the small, careful ways he protected her made her chest ache in the best way.
She could see his brow furrow slightly as he kept his distance, the way his eyes constantly flicked toward her, the faint twitch of his jaw as he avoided making it too obvious—*cute idiot,* she thought, rolling her eyes privately.
Emiko adjusted her hair, smoothed down the jacket over her shoulders, and tried to focus on looking composed—yet every time she glanced at him, the warmth of the jacket reminded her that he was right there, waiting, protective, silently making sure she was okay.
And then…
Mika Kurosawa appeared beside her, expressionless as ever, sliding into her designated spot as if her life depended on it. Emiko couldn't help a weak, embarrassed smile.
*Perfect,* she thought slyly, *now everyone sees me standing with him, Mika by my side, and they can't even breathe properly. You're jealous, aren't you? Look at my little empire. Your new obsession is literally unobtainable.*
The camera clicked in the background. Haruto stayed the perfect gentleman, distance maintained, yet somehow she could feel the careful warmth radiating from him, like the universe had made him hers for this one small, chaotic, perfectly dramatic moment.
Even standing apart, shoulder brushing against his jacket, Emiko felt… giddy. Safe. Slightly flustered. And yes—*smug as hell.*
*Good luck trying to ruin this one,* she thought with a mischievous smirk, picturing the horrified expressions of every single coworker watching the scene.
.......
Emiko Fujiwara sat at her desk, eyes scanning the old office photos pinned above the filing cabinet.
There she was, 31-year-old her, in the middle of awkward smiles, fighting her way to stand beside Haruto Ishikawa in every single group photo.
*Always him. Always Haruto…* she thought, sighing. The corners of her lips curved slightly in a wistful smile. *Now? He keeps so much distance. It's like… he's trying not to be near me at all.*
Her fingers traced the glossy edges of a photo from last year, when she and Haruto had ended up next to each other purely by accident. She remembered elbowing her way past another coworker just to claim that spot beside him, grinning like a fool while he had smirked at her quietly.
*God, I miss that. I miss *him*. But now…* she paused, looking at the newest photo from the recent group shot, Haruto standing rigid, arms neatly folded, just far enough from her to make her stomach twist. *Maybe… maybe my "husband" is real after all.*
Her daydream was interrupted by a sharp voice.
"Emiko!"
She blinked and looked up to see **Ayane Shimizu**, hands on her hips, eyebrow arched like a hawk about to swoop.
"You know," Ayane began, smirking, "your husband might get really angry if he saw another man putting his jacket on *his wife*."
Emiko rolled her eyes dramatically, biting back a laugh. "Ayane… relax. Haruto was just helping me. And my husband? He'd understand. He's reasonable." She flashed a fake, angelic smile that would have killed her enemies if this were a dramatic soap.
Ayane pursed her lips. "Hmph. If you say so…" She gave Emiko one last judgmental glare before wandering off, probably to gossip about someone else.
Emiko exhaled, leaning back in her chair. But before she could settle into some peace, she heard it, the unmistakable shrill chatter of her coworkers, intentionally loud, right behind her.
"You should be careful, you know," one of the girls said, glancing at Haruto with a mischievous smile. "Being around a married woman… You might *give the wrong impression.*"
"I know! Look at you, all gentle and careful…" another cooed, twirling her hair like she was auditioning for a drama. "You seem *too happy* to have your perfect day ruined by this little… temptation."
Emiko's teeth clenched. *Temptation?. Him?. Me?. Oh, the irony…*
And then came the teasing, flirtatious ones, all directed at him:
"You know," one of the younger girls leaned toward Haruto, giggling, "if you ever want to put your jacket around *us*, we wouldn't mind. We're not married women, after all."
Another piped up, smiling slyly, "Yeah, Haruto, we'd feel really *honored* to get the royal treatment too."
Emiko ground her teeth, muttering in her mind… "&$##. $#&*##. #$@**&$…*
Her mouth stayed shut, but inside, she was cursing them in ways that would make sailors blush. Every word, every compliment, every tiny, teasing laugh directed at him, she swore silently at them.
And all the while, Haruto didn't notice a thing. He just smiled politely, nodded at their nonsense, and kept his distance like a perfectly trained gentleman.
Emiko, on the other hand, plotted mental revenge while maintaining her professional composure, flashing her fake-ringed hand under the desk like a tiny, petty victory.
*Oh, you think I'm just going to sit here and take it?* she thought, smirking. *Oh no. You have *no idea* who you're messing with.*
......
Later, the office had settled into a rhythm again. Typing. Clicking. Murmurs of gossip floating around. Emiko was at her desk, trying to focus, though her mind kept wandering back to Haruto's careful distance, Mika's emotionless stare in the photo, and the chaos of the morning.
Then the office doors swung open with an authoritative *click*.
The head assistant, **Kaori Fujimura**, stepped in, heels sharp on the floor, expression stricter than a principal on the first day of school.
"Everyone, attention!" Kaori's voice cut through the chatter like a knife. "Tomorrow is the company's promotional event. There will be a party in the evening. You may bring a plus one."
Immediately, the office erupted. Questions flew in every direction.
"Who's taking who?"
"You *have* to bring someone cute!"
"Will Emiko-san bring… your husband?"
Emiko's head whipped up, heart hammering. She opened her mouth to protest. "Uh… well… actually, maybe not… I mean… it's kind of last minute, and he might be busy…"
"Oh come on!" another coworker interrupted, nudging her. "He *has* to come! You can't go alone!"
Emiko gulped. "I… I mean… we could go together but… maybe just… not, um…"
The whispers grew louder. Curious eyes flicked to her. "Really, Emiko-san? You'd really skip it?"
"Your husband would *understand*, right?"
"C'mon, you *have* to bring him! It's tradition!"
Her face flushed, her hands fidgeting nervously with her silver ring. She could feel the entire office pressuring her, the anticipation practically vibrating in the air.
"Uh… okay! Fine! Of course… I'll… bring my husband," she blurted out at last, giving in.
*Oh no! Oh no! What have I done?!* Her mind screamed.
Haruto, sitting a few desks away, had been watching quietly. At her words, his hand clenched into a fist on the desk. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, eyes narrowing, but still careful not to stare at her too long.
Emiko immediately felt the heat rise to her cheeks. *His fist… his fist is clenched… oh no oh no oh no…*
The questions continued, piling on like a snowball rolling downhill. Everyone teasing, giggling, nudging each other:
"Really? Your husband, Emiko-san?"
"Wow, you must be the happiest wife in the office!"
"I hope he's cute!"
Emiko's mind went into full panic mode. *What am I going to do? How am I going to manage this?*
She clenched her silver ring on her finger, hoping it would give her courage. But all she could do was breathe rapidly, nod along, and silently curse the chaos she'd created with one tiny lie.
Haruto remained still, his fist still balled, shoulders tense, as if holding back a storm, but careful, meticulous, keeping it all professional.
Emiko leaned back in her chair, heart racing, mind spinning. *Tomorrow… tomorrow I have to survive this lie… and somehow, somehow keep him at arm's length without breaking my own plan… oh God…*