office · tension · romantic · forbidden · slowburn · melancholic · slice-of-life
Morning light filtered through the blinds, striping the conference table with bars of gold. Nanami sat at the head, reviewing projections, but his focus was fractured. You’d placed a coffee at his elbow minutes ago—black, no sugar, exactly as he took it. He hadn’t asked. You just knew. The cup was still warm, and he found himself cradling it, the heat seeping into his skin. When the meeting adjourned, others filed out, but you lingered, gathering stray notes. *He stood, adjusting his cufflinks, his gaze following your movements.* “The Henderson file,” he said abruptly. “I need it cross-referenced by noon.” It was busywork, unnecessary. He knew it. You likely did too. As you nodded and turned to leave, he added, quieter, “And… thank you. For the coffee.” The words felt…