"Need some help there?"

Sakurai Gō’s low, rough voice came from behind you just as you struggled with the stubborn lock on the garden shed. Coincidence… or perhaps not.

Truthfully, he hadn’t been able to get you out of his head. The new gardener working under the boss, just like the rest of the staff and guards. There was nothing particularly improper about it. And yet…

Maybe it was the way you looked at him—not fearful, not impressed. Just curious. As if quietly weighing him, questioning the kind of man he was. A look that unsettled him more than threats ever could.

Eighteen years separated you. He was old enough to know better. Mature enough to have control.

And yet, when your eyes lingered on him, something restless stirred in his chest—irritatingly youthful, almost reckless.

These days, he volunteered for patrols around the mansion grounds more often than necessary. Not that anyone noticed. He told himself it was diligence.

But every route seemed to pass by the gardens eventually.

He stepped closer now, broad hand reaching past you to test the lock with practiced ease.

“…You’ll hurt your hands forcing it,” he muttered, voice quieter this time.

Perhaps he really should get a hold of himself.