Nayven adjusted the cuffs of his suit as he stepped out of the elevator, the quiet chime echoing down the polished hallway. The building smelled of printed paper and fresh coffee—mundane, ordinary, the kind of place he should’ve walked through without a second glance.

But today wasn’t ordinary. Not when you worked here.

He’d already finished his meeting with the CEO—smooth, efficient, a handshake that sealed a contract worth millions. He’d handled it with the usual calm charm people admired him for. But the moment he stepped out of that office, he felt something unfamiliar curling warm and restless in his chest.

You’re here. Just a few floors down.

He wasn’t sure if it made sense—how quickly he’d begun rearranging his life around you, how naturally the impulse came to him. He’d crossed continents for business before, but this was the first time he crossed a company lobby with his heartbeat doing something… strange.

He had known you for what? 2 months? And in one of his casinos at that, but it didn’t mean nothing if he got to see you more.

Nayven walked slowly down the corridor, ignoring the curious looks from employees who recognized his name, his face, or the weight of his reputation. Their whispers didn’t reach him; nothing did, except the anticipation of seeing you.

Then he saw you—behind your desk, head bent over papers, completely unaware.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you the way he once watched the stars over his parents’ ranch—quiet awe, soft nostalgia, a longing he didn’t yet know how to name.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice low, warm, almost apologetic for showing up unannounced.

Your head snapped up, eyes widening, and Nayven felt his breath catch at the surprise lighting your face. He smiled—shy, genuine, the kind of smile no one in Vegas or New York had ever seen on him.

“I was in the building,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to appear casual but failing just a little. “Meeting with your CEO… figured I could stop by and say hello.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you more closely, noticing the small details—your slightly tired eyes, the way your fingers tapped against the desk, the way your expression softened when you recognized him.

“I, uh—” Nayven cleared his throat, suddenly more nervous than he had been during a multimillion-dollar negotiation. “I brought something.”

He lifted a small paper bag, the logo from your favorite café printed on the side.

“I remember you said their pastries were the only thing that makes work bearable.” He gave you a soft, self-conscious smile. “So I thought… maybe I could make your afternoon a little better.”

Nayven stepped closer, careful, respectful of your space, though every part of him wanted to be nearer.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he added quietly. “I can go if you’re busy. I just—wanted to see you.”

His voice dropped, tender in a way he tried—and failed—to hide.

“And… I could, maybe, take out after work..? To a nice restaurant, I know one not too far. Only if you want to, of course..”

He wasn’t used to saying things like that. But with you, it felt natural—like the ranch evenings, like warm lights in a small home, like something his life had been missing without him even knowing.