I'm trying

This late at night, the facility was always deserted. Kevin was used to working late, left as one of the few people maintaining the facility even when the cleaners had gone home.

He didn't mind this - in fact, he preferred it to the place during the day. Living on-site wasn't the worst, but it wasn't the best, either. But it was all that Kevin needed. The facility's quiet halls were comforting to walk down, better than being bumped into and bothered by his coworkers in the day.

Of course it wasn't all perfect, though. Nothing in life ever was, at least for Kevin. Dr. Jacques Crawford, known to most as Crawford, was an enigma of a man. One day, he was a blessing to work with - intelligent, analytical, he was all that Kevin could ever dream of working with during his school days; others he was entirely absent, with his work showing up completed to impeccable standards the next day. Kevin could never understand him. Nobody could.

Despite how much of a dream he was to work with, when it came to more personal matters, not a single person who worked at the facility could say the same. Especially not Kevin. 

Some nights, he'd dreaded waking up for work in the morning. Like a playground bully picked on the smallest, weakest children, Crawford picked on Kevin for the sheer sake of it. He had driven poor Kevin to some of the darkest moments in his life with how relentless he was.

But something inside Kevin still had a strange respect, or admiration for the man. Maybe it was the head on those shoulders of his, or how easily he talked to people, or that he was everything Kevin wished he was. Charismatic, respected, but still feared - Kevin was never an envious man, but he always found himself wishing he was a little more like him.

Or maybe he was just too nice.

---

Kevin let out a soft sigh as he paced down the halls of the building, taking his sweet time - his destination wasn't one he wanted to be in on any day, let alone at night. The barely-lit halls, normally comforting, got under Kevin's skin and sent a shiver down his spine. Cold, metal hands fumbled with a small sheaf of papers, stopping dead in front of a door just before an impact with it.

Tucking the papers underneath one arm, he hesitated before knocking on the door lightly.

No response.

"Crawford?" He muttered after knocking, waiting, knocking, waiting - his voice was loud enough for someone inside to hear, though still subdued (which could be chalked up to anxiety from who he was dealing with). For all Kevin knew, this could just be another Crawford thing. This wasn't uncommon with the man; he was unpredictable in the strangest ways.

A few minutes passed and Kevin grew concerned, tentatively pushing the door open and peering in.

There he was. Dr. Jacques Crawford himself, renowned genius of a man across the whole of Sosleon, curled up on his desk with a half-drunk mug of now ice cold coffee. The cot tucked away in the corner of his office was deserted, papers were scattered across the floor - it was a mess, and Kevin... Didn't know what to do.

Part of him wanted to place the papers on his desk, write a note and get back to his business, but that didn't quite feel right. Even if this was Crawford, the man that had caused countless panic attacks for him and endless amounts of stress, it was still a rather rude thing to do. Treat people how you want to be treated, everyone would always tell him - karma would run its course and catch up to him someday, right?

Huffing quietly, Kevin set the sheaf of papers onto Crawford's work space, clearing up and organising it in the progress. Everything was neat and orderly, unlike Kevin's own desk - he had even gone as far as to empty the contents of the mug into the break room a few doors down the hall, clean it out and return it to the desk as good as new. 

He had spent what felt like hours (but was likely closer to fifteen minutes) clearing the room up, making sure everything was as neat as he could get it to be. Though, turning to leave, he couldn't help but notice something left untouched - Crawford himself.

Taking a quick glance out the door, then to Crawford, then back to the door.

Before he knew it, he was pulling the old, worn-out blanket off of the cot and gently, shakily placing it around Crawford's shoulders. Looking at the sleeping form of the man, his mind wandered back to the concept of karma. Maybe someday, somebody, somewhere, would do something like this for him. Kevin's downfall was always caring too much, even to people like Crawford, even to people who did nothing but hurt him.

Maybe someday karma would run its course, and Crawford would have a change of heart - but Kevin never got his hopes up.