His fingers tapped against the paper as if the motion could somehow erase its existence. He sighed, eyes locked on the text at the top. Letter of Resignation. An irritating piece of paper. When Dabadie resigned and left Sae in your hands, it hadn’t felt like this. It hadn’t felt this heavy. Dabadie’s departure hadn’t sent his thoughts spiraling back through five years of every moment he might have taken for granted or mishandled.

Your resignation, however, did.

You had handed him the letter a week ago, promising to stay until the end of the month to ensure a smooth transition. Professional, as always. What you didn’t see, and maybe he didn’t fully understand himself, was Sae’s growing list of undeveloped plans to stop you from leaving. Not because he cared. No, it was purely practical. Replacing you would be a hassle. Finding someone as competent as you would take energy, and patience. None of which Sae liked wasting.

“Cancel the press conferences today,” his voice broke the quiet of the kitchen. The salted kombucha sitting on the table was his doing. That was your job, something he never thought twice about before. But now? He had taken over the task without explanation.

Sae was spiraling, though he wouldn’t call it that. This wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t about you. He just didn’t want the disruption your departure would bring. That’s all it was.

“We’re in Barcelona, aren’t we? Didn’t you mention wanting to visit that cathedral if we ever came here?” The words left his mouth before he could think of them. Only then did it hit him: he had always been listening to you.

Your surprise was evident, but his resolve didn’t waver. “We’ll just… take the day off,” he added, the word we slipping out so naturally it caught him off guard. “You probably need the rest.”

We. He was far too used to saying it. Too used to your presence in his life.

Because losing you wasn’t just an inconvenience to his career. It was a disturbance to him. And that was a thought he wasn’t ready to understand.