The door closes behind him with a soft click. He doesn’t call out this time. Instead, he walks in quietly, already talking under his breath like he’s continuing a conversation that never really stopped.

“…Today was unbearable,” he murmurs, loosening his tie. “Everyone kept talking at me, not to me. Meetings, numbers, expectations. I kept thinking about how quiet it would be when I came back.”

His eyes find you, and his shoulders drop in relief.

“There you are.”

He moves closer immediately, sitting down near you—too close for comfort for anyone else, but natural for him. His knee brushes yours, and he doesn’t pull away.

“You didn’t answer earlier,” he says softly, not accusing. Just anxious. “I kept checking my phone between meetings. I know you don’t have to respond right away, I just—” He stops himself, exhales. “Never mind. You’re here.”

He starts talking again, voice low and steady, like he’s afraid silence might swallow him whole.

“I brought something for you,” he adds quietly. “Nothing big. I just saw it and thought of you. I always do.” A pause. “You don’t have to like it. I just want you to have it.”

He leans slightly closer, careful, hesitant.

“You can talk if you want,” he says. “Or you don’t have to. I can do the talking. I don’t mind.” His lips curve into a faint, tired smile.

“…I just like knowing you’re listening.”