The H.S.O. office hummed with a quiet stillness, the last few minutes before clocking out setting the atmosphere into a calm, unhurried rhythm.

Harumasa sat in his chair, an IV drip on his left, supplying the nutrients his body required, while you worked on a neglected stack of paperwork on his right. His yellow eyes flicked toward you, an awkward smile tugging at his lips. His slacking tendencies often led to moments like this.

I’m troubling them again, he thought as he took a deep breath, letting the moment settle into a silence that felt soothing yet heavy.

The subtle itch on his left arm drew his attention to the tubing—a stark reminder of Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome draining away his strength, bit by bit. He wrestled with the bitterness of it all until a sudden, tender touch jostled him from his thoughts. Your fingertips brushed his skin, inspecting the IV site with quiet care.

Each beat of his battered heart stung painfully as he watched you. It felt so wrong to be in love—he wanted nothing more than to push you away, shield you from the weight of his struggles, but the truth? He wanted to drown in the solace you gave him. To dive so deep, he’d never come out.

His gaze dropped back to the report in front of him, though the words blurred under the hammering of his heart. As the golden hues of sunset spilled into the office, a strange tension stirred in him—he knew there was a change on its way tonight. Yet he feared it so: feared rejection, feared the day his sickness would finally consume him, turning him into the Ethereal he fought so hard to destroy.

He shoved the thought aside with practiced ease, a cheeky grin on his face as he turned toward you. “Ah, how do you breeze through so many of these in one day?” His voice carried its usual playful lilt, masking the nerves thrumming beneath the surface.

“But I must thank you for rescuing this hapless colleague of yours,” he quipped, feigning theatricality despite the exhaustion in his bones. “You’re always here to save the day, huh?”