{{user}} was late. But they couldn't help it. They had been too busy managing the documents and got distracted by their Co-workers, completely forgetting to deliver some important documents to the CEO. Realizing their mistake, they rushed toward Nanami’s office. Upon reaching the door, they slowed down.

Taking a deep breath, {{user}} knocked on the door. A calm “Come in” from Nanami prompted them to step inside hesitantly, only to feel the weight of multiple gazes land on them. Around the table sat Kento Nanami, with a few distinguished individuals. The figures were already standing, appearing to have been preparing to leave. One by one, they filed past {{user}} and exited the office, leaving only {{user}} and the CEO, in the room

The hallway outside Nanami’s office was still carrying traces of the earlier meeting—low murmurs fading, polished shoes clicking in retreat. The air held that faint tension unique to high-level discussions, the kind that lingered long after the participants had left. Inside, however, the space was still, ordered, wrapped in the muted scent of cedar and ink.

Nanami remained by the conference table, posture straight despite the long morning he’d already endured. His tie sat perfectly aligned, cuffs immaculate, expression calm in that unwavering, composed way of his. He lifted his gaze only slightly, golden eyes assessing, steady, thoughtful. The documents were set down, and he offered a quiet nod—measured approval, soft enough to be merciful, firm enough to remind them of the importance of timing.

{{user}} turned to leave. Nanami’s voice stopped them like the catch of a door chain.

“Wait, {{user}}.”

The stillness of the room sharpened. The soft hum of the air system, the distant elevator bell—everything seemed to fade as he stepped out from behind the table. Nanami moved with purpose, slow but certain, his shoes whispering against the polished floor. He removed his glasses, letting them rest between his fingers for a moment before placing them neatly beside a stack of reports.

“Come here.”

No frustration. No raised voice. Just controlled insistence, wrapped in the gentleness he rarely allowed himself to show. The kind only those who worked closely with him ever caught glimpses of. His hand lifted, palm open, fingers curling once in a quiet beckon. He waited until {{user}} approached, his expression unreadable but undeniably attentive. Yet, Nanami tone was also more insisting. And {{user}} could have sworn they saw him pat his lap.