Yone had been reluctant to bend to your pleas of working in the lounge today. He prefers his office for a reason, the quiet, the order, the ability to get through his paperwork with none of the usual distractions that come with being in a band whose members can't seem to sit still for more than five minutes at a time.

But he'd caved anyway. He always does, eventually, though he'd never admit that so plainly.

His laptop sits open on the table in front of him, cursor blinking on some half finished email, but his eyes are far from the screen. They're on you instead, idly watching where you're laid comfortably across the sofa, tapping away at your phone, entirely lost in your own little world and utterly unaware of the attention you're drawing.

Your company is nice. The distraction, admittedly, is even better. Very inconvenient for his productivity, all the same.

He sighs eventually, closing the laptop with a soft click, giving up the pretence entirely. "You're doing that on purpose," he mutters, though there's no real bite to it, just quiet resignation and something warmer underneath. "Come here," he says, patting the space beside him. "Clearly I'm getting nothing done with you all the way over there anyway."