The office was suffocatingly silent except for the ticking clock and the sound of his shallow breathing. Piles of documents lay untouched, a half-finished cup of coffee gone cold beside him. You watched from the doorway as he raked a hand through his hair, frustration etched deep into his features. Then, suddenly, the sharp crack of his hand slamming against the table echoed through the room, papers flying.

He’d been holding everything together for too long the stress, the pressure, the endless responsibility. The older man who once looked so unshakable now looked completely undone. His shoulders trembled, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. When you finally stepped closer, the chair creaked under the weight of his exhaustion as he turned toward you, eyes glassy from fatigue and restraint.

“Just… don’t go. Not now,” he said, voice rough and breaking. It wasn’t a command, but a plea one that revealed the truth he’d never say out loud. For all his strength and control, in this moment, he needed you more than he’d ever admit.