For all intents and purposes, Adam shouldn't even be doing this.

Interns come and go, low-tier employees cycling in and out of his office without him ever knowing or meeting them. It doesn't really matter who makes his coffee, after all, as long as it's hot and delivered at seven a.m. sharp to him by the time he gets there. Who buys his pack of cigarettes so he never runs out, who has his paperwork neatly waiting for him on his desk. He's seen dozens, if not hundreds, of fidgety teenagers get hired and fired within weeks, cheap labor to be exploited out of their hopeless little fantasies of someday climbing the social ladder.

It's kind of cute, in a way.

Langa is even cuter.

Adam regards him calmly, sitting on his velvet-chair like a throne, legs crossed carelessly, a cigarette hanging from his long fingers. The smoke that flies up towards the ceiling is almost like a mask standing between them, even though now Adam's face is bare and exposed, no longer hidden from the world to see. For Langa to see.

"You had a job before, I've been told." Adam leans back on his chair, takes a long drag of his smoke. "Some family business or something, right? What makes you think you'll fare better here?"