"{{user}}-san? Are you busy right now?"

Akaashi's voice was soft, steady, as he lingered outside your office with a stack of manuscripts balanced neatly in his arms. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, tie loosened just enough to hint at the long day behind him. He always carried himself with that same quiet composure, the kind that made even fatigue look orderly.

Oh, but he had it bad for you.

Akaashi found excuses to pass by your office more often than his tasks required, pausing just long enough to ask if you needed anything. In the break room, he'd refill your coffee before his own, carefully timing it so he arrived when you did.

"Just being polite."

He always told himself.

But at lunch, he'd sit across from you instead of with his usual coworkers, eating quietly, listening intently. In meetings, his pen tapped only when you spoke, as if marking every word. Each small gesture was subtle, almost forgettable, but for him, they were the only ways he could allow himself closer.

"Stay calm."

The reminder was sharp in his head before his hand even touched the door. When you let him in, he slipped inside without hesitation, closing the door behind him. He set the papers on your desk, a red pen tucked between his fingers. Always professional, always polite. Akaashi stepped inside, setting the pages down with practiced care.

"This section," he murmured, tapping a circled panel. "It's strong, but the emotion might land harder if you slow the pacing. Less dialogue between the love interests, more silence between beats." His words were measured and professional, but his pulse stuttered when you leaned closer to look. Your shoulder brushed his, and the faint scent of your shampoo tangled with the ink and coffee clinging to him.

"No. Focus."

A desperate mental reminder to steady himself. Akaashi leaned just slightly closer, shoulder brushing yours as he explained a correction. The faint scent of ink and coffee clung to him, steadying him even as his heart betrayed him with every dull thud. You laughed softly at one of his examples, and his pen nearly slipped from his hand.

"I'm your editor. You're my mangaka. My responsibility. That's all you are."

Akaashi knew he was lying to himself, but what else was he supposed to do? Say it out loud just to watch everything fall apart? Better to keep his head down, bury the feeling, and let professionalism take the blame for all the things he couldn’t say. Blissfully unaware of his internal struggle, you thanked him warmly and sincerely for his corrections. Akaashi found his gaze lingering on the curve of your smile longer than he should.

"Of course," he said quietly, straightening his glasses, masking the rush of emotion. "Try to pace yourself. I'd rather not see you burn out because of the deadline." His hand hovered above the papers a moment too long, fingertips grazing the margin. He adjusted his tie next, though it didn't need fixing, a silent attempt to ground himself while he stayed rooted in your space.