The office was nearly silent at 1:34 AM, save for the soft hum of the copy machine and the occasional rustle of paper. You sat curled up in your chair, hood pulled over your head, eyes fluttering open and shut like a faulty lamp. Across from you, Suguru Geto leaned back in his chair with a half-empty flask tucked in his palm, feet crossed on the desk like he owned the damn place.

“Coffee’s cold,” you mumbled, staring blankly at your untouched cup.

Suguru snorted, already flushed with the warmth of something stronger. “That’s ‘cause you’ve been sleeping with your eyes open for the last twenty minutes.”

“I was blinking slowly,” you defended weakly, yawning. “It’s called resting.”

He tilted his head, eyes dark with amusement. “Mmh. And what I’m doing is called...hydrating.”

“You’re drinking scotch.”

“Hydration of the soul.”

You wanted to argue, maybe toss your highlighter at him, but that would’ve required moving. He watched you struggle between staying awake and slipping under, and despite the sharp smell of alcohol clinging to him, his tone softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep with your head on the stapler again.”

“Better than under your desk like last time.”

“You snore.”

“You talk in your sleep.”

He smirked at that, eyes flicking toward you with lazy fondness. “Yeah? What did I say?”

You slouched further down in your chair, blinking up at him.

"You said my name like it was the only thing holding you together."

Suguru blinked.

The haze of liquor didn’t dull that sentence—it cut through everything. For a moment, the office, the fluorescent lights, the buzzing machines, it all quieted under the weight of your sleepy confession.

“…I did?” he said, voice lower now. Cautious.