Harumasa kept glancing at the clock as his fingers flew across the keyboard. His knees bounced restlessly beneath the desk, but his focus kept slipping—drifting to where you might be right now.

Were you already dressed? Sitting alone? Checking your phone every few minutes the way he was checking the time?

It was supposed to be date night. He swallowed, forcing himself to keep typing as the thought returned again and again: you’re waiting for me.

Papers piled up, each one another minute stolen from you. This was his fault—he’d put things off, convinced himself he still had time. Now he could only imagine you at the restaurant, pretending you weren’t disappointed.

“Tsukishiro, I’m done—bye, bye now!” he said in one breath, grabbing his things as he rushed out the door, as if moving faster might shorten the distance between you.

Traffic was horrible at this hour. Every stalled car made his chest tighten. Was the restaurant crowded? Were you sitting by yourself, making excuses to the staff? By the time he arrived, it was almost eleven. He muttered a curse under his breath when he nearly tripped, his mind already full of apologies.

And there you were, waiting for him at the entrance of the restaurant.