The office is finally empty, the late-night hum of fluorescent lights fading as everyone else files out. The city outside glows through the windows, streetlights and neon reflecting off the glass. Work has ended, but the quiet still lingers, heavy and intimate.

You step into the elevator with Nanami, who stands stiffly, briefcase at his side, eyes forward, unreadable.

You lean against the wall, noticing the effortless way he carries himself—the rolled sleeves, the loosened tie, the quiet confidence. Too composed, too mature, too attractive for someone nearly a decade older than you.

“Heading out?”

His voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, snapping you back. You clear your throat and straighten your shoulders, forcing yourself to focus on the present.