Chapter Text
Chapter 17: Desktopped
John sat at his wreck of a desk, buried under paperwork, reports, and the crushing weight of responsibility.
It had been a long day. Too many forms, too many Nikkes needing counseling, and nowhere near enough caffeine to survive it all.
But finally he had a quiet moment to catch up.
Until his door swung open.
John didn’t bother hiding his sigh. "If this is another—"
He looked up.
Rosanna.
Leaning against the doorframe, coat draped over her shoulders, red eyes gleaming with mischief.
John sighed again. "I don’t have a meeting with you scheduled today."
Rosanna smirked. "No, you don’t." She stepped in, shutting the door behind her with a click.
John narrowed his eyes. "Then what do you want?"
She strolled forward, voice dropping to a husky whisper.
"A little... nightly fun, Mister."
John stared at her.
"Rosanna."
"Mister."
"I have a mountain of paperwork, a headache, and no patience."
Rosanna ignored him, circling his desk like a predator, fingers trailing along the surface.
"Mister’s been working too much."
"Mister has deadlines."
She suddenly grabbed his collar and yanked him forward.
His pen dragged across the document.
"That was legally binding," he muttered.
Rosanna chuckled. Then she shoved him onto the desk.
John exhaled slowly.
"Rosanna."
"Mister."
"That was a lot of paperwork."
She straddled his waist, pinning him down. "And?"
The desk creaked.
John frowned. "Rosanna, wait—"
CRACK.
For a moment, John locked eyes with Rosanna, pure realization dawning in both of them.
Then—
COLLAPSE.
The desk gave out.
John hit the ground flat on his back.
Rosanna landed directly on his stomach.
All the air left his body.
His soul briefly detached.
Somewhere, an ancient office worker’s spirit sighed in disappointment.
John wheezed.
Rosanna tilted her head, still sitting on his ribs. "That sounded expensive, Mister."
John raised a single, pained thumbs-up.
She chuckled, leaning in close. "Guess I swept you off your feet."
John, voice barely a whisper: "Rosanna, please get off my lungs."
She grinned, standing up and dusting herself off, while John remained sprawled out like a tragic crime scene.
Then she paused.
"Mister, do you have a reinforced bed?"
John closed his eyes. "Yes."
Rosanna tapped her chin. "Hmm. I feel like I should confirm that… personally."
John cracked one eye open. "Rosanna, no."
She grabbed his ankle, smirking. "Rosanna, yes."
With zero hesitation, she dragged him out the door, smirking.
As John disappeared down the hall, legs limp, face blank, Neon peeked into the room.
"...Huh."