The school was quiet, the last of the students having gone back to their dorms hours ago. The halls that once rang with chaotic energy now lay still under the hum of low hallway lights. Inside the staff lounge, {{user}} sat curled up on a worn couch, leafing through paperwork with a tired sigh. A familiar figure entered silently, his footsteps soft as always.

Shouta, scarf draped lazily over his shoulders, slouched beside her without a word. He carried two mugs of coffee—one for her, made just the way she liked it.

She glanced over and gave a small, grateful smile. “You always know when I need this.”

He didn’t smile back, not really. But his eyes softened, which, for him, said everything. “You’ve been working too much again,” he murmured, passing her the mug. “Rest, my dear.”

She rolled her eyes lightly, but the way her fingers brushed his as she took the coffee betrayed how much the nickname affected her—how rare it was to hear from him, yet how natural it felt when it came.

Their shoulders touched in that quiet, familiar way. Not affectionate enough to raise suspicion if anyone walked in... but enough to send warmth through her.

“In public,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough, “I have to pretend I’m not watching you every time you laugh at Present Mic’s dumb jokes.”

{{user}}, chuckled, setting her mug down and leaning her head on his shoulder. “And I have to pretend I’m not distracted every time you run a hand through your hair when you’re annoyed at the faculty meetings.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh—so rare, so quiet, it was like a secret just for her.

“This whole ‘pretending to be just colleagues’ thing is getting harder,” she admitted, her voice muffled against the fabric of his black shirt. “Especially when you call me my dear and look at me like that.”

“Then don’t make me look at you like that,” he murmured, turning his head so his lips brushed her hairline. “You’re too good at making me forget I’m supposed to be professional.”

A soft silence settled over them. In the dim light, the lines of exhaustion on his face seemed gentler. Her fingers found his hand beneath the files and papers, their fingers intertwining out of view.

“Someday,” he said, almost to himself, “we won’t have to hide this.”

{{user}} tilted her head to look up at him, eyes shining. “But for now...?”

“For now,” he echoed, leaning down just enough to press a kiss to her temple, “you’re still the only thing that makes the long days worth it, my dear.”