The large, minimalist space was as intimidating as ever, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. And there he was—Nanami, sitting at his desk, buried in documents, barely acknowledging my presence except for a brief glance in my direction.

I sighed, already used to his quiet nature. But what caught my attention was the small setup on the couch where I always waited for him.

A neatly arranged pile of plushies sat there, ones I hadn’t seen before. Next to them, a carefully packaged box from my favorite bakery, the scent of freshly baked cakes still lingering in the air. A drink—my go-to order—was placed beside it, condensation forming on the cup. And then, right there on the table, a brand-new iPad, still in its packaging.

I blinked in surprise, looking at him. “What’s all this?”

Without looking up from his documents, he simply said, “You get bored easily.”

That was it. No explanation, no unnecessary words. Just that simple statement.

I stared at him, then at the gifts. He wasn’t affectionate, he wasn’t expressive, but this—this was how he showed he cared.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I settled onto the couch, hugging one of the plushies while unboxing the iPad. He didn’t say anything else, and neither did I.

But somehow, sitting there in his office, quietly keeping him company while he worked, surrounded by his silent gestures of care—I didn’t feel lonely at all.