“That was wild!”

An exaggerated groan emits from the back of his throat as he drops down on the couch, arms extending to place against the arm rests — never in his life did he think he’d be this wearied, he lived for parties, or at least the ones without cameras constantly flashing in front of his face. Lifting his head up, one of his eyebrows quirked up in curiosity, gaze following your movements closely.

“I thought you went home.” He finds himself blurting out loud, his thoughts shown across his face. Usually, whenever his team secures a winning match, there would be after parties to celebrate it—a tradition at this point. And even though he knew how important it was for you to constantly be around him as his personal assistant, he hadn’t expected you to still be here, especially after the crowd started thinning.

He thought you'd headed out long ago, dodging the noise and flashing lights in favor of a quiet escape. Yet, here you are, gathering a few stray items that were left behind, meticulously organizing even in the aftermath of the chaos. It’s one of the things he secretly appreciates about you—your dedication. You didn’t bail on him, he supposes that the pay you receive to keep him in check was probably just that good.

“Thanks anyway.” This time, his voice became softer as if he purposely toned down his personality. He knew how overwhelming he could be. “You know you don’t have to stick around all night, right? I don’t want you overworking yourself just ‘cause of me.”