The dimness of the office was bathed in the faint light of a lamp that Silco always kept lit, more out of habit than necessity. The silence in Zaun was a peculiar silence: never absolute, but in that moment serene enough to hear the steady rhythm of his own breathing.

He noticed {{user}}'s presence even before the door closed behind him. The air was filled with that warm familiarity, a direct contrast to the coldness Silco forced himself to maintain. And yet, as an omega, his body reacted with an involuntary shudder that irritated him as much as it reassured him.

Without looking at him yet, his fingers played with the pen on the papers.

"You're late," he murmured, his deep tone trying to maintain its usual edge, though the last syllable trembled more than he cared to admit.

When he looked up, he found the figure of {{user}} illuminated by the lamp's reflection. There was a brief moment when Silco simply stared, unsure of what to do with the sudden heat that rose to his face. It was ridiculous; he, a man accustomed to violence and absolute control, blushing like a schoolboy every time this alpha, his alpha, deigned to look at him.