I'm the first to arrive every morning. I like to do my little morning routines alone. When I arrive early enough, I even write a little. In the office, I don't have to worry about the fuse blowing every now and then.

When I find Liam there for the first time, I'm surprised. The second morning, I'm annoyed. The third, I start to worry for him.

It's quite obvious that Liam is struggling. I have no idea what this twenty-some, handsome, blond, beach boy type can lose sleep over, and I don't particularly care either. But he looks more and more desperate, so one morning I walk to his desk and ask him.

It turns out that Liam is struggling with work.

He's the other one on this floor in a junior position. Just like me. Preparing cases. And struggling with it.

"I know I'm going to be fired," he says, looking at me with those big, blue, begging eyes.

"Probably the only problem of yours I can help with," I sigh.

And I do. Every morning we go through his tasks. He's not hopeless, exactly, but a little slow. More charms than brains. But I can't help it, I like him. He's as simple and cute as a golden retriever. So I put aside my morning rituals and help him. Sometimes, when we are short on time, I just make him sit by me and I do the writing part. No big deal, less of musing over a coffee, more of making friends, and nobody gets hurt.

Until one day Mr. Warren calls me into his office. One look at him is enough to know that I'm in trouble. One more at the paper in his hand, and I also know which kind of trouble.

"It's not made by Liam. It's made by you," he states.

How the fuck do you know that? I almost ask him, but finally, I manage to keep my mouth shut. Probably it's written all over my face, though.

"Yes," I admit. "We both arrive early, and I helped him once when he had a headache. Is it against the rules?"

"He must be a very sickly type." He furrows his brow. "Waking up each and every morning with a headache in the last two weeks."

I have no idea what to say. Unless asking the very same question I long to ask. How the fuck he knows this much? Well, I don't need to, he answers it without asking.

"You made great progress in legal terminology. But you still have these little quirks in writing. Not errors, really, I'd rather call it creative phrasing."

I curse mentally and make a note of obliging Liam to proofread the papers at least.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again," I assure him.

"Okay. It goes without saying."

"Sure." I nod seriously.

"I mean, you'll certainly make him proofread before handing it in next time."

I hold my breath until he goes on.

"But that won't solve the problem itself. Maybe it's not the right place for him. Maybe he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Or maybe I should just give him more time."

I almost jump on the second option. Then I reconsider.

"Do what's the best for him," I say. "You must know better what he needs than me."

He looks slightly shocked.

"What?" I ask. "A life lived in constant stress is worse than one in some other position, I guess."

"Not that," he says, still looking surprised. "You just said something sounding almost like I know something better than you."

I make an irritated snorting sound, which I know I shouldn't. I almost make a comment also, which I know I shouldn't, pointing out the difference between know and must know. But I think of Liam's puppy eyes and decide to take a different approach.

"You know, he's scared of you. It's holding him back. You should help him."

"In what? Teaching him how to prepare cases?"

"Teaching him how not to be scared of you," I tell him.

He sighs impatiently.

"Is there a way? Have you ever succeeded in that?"

"Yes," I reply, and then wait for him to catch up. And he does. He's quick.

"Here," he muses. "I see."

"Here." I nod with some pride.

"Well, Ollie sees the best in every person. Liam is grateful for your help. Everyone else is still a bit apprehensive, as far as I know. And for a reason, I'm sure. Even Bill. You don't even notice it, do you?"

It feels like a slap in the face. I've heard this too many times to find it amusing. My good employee tone waves goodbye and flies out the window without looking back.

"So is it me now, we are discussing? Excuse me, it's still not me who's having unrealistic expectations towards the boy, okay? How the fuck is he supposed to stand straight in front of you, when you do the same to him, as to me now? You don't even notice it, do you?"

His face darkens even more.

"What the fuck am I doing to you, exactly?"

"First, you make me stand while you sit. I know, this is how it's done, a classic call on the carpet position, and I seriously have nothing against it, just go on, you're welcome, but it still makes a normal person feel intimidated. Like a chastised child. Or even worse."

"You just ruled yourself out of normal people," he points out.

"Yeah, surprised much? You're not, are you? Still, it's not me who's rendering the boy useless by staring him down. Yeah, like this. You have this constant resentment on your face when you look at me. Like you have the worst possible opinion of me."

"Which you give no shit about either, I know."

"And you do the same to Liam," I carry on, without being disturbed. "The only difference is you do this to him when he fucks up something, while in my case you disapprove of my mere existence. But, again, it's okay, I have zero problems with it, I really support your leadership style, but with some people, it doesn't work. Like with Liam. So you want a change? Change that."

He folds his arms on his chest. He closes his eyes for a second. Nods, and looks me straight in the eyes.

"Yes, these are your true colors. You can't hide them for long, can you? They surface time and again, want it or not. I wonder how it's going to be when you start to feel safe here and be yourself all the time."

I stare at him in disbelief. He cut the pleasantries again and went for the throat. A thing I tend to do frequently, I know. Still, it's not making any easier to stand on the other side of it. Suddenly I feel the need to sit down. Even if he notices it, he goes on giving no sign of it.

"While I also respect your right to have the worst possible opinion of me, one thing I want to make clear. I don't need your approval. Not now, not ever. Something I want you to remember. Make sure you never forget this."

I close my eyes for a second, almost mimicking him. I admit to myself that it was stupid of me to treat him like a person. Stupid and reckless. I also promise myself never to commit the same mistake again.

"I won't forget it," I answer, sounding properly resolute.

"Like, again?"

"I won't forget it again, Mr. Warren."

I'm quite sure he won't leave this without an answer. There's still a potential to make me feel even more a low-down underling than I feel now. But he does. There's an uncomfortable shift in his posture, and he's averting his eyes, while the muscles in his folded arms go visibly tense. Almost as if I told something utterly humiliating to him, not the other way around.

I ask for permission to leave.

He grants me permission.

I don't look back. Just when I sit by my desk, I notice that the walls of his office are not transparent anymore. He turned the darkening on.

"I don't always make myself clear, but when I do, I do it on an epic level," I mutter to myself. The only problem is I don't find it amusing at all.