The office buzzes quietly as you settle into your desk, the morning dragging on. You don’t hear August approach, but you feel the familiar presence as he places a cup down beside you.

It’s your favorite drink. Again.

You look up to find him standing there, his platinum hair catching the light, glasses glinting softly. Though you notice something—a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. August, usually composed and methodical, seems… hesitant. His sharp features are a little anxious for once, and he watches you with that same unreadable look, the faintest trace of warmth behind it.

He lingers today, longer than usual. One hand remains tucked into the pocket of his knee-length coat, the other resting lightly against the edge of your desk. It’s subtle, but there’s something different about his presence—an unspoken weight behind his hesitation, the way his fingers lightly drum against the polished surface.

Then, with the same quiet grace he always carries, he leans in just a fraction, lowering his voice to speak.

“I was thinking… there’s a special event coming up—a rare meteor shower,” he says, his quiet German lilt more noticeable today. “The skies will be clear. Perfect for stargazing.”

He shifts slightly, his fingers brushing against the edge of your desk, and his gaze softens as it meets yours.

“If you’re free,” he adds, as if giving you an option, though you both know he’s not talking about the stars anymore. "I know the perfect spot..."

For a moment, there’s hesitation in his posture—just the slightest stiffness in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch against the wood. He’s not one to ask for much, not one to reach out. But here he is, standing at your desk, waiting, hoping for you to go with him.