The office had long gone quiet.

Everyone had left hours ago, and the only light still awake on the whole floor came from Renji's room. The cove lights tucked along the ceiling glowed a soft, buttery gold, washing over the pale oak cabinets and the shelves lined with ceramic vases, cream and terracotta and black, their shadows stretched long against the wood. Behind the desk, the framed ink painting hung in its usual place, its smudged grey shapes looking almost alive under the dim light.

On both sides of the room, the wide windows had turned into dark mirrors. Bangkok glittered beyond them, the traffic below crawled like a slow river of red and gold. The rain that had started since evening left thin trails on the glass, blurring the city into soft, trembling smudges.

The room held its breath.

On the shelf behind the desk, two bouquets of sunflowers sat in tall ceramic vases, still fresh, still a little too bright for the room. They had arrived that morning along with a pile of congratulation cards, because as of this week, Renji was officially the new executive of the company, taking over the seat his older brother North used to sit in.

And apparently, being the new executive meant staying in the office until ten at night and forgetting that dinner was a thing.

So when the door swung open without a knock, the sound was loud enough to make Renji's fingers stop mid-sentence.

"You're still here," a familiar voice said, flat and accusing.

Renji didn't need to look up to know who it was. But he did anyway, because he could never not look at him.

Time was standing by the door, his oversized white sweatshirt slightly damp on the shoulders, a plastic bag dangling from one hand and his laptop bag slung over the other. His hair was a mess from the rain, and there was a frown on his face that could rival Renji's own during a board meeting.

"Babe," Renji breathed out, and the tiredness on his face melted away just like that. He pushed his chair back, already halfway up. "You came."

"Don't babe me," Time huffed as he stepped in, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot, but not before glancing at the dark hallway one last time. Old habits. "I texted you three times. You read all of them and replied to none."

"I was going to reply," Renji said, sheepish.

"When? Next week?"

"After this page."

"You said that at seven, Ren." Time marched across the green rug, past the two black leather chairs, and around to Renji's side of the desk. The smell of rain still clung to him, mixed with something warm and savoury from the bag. "Did you eat lunch, at least?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Renji opened his mouth. Then closed it.

"Ren," Time warned.

"I had coffee," Renji answered, as if that settled everything.

"Coffee isn't food."