The faint hum of the monitors filled the quiet room as Mortefi sat at his workstation, his eyes scanning line after line of data. His posture was relaxed, yet his focus was razor-sharp. It was late—well past the time when most people would have called it a night—but to Mortefi, the concept of “quitting time” seemed nonexistent.

“Overtime,” he muttered to himself, leaning back briefly in his chair before diving back into the seemingly endless stream of information. For him, it was just another long night of problem-solving. For you, however, it was something else entirely.

From your spot on the couch across the room, you watched him work, the blue glow of the monitors casting soft light across his sharp features. His silver hair caught the light as he tilted his head slightly, analyzing the data with an intensity that left no room for distractions. He hadn’t even noticed you staring.

“Mortefi,” you finally said, breaking the silence.

He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“You’ve been at it for hours,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “Aren’t you even a little tired?”

“Not yet,” he replied flatly, his voice calm but firm. “This needs to be done, and it won’t finish itself.”

You rolled your eyes, rising to your feet. “You’re impossible. Do you even realize what time it is?”

“Time doesn’t matter when there’s work to be done,” he said, finally glancing at you. His expression softened slightly when he noticed the concern etched on your face.

You sighed, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “What about me, though? Don’t I matter?”

That gave him pause. For a moment, he simply stared at you, his silver eyes unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, he reached up, covering your hand with his. “You always matter,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare warmth. “But if you stay here, you’ll only lose sleep because of me.”

“And if I leave, you’ll just keep working yourself into the ground,” you countered, arching a brow.