.:Quiet:.

"Any words of wisdom for me today, Ken?"

A rebellious piece of dust drifted above Nolan's head as he asked this, the sunlight from the third story window casting diamonds in every corner of the room.

I glared at the speck as it wafted into the air vent and slipped out of sight.

I just dusted yesterday.

"Why are you making that face?" Nolan chuckles. "Did I hit a nerve?"

I tilted my head back in thought before shrugging.

"Nah, I'm out. No stories today. Dry as a well."

"Aren't most wells a reliable source of water?" Nolan asked.

"Not where I come from." I said.

He smiled and pulled a slow sip of his kombucha, pinkie finger canted out from the glass. The man spread out before me was no puzzle, no mystery to be solved. If you looked up the word 'genuine' in the dictionary his picture would be there.

Nolan Griff had nothing to hide.

And that unnerved me the most.

"You act like we have all the time in the world." My fingers drummed the plush armrest out of impatience and some other sensation I couldn't name.

"Don't we?" Nolan's face dripped with honesty. In that day and age, how was that even possible?

I cracked my knuckles and watched him watch me watch him.

Nothing made sense anymore.

No law, official decree, or legal mandate forced Nolan to entertain me during his lunch break.

And yet, everyday, for a year, I'd find him slouching in the precinct lobby, cuffing his sweater sleeves, gripping his tumbler of disgusting-vegan-health-super juice like a lifeline. And then, completely out of my mind, I'd invite him to my cubicle for an hour and a quick chat.

After the first month none of the other agents bothered giving Nolan strange looks. Even Allen at the front desk, usually so tart he could make a serial killer cry, didn't ask to scan Nolan's clearance card anymore.

Everyone knew the reason why Nolan visited Zodiac HQ.

Which was frustrating, because I sure didn't.

"I'm being stretched in two directions, and I'm not sure which angle to follow." He admitted this more to himself than to me. Almost as if he wasn't expecting me to answer.

So I did anyways.

"Logic and emotion wearing you thin?" I smirked and tried to ignore how perfectly tousled his hair was. I imagined him smoothing his hands through the strands while he worked, eyes laser focused on his keyboard, furiously typing out his next brilliant article, only to scrub his face with his sleeve, tug off his well-loved sweater, exposing his solid, sturdy chest, stretch his lightly muscled but completely capable arms behind his neck, and then trace his hands lower down to his-

"How'd you know?"

With perfect (frustrating) timing, Nolan interrupts my mental theater.

"Lucky guess."

His face brightens (God, does he ever stop?), and I stare out the window and anywhere else but him.

"Why try to fight it?" I was talking out of my ass by that point; I had absolutely no idea what his issue was. Usually we ended up talking about my problems and my insights. "Why not just let it happen however it will?"