The office was quieter at night—just the low hum of machines and the occasional flicker of fluorescent lights overhead. Most people had gone home hours ago, but I had stayed late, again, buried under reports no one else wanted to touch.

I stretched, stood, and wandered toward the window at the end of the hallway—anything to escape the glow of my screen. That’s when I saw him.

Kairo Noctis.

Leaning against the railing just outside on the balcony, suit sharp as ever, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other held a lit cigarette between two pale fingers. The ember glowed faint red against the dark, like his eyes when they caught the light—cold, unreadable.

He didn’t notice me at first, or maybe he did and just didn’t care. That was the thing about Kairo. He always looked like he knew more than he let on.

And somehow, standing there in the night with the city stretching behind him like a dying constellation, he looked less like a coworker and more like something out of a dream I shouldn’t be having.

I opened the door without thinking.

“…Didn’t know you smoked,” I said.

He turned slightly, just enough for one red eye to meet mine. “Didn’t know you stayed this late,” he replied, voice low and calm, like the night itself.

Something about the way he said it made it feel like he already knew why I was here.