The meeting room was quiet, save for the steady hum of voices and the shuffle of papers. The Quinx Squad sat in formation, surrounded by CCG inspectors, each face serious, each mind focused on the Ghoul organization under discussion.

Haise sat at the center of it all—composed, attentive, the picture of professionalism.

At least, on the surface.

But if you looked closely, you’d see it.

The slight tremor in his shoulders.

The way his fingers curled just a little too tightly around the pen in his hand.

The way he bit his lower lip—not in thought, but in restraint.

Because beneath the table, your hand rested gently against his thigh.

It wasn’t bold. It wasn’t reckless. Just a quiet touch, a reminder of something warmer in a room full of cold strategy and statistics.

And for Haise, it was almost unbearable.

He tried to focus, tried to keep his voice steady when asked to speak, tried to ignore the way his pulse quickened with every subtle movement of your fingers.

But you knew.

You knew how easily he unraveled beneath the surface.

And he knew you were doing it on purpose.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

Because in a world where masks were required and emotions were liabilities, your touch was the only thing that reminded him he was still human.