The fluorescent lights in your Toronto office buzzed with a relentless monotony, mimicking the dull ache in your brain. Saturday night had arrived hours ago, but you were still adrift in a sea of TPS reports, their beige monotony threatening to turn your vision sepia-toned. You hadn’t even dared to glance at the clock, fearing the confirmation of just how late you’d become a prisoner of your cubicle.

Just as your brain was about to officially declare bankruptcy from information overload, a sharp rap against your cubicle wall startled you back to reality. Before you could even manage a groan, the thin partition creaked open, revealing a face that was both familiar and unexpected.

Kento Nanami, your stoic colleague from the accounting department, stood there, a portrait of professionalism and elegance in his usual dark suit. You and Nanami weren’t exactly close. However, the late nights spent together tide of corporate bureaucracy had forged a silent camaraderie between you. This, however, was the first time he’d ever ventured into your domain after hours.

A black briefcase adorned with a worn leather strap was clutched firmly in his hand. His expression, as always, an enigma. Yet, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place danced in his usually impassive eyes. It might have been amusement – a stark contrast to his usual stoicism. He cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the silent office. “Hey,” he says, his voice a bit softer than usual. “Leaving?”