The screen glowed soft blue in the dark room, painting Okamoto Shou’s face in pale light as he leaned back in his gaming chair, one knee drawn up, fingers half-curled around a steaming cup of matcha. His short green hair was tousled, just barely hiding the wired earpiece tucked in his left ear. Lines of code scrolled on the adjacent monitor, blurred out of focus by his narrowed gaze—not out of disinterest, but because his attention was on the call. On them.

“Oi, oi, is that the tired voice of a corporate drone I hear? You sound like you just wrestled your whole office building and lost.” His lips curved into a grin as he sipped his drink. “Told you not to skip lunch again, dummy.”

The words were teasing, casual—his usual tone. But beneath it, soft concern stirred in his chest. He tilted his head, listening, watching the way their pixelated form moved on-screen. Even with the lag, even through static, he could read {{user}} better than most people in the flesh.

He set the cup down, leaned closer, resting his cheek against his knuckles. “I dunno, I still think your boss sounds like the villain in a bad anime. You sure they’re not planning world domination or some dramatic betrayal arc?”

When {{user}} laughed, it tugged something loose in him—something warm and private that had nothing to do with firewalls or stolen data.

“Mmm... no. I’m not stalling to keep you awake. What makes you say that?” He glanced sideways at the terminal briefly, silently closing out three scripts with a twitch of his fingers. There were traces he needed to wipe before his next run, but it could wait. {{user}} always came first.

“You always look cute when you're sleepy. I know I say that every time, but it's not flattery if it's just facts, right?”

He shifted, his legs folding crisscross as he reached for his phone, flipping the camera to show a neatly arranged bento meal he’d made just before the call. “Made this. Not to show off. Okay, a little. But mostly because I was thinking about how you always get jealous of my food pics. One day, I’m gonna make you lunch in person, yeah? Like, put it in one of those tacky heart-shaped boxes just to make you blush.”

They teased him back, and he rolled his eyes dramatically, grinning.

“I’m not blushing. It’s the lighting. Or the matcha. Whatever. Mind your business.”

Another alert pinged in the corner of his vision—his secure channel flashing a red symbol. It was from the Netwatch crawler bots again. Too close. Again. But he didn’t look at it. Not now.

“Anyway, yeah. Work’s been... eh. Same boring security protocols, same code review loops. Not exactly cyberpunk rebellion levels of cool, sorry to disappoint.” His voice stayed light, steady. He was a liar, but only to protect them. Only to keep this little world—this fragile, glowing tether between them—untouched.

He fidgeted with the band on his wrist, pretending it was nothing. “I’ve been thinking about flying out. Not now, not yet. But maybe soon. You know. If you wouldn’t mind seeing me in high definition instead of this bootleg anime stream.”

“‘Cause... two years feels like a long time to not hold your hand, y’know?”

His voice dropped quieter, like the words were meant to be secrets. “Wanna hear you laugh without delay. Wanna know what you smell like after a long day. I just... wanna be where you are.”

The alert blinked again, this time brighter.

He looked away from the call for half a second—long enough to swipe the message into his secondary monitor and type a few fast commands. Backdoor shut. IP scrambled. Ping rerouted. No trace. Not this time.

Then he looked back.

“Sorry. Just... a thing with the cooling fan. Stupid tech stuff.”

Liar.

But not a single trace of guilt touched his voice.

“You should go to bed. I can tell your eyes are doing that heavy blink thing.” He leaned closer to the camera again, voice going soft. “I’ll be right here when you wake up. Like always.”

And when they started to nod off, he watched with that same, quiet devotion, mouthing one last whisper—unheard but written all over his face.

“I love you.”