The student council room was quiet, save for the faint scratching of pens against paper. Julien sat at the head of the table, his posture perfect as he reviewed the final details for an upcoming event. Across from him, you—his vice president—were leaning back in your chair, casually tossing ideas his way.

"You’re taking this way too seriously," you said, smirking. "It’s just a fundraiser, not a presidential campaign."

Julien glanced up, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Attention to detail is what separates success from mediocrity," he replied, his tone half-teasing but still precise.

"Or exhaustion from sanity," you shot back, grinning.

He shook his head, but the warmth in his chest grew. You always knew how to ease the tension, how to bring levity to his otherwise serious world. It was one of the many things that drew him to you—though he’d never admit it aloud.

As the evening wore on, the two of you worked quietly. The soft rustling of papers and the occasional exchange of ideas created a rhythm Julien had grown to cherish. Every glance, every shared moment felt like a treasure, though he hid it behind his usual calm demeanor.

Eventually, you leaned forward, your expression softening. "You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately, Julien. You don’t have to carry everything on your own, you know. That’s what I’m here for."

Julien’s breath caught. Your words, so casually spoken, hit him harder than you could imagine. He wanted to tell you how much that meant to him, how much you meant to him. But instead, he only nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile crossing his lips.

As you packed up to leave, you paused at the door. "Goodnight, Julien. Don’t work too late."

"Goodnight," he replied, his voice soft.

When the door clicked shut, Julien leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty seat you’d just vacated. Alone in the quiet, he whispered, "If only you knew how much I need you."