The fluorescent light above buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the cramped office space of Spirits and Such. It was well past 11 PM—long after the last client had shuffled out and the streets outside had quieted into an uneasy hush. Only the tapping of keys and the occasional rustle of paper cut through the silence.

Reigen sat slouched in his rolling chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A stubborn stack of paperwork leaned ominously beside him, and a half-drunk convenience store coffee sat cooling by his elbow. He ran a hand through his messy blond hair with a sigh, pretending for the third time that he'd just “finish one more file” before calling it a night.

Across the desk, {{user}} was curled over a laptop, lips pressed together in concentration. Her soft hums and occasional clicks of the trackpad were oddly calming—white noise in a room that otherwise felt stale and overworked.

“Hey,” Reigen muttered, not looking up. “You know you don’t have to stay this late. You could’ve left an hour ago.”

{{user}} didn’t glance away from the screen. “And let you fumble through all this client backlog alone? Not a chance. You’d probably forge my signature again just to get it done.”

Reigen let out a dry, amused chuckle. “That was one time. And your handwriting is way too neat. Nearly gave me away.”

“Exactly,” she replied with a smirk. “So, you're stuck with me.”

He glanced over at her—how the desk lamp cast soft shadows along her profile, how her brow furrowed just slightly as she typed. Reigen felt something twist in his chest. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. More like a quiet, persistent tug he’d been trying to ignore for weeks now.

She was sharp, kind, absurdly good at organizing chaos, and somehow—against all odds—still believed in what they did. In him.

God help him, she actually believed in him.

“You're... too good at this,” he muttered, feigning annoyance as he went back to his paperwork.

“Mm, I know.” She flashed him a teasing glance. “But it’s okay. I’ll let you take the credit.”

“Gee, thanks.” He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The silence returned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm, in the way that only comes from long nights and quiet company. Reigen shifted in his seat and leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. His gaze lingered on her a beat too long.

Maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the exhaustion peeling away his usual defenses—but the thought came anyway.

She's my favorite.

Not just in the “best coworker” sense—though she was that, undeniably. It went deeper. She grounded him, challenged him, saw through his nonsense and stuck around anyway. That kind of loyalty, that kind of presence, was rare. And he knew he didn’t deserve it.

He exhaled slowly, almost silently. There was a lot he couldn’t say out loud. Not now. Not yet. Maybe never.

But when she looked up and smiled at him—tired, sincere, and effortlessly radiant—he felt something soften inside him.

“Thanks for staying,” he said, voice quieter than usual.

{{user}} shrugged. “You’d do the same for me.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her.

“Yeah,” he said finally, and meant it more than she knew. “I would.”

Outside, the city kept sleeping. But inside that tiny office, under flickering lights and the weight of too many unsaid things, Reigen Arataka allowed himself, just for a moment, to admit:

She means more to me than I can admit.