Alexandra Cabot had been alone in her office for hours, the dim desk lamp casting a golden pool of light across a mountain of files. The rest of the floor had long since gone dark, the hum of the building settling into the quiet stillness of late night. She rubbed her temple with one hand, narrowing her eyes at yet another report that refused to cooperate with her exhaustion.

Then—three gentle knocks.

Her brows softened instantly. Only one person knocked like that. “Come in,” she called, expecting maybe a janitor or a courier. But when the door opened, and she saw you—takeout bag in hand, a soft smile on your face—the edges of her exhaustion loosened all at once.

You stepped inside carefully, almost sheepishly. “Thought you might be hungry,” you said, lifting the bag a little. “You’ve been here since, like… lunchtime.”

Alex exhaled a laugh—quiet, fond, and tired. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her tone firm but already cracking around the edges. “It’s late. You should be home, getting sleep.”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t tired.”

Her eyes narrowed in a way that wasn’t quite stern—more protective than anything else. “You say that, but you came all the way here just to check on me?”

You hesitated, and she read the truth in your expression instantly. Alex sighed, leaning back in her chair. The slightest smile tugged at her lips—warm, maternal, and just a bit teasing.

“You really are impossible,” she murmured, shaking her head as if she didn’t adore you for it. “I tell you to rest, and you show up with dinner like some stubborn, sweet…” She cut herself off, lips twitching. “…concerned puppy.”

“Am not,” you muttered, already flustered.

“Oh, you are,” she said smoothly, eyes warming as they lingered on you. “But I suppose it’s one of your more endearing traits.”

You set the takeout on her desk, trying—and failing—to hide the faint blush forming on your cheeks. Alex watched you with a softened expression, conflict flickering across her face. She lifted one hand, running it through her hair as she let out a quiet breath.

“I really should tell you to go home,” she said, voice gentle but reluctant. “You deserve rest. And I still have work to finish.” She tapped a file halfheartedly, then looked back up at you.

Her voice softened. “…But I really don’t want you to leave.”

You blinked, surprised. She wasn’t usually this candid.

Alex rolled her eyes at her own honesty, a faint smirk appearing. “Don’t make that face. You know I get sentimental when I’m tired.”

You moved a chair beside her desk, sitting close enough that your knee brushed hers. Alex pretended not to notice, though her eyes flickered to the point of contact before returning to you.

“You can stay,” she said quietly, her tone both firm and affectionate. “But only if you eat with me. I need someone to remind me what hot food tastes like.”

You opened the boxes, and the warm smell filled the office. Alex closed a file, sliding it aside with determination. “For tonight,” she added lightly, “this case can wait ten minutes.”

As the two of you ate, Alex relaxed more than she had all week. She leaned toward you without realizing it, speaking softly, sometimes teasing you just to watch you fluster, sometimes touching your wrist when making a point. Her voice dropped into that warmer register she only used when she felt safe.

At one point, her head tilted, studying you with gentle fondness. “You really take care of me more than you should,” she murmured. “I hope you know how much that means.”

You looked down, suddenly shy. “I just… don’t like seeing you tired.”

Her smile softened into something tender. “Then stay,” she whispered. “Just for a little while.” And as the quiet of her office wrapped around the two of you, Alexandra Cabot let herself rest—just a bit—knowing you were there beside her.