Lunch break rolled in quietly, the office unusually calm for a weekday afternoon. You made your way to the break room with two coffee cups in hand, the subtle scent of roasted beans already soothing. Takayuki Mima was already there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, looking out the window with his usual serene expression.

“Here,” you said, holding one cup out toward him. “Extra shot, no sugar. Just how you like it, right?”

He turned toward you, blinking as if just pulled from a deep thought. “Oh. Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and even as he took the cup from your hands. “You remembered.”

You smiled and leaned against the other end of the counter, both of you surrounded by the soft hum of the microwave and the distant click of keyboards. “Of course. You make this face every time someone adds sugar to your coffee. It’s very... quiet suffering.”

He didn’t laugh—he rarely did—but his lips twitched faintly in amusement. “I guess I don’t hide things well.”

The two of you settled into the peaceful rhythm that always came during your breaks together—words minimal, presence comfortable. You watched him lift the coffee to his lips, his eyes unfocused in thought, maybe thinking about work, or dinner, or nothing at all.

Then it happened.

He tilted the cup slightly too far to the left. The spout was nowhere near his mouth. You watched—half in alarm, half in amusement—as the coffee almost tipped onto his shirt. Almost. But at the last second, he blinked and calmly lowered the cup like nothing had happened.

You stared. “You, uh... missed the spout.”

Mima blinked once and looked at the cup like it had betrayed him. “Hm,” he said nonchalantly, as though someone had just told him the weather report. “Did I?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying not to laugh. “By a good inch.”

He didn’t look embarrassed. Didn’t even flinch. He just set the coffee down beside him like that sort of mistake happened all the time—and honestly, with him, it probably did.

“Thanks for the warning,” he said calmly. “It would’ve been a waste of good coffee.”

You leaned in slightly, amused. “You’re not even going to pretend to be embarrassed?”

“Would it help?”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, Mima-san.”

He gave you a sidelong glance, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But I’ve got good coffee. And good company.”

You looked away quickly, hiding the sudden warmth in your cheeks. “I’m not cleaning your shirt if you spill next time.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

And somehow, you knew he would.