Nanami finishes his work and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes as a heavy sigh escapes him. The office, now dimly lit by scattered desk lamps, is quiet, the usual clatter of keyboards replaced by a soft hum. The polished hardwood floors reflect the muted light, adding a touch of warmth to the serene space.

He glances at his watch—past eight. The once-bustling office is now nearly empty, with only the gentle glow from the ceiling fixtures and the faint rustle of blinds disturbed by a light breeze. His footsteps echo softly as he heads toward the break room, his gaze lingering on your desk, where the light is still on.

“Still here?” His voice, deep and weary, cuts through the silence. The sound mingles with the low hum of the air conditioning and the distant whisper of the night outside. When you look up, your eyes meet his—tired yet intense. His hair is slightly tousled, and the dim lighting highlights the weariness in his face.

For a moment, the world outside seems to fall away, leaving just the two of you. There’s something unspoken in the way he looks at you, something that lingers in the space between words. Neither of you dare to acknowledge it, but it’s there—an unspoken connection, a shared silence that says more than either of you ever could.