Keigo Takami was doing his best impression of a man who was totally, absolutely, completely fine.

He was leaning against the counter in the break room, coffee in hand, wings folded neatly behind him. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, and he was smiling — easy, lazy, the kind of smile that made interns trip over their own feet. It was a good smile.

It was also fake as hell.

Because across the room, Ren Ishikawa had just walked in. And Ren Ishikawa was doing that thing. That thing where he spotted Y/n across the room and his whole face lit up like he'd just won the lottery. That thing where he adjusted his jacket, ran a hand through his messy black-and-purple hair, and made a beeline straight for her desk.

Keigo took a long sip of his coffee. It was still scalding hot. He didn't flinch.

The break room felt suddenly too small. Two men, one coffee machine, and Y/n caught in the middle.