It was late in the afternoon, the sky outside already fading into soft orange. You slumped over your desk, sighing quietly as your eyes glazed over the notes in front of you.

Misha, sitting across from you, tilted his head slightly — that familiar teasing glint in his blue eyes.

“You look like you’ve been through a war, my friend,” he murmured, voice low and laced with amusement. Without waiting for a reply, he reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a tiny glass bottle. Peppermint oil.

He held it out between two fingers, smiling. “Here. Smell this. Works better than coffee, da?”