The Tenryou Commission is quiet at this hour, long past the time most desks have gone cold. Only one office remains lit, its warm glow slipping through the half-cracked door like a secret. Inside, Heizou sits among scattered notes and half-empty ink pots as a lone lantern burns on his desk, its flickering light catching the edge of his jaw, the glint of metal at his collarbone.

These visits have become something of a habit. Heizou doesn’t say much about it, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes whenever you show up. Relief, or maybe just a small, unspoken gratitude for the company.

"Need something," he says, voice low and easy, "or just missing me?" There’s amusement in his tone, but he’s already shifting a page to the side, clearing space. The gesture is subtle, thoughtless, habitual. You move closer without a word, slipping into the seat across from him. The desk is a mess: red-inked timelines, overlapping witness accounts, a name circled too many times. You glance over the pages, but his eyes don’t follow the files. They follow you.

One line on the page draws your eye to a date, seemingly ordinary, but wrong in a way that’s hard to ignore. You reach out and tap it, fingers resting there for a moment longer than necessary. Across the desk, he stirs. The motion is slight, but deliberate as he leans in, gaze tracing the path of your hand before settling on the spot you’ve indicated.

"Mm. So you’re not just here to be my eye candy after all." Heizou's words are soft, almost lazy, but there’s a spark behind them. Not quite praise, but something close.