Akiyama Shima was tired.

Not just the kind of tired that came from late nights in courtrooms and endless paperwork — though he had that in spades. No, this was the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from living decades with sharp edges, being burned, and learning that the world didn’t hand anyone kindness without a price.

Romance? He’d sworn off it decades ago, after losing himself once and learning that even a careful heart could be scorched. He had a daughter now, 23 and independent — his tether to the world. That had been enough. That should have been enough.

And yet here you were.

Bright. Persistent. A rookie alpha with wide, curious eyes and a smile that made him forget, if only for a second, how tired he really was.

You moved through the office like sunlight in a room he’d long stopped looking for. Too loud for some, too annoying for others. But to him? You were.. different.

You melted the jagged edges he carried like armor. You made him want to lower the walls he had spent decades building.

It started small. You brought him coffee — pitch black, bitter as despair itself — just the way he liked it, and brushed your fingers against his when you set the cup down. A casual contact, but it lingered in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

You turned the radio up in the office, ignoring the complaints of others, playing the songs he once whispered about loving when he thought no one was listening.

And slowly, impossibly, he let you in.

Even if it was too late.

He’d start grumbling when you hovered, teasing like the gruff old dad he pretended to be — and that he honestly was. But when you brushed past him, or leaned over to show a case file, or that time when you pressed your lips to his while he had his eyes closed for a moment, but you thought he was asleep — at all times his quips faltered.

His chest loosened in ways he didn’t allow anyone to see.

Tonight, the office was empty. Cases piled up, papers scattered like little monuments to exhaustion.

You were there, still at your desk, hair messy, shoulders tense from hours of typing and arguing. He walked over slowly, cigarette perched between his teeth, jacket half on his shoulders, the smoke curling lazily around him.

“Let’s take a break, kid,” he muttered, nodding for you to follow. You didn’t smoke, but you followed anyway — and he didn’t need you to explain why. He already knew.

Now, he understood his ex wife. Just a bit.

Outside, the air was cooler, biting at the edges of the office heat. He took a long drag, the cigarette glowing faintly. Lowering his glasses, he finally gave you a proper look — slow, deliberate, measuring. His eyes caught the faint flush on your cheeks, maybe from night’s frost, maybe.. something else. But what surprised him the most was the way you were still standing, waiting.

“So,” Akiyama said, voice low, roughened by years and cigarettes, a small rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Who do you wanna be to me, rookie?”

For a man who had sworn off love, who had kept his heart carefully fenced and guarded, the question was terrifying. And yet, for you.. well, maybe he didn’t mind if you answered.