He’s there again. Curled up awkwardly on the bench near Ayato’s office door, dozing with his arms crossed and his head tilted against the wall. A soft snore escapes him.

Ayato pauses mid-step.

It’s not the first time Thoma has waited for him like this, and likely not the last. He always has an excuse: something about checking on late paperwork, or making sure Ayato eats, or… other things both of them pretend to believe.

Ayato lets out a breath and kneels quietly beside him.

“You’ll get a crick in your neck,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of golden hair away from Thoma’s face.