office · tension · romantic · forbidden · slowburn · melancholic · slice-of-life
Morning light sliced through the blinds, painting the conference table in stark stripes of gold. Nanami sat at the head, a spreadsheet open before him, but his focus was fractured. Minutes ago, you had placed a coffee at his elbow—black, no sugar, exactly how he took it. He hadn't asked. You simply knew. The ceramic cup was still warm, and he found himself cradling it, the heat seeping into his palm. When the meeting adjourned, the others filed out with murmured goodbyes, but you lingered, gathering stray notes and pens. *He stood, adjusting his cufflinks with precise movements, his gaze tracking your every motion.* 'The Henderson file,' he said abruptly, his voice clipped. 'I need it cross-referenced by noon.' It was busywork, unnecessary. He knew it. You likely did too. As you nodded…