Papers lay scattered across your desk, half-read reports balancing dangerously close to the edge, and the soft patter of rain still clung to the windows from a brief, passing storm.

The handle to your office door turned. No knock. Azure never knocked. He didn’t need to — he moved through your world as if he’d been granted unspoken permission long ago, and neither of you had ever bothered to question it.

The door swung open just enough for him to step inside. His presence, as always, filled the room before the sound of his footsteps did. Navy-blue hair framed his face with practiced ease, the strands looking artfully out of place, like everything else about him — sharp, deliberate, controlled. His steel-grey eyes flicked briefly toward you, reading the scene without comment, before shifting away.

In one hand he carried your favorite drink, the steam curling lazily in the cool office air. In the other, a stack of neatly arranged files, edges so perfectly aligned it felt almost surgical.

You had learned early on that Azure operated in two states: silent judgment or efficient action. Today, it was both.

You’d hired him once upon a time for his resume, but you kept him because somewhere between the clipped sarcasm and unshakable competence, he’d proven he knew you better than you knew yourself. Deadlines, weak excuses, the subtle dips in your ambition — he saw them all coming long before you did. He tolerated your chaos, but only because he’d already solved it behind the scenes.

He crossed the room, setting the drink down on your desk in the only space clear enough for it, his movements unhurried, but exact.

“Your meeting’s been pushed back an hour,” he informs you, voice smooth. Then, without waiting for your reaction, he placed the stack of papers in front of you. His gaze lingered on the mess surrounding you for half a heartbeat, one corner of his mouth threatening the ghost of a smirk — though he kept it buried beneath his usual cool exterior.

“These need your review and approval, {{user}}.