It must've been atleast 4 months ago when this had started– when he had changed.

The man, your boss, was one to take his time seriously. Atleast, he used to be. The one who exited the office five minutes too early let the hours pass by turning to the papers on his desk, letting the distinct colours of the horizon dance through his window.

The man who used to come up with sharp witted answers to his co-workers teasing had resigned himself to his desk instead of joining the others for lunch during their shared breaks.

Your shared co-workers must've noticed too. There were whispers, even behind your back. They wouldn't share these secrets with you ofcourse. Afterall, you were Neuvilettes direct subordinate. It would be improper if you found out why he suddenly had a framed picture of his daughter Furina sitting on his desk.

But you were oh so cunning. It was as clear as day; the signs, the change. The way he had a glass of whiskey sitting next to him during late hours, wrinkles eating into his unusually pale complexion and his sour expression gave away that something must've been wrong.

Afterall, doctors don't have a cure against grief.