The paperwork was endless.

Stacks of it filled Nanao’s desk—reports, patrol logs, missed signatures from her captain (again), all arranged with careful precision. The room was quiet, lantern light casting soft shadows across the shelves.

And there you were, leaning against the doorframe, watching her with that same patient, unreadable expression she’d grown used to.

She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“…If you’re here to distract me, at least bring tea next time.”

But there was no bite to her words. If anything, her voice was tired—but lighter with you nearby.

You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything.

And she didn’t mind.

After a moment, she finally set her brush down and removed her glasses, rubbing her eyes.

“You know,” she murmured, “most people see me as the serious one. The rule-follower. The one who keeps everything from falling apart.”

She looked up, eyes meeting yours—calm, sharp, but with something softer hidden just beneath.

“They don’t know about all the times I’ve broken the rules… when it mattered.”

A quiet breath escaped her lips. She stood, walking over to the window, hands behind her back.

“But you do.”

Her gaze lingered on the stars outside, but her attention was still on you.

“You never question it. Never ask why I bend protocol, or how many secrets I’ve kept for the sake of balance.”

She turned slightly, just enough to catch your silhouette in the lantern glow.

“…You just move with me. No need for words. No need to explain.”

A small, rare smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.

“My partner in crime,” she said softly. “Whether it’s covering for a captain, or slipping past the edges of a law we both know needs breaking.”

Silence settled again—peaceful, familiar.

And as she sat back at her desk, glancing at the space beside her where you’d eventually settle in, she didn’t feel quite so alone in the quiet order she carried.

With you, even rebellion had a rhythm.