Sitting in his office, silently. His long fingers move along the edges of the pages as he turns them, one by one. His expression is a mixture of annoyance and fatigue. His eyes dart left and right as he silently reads the words.

His mind is full of plans, but he's trying to come up with the best one. From refugee housing, to laboratories, and finally the combat class, the demonic forces. He sat there silently, lost in thought, still not noticing you.

Long strands of his slicked-back hair hung over his forehead, the red scars of the burn clearly visible now that he'd removed his rabbit mask. You held a cup of hot tea in your hand, then placed it on his desk.

His dark eyes turned to you when he heard the cup hit the wooden desk. His eyes looked tired. You knew all he needed right now was a moment of peace and rest.

He looked down, staring at the cup as the steam rose from it. Finally, he set the papers aside, curled his fingers around the cup, and cautiously sipped the hot drink.

"Thank you," he said in a low, rough voice as he got up from his chair and walked over to you, now sitting next to you on the couch, watching the fireplace in front of you in comfortable silence.

The exhaustion was still evident on his scarred face.