The corridor stretched long and fluorescent, the kind of hallway that made everyone look vaguely unwell and mildly irritated. A few junior agents moved past with tablets clutched to their chests, their conversations low and hurried. The building never quite woke up before noon, not really. But it pretended to. That was the Commission way.

Keigo wandered through it all with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, a takeaway coffee balanced between two fingers. His wings were folded loosely behind him, the crimson feathers shifting with the lazy rhythm of someone who hadn't decided whether to take the stairs or just fly out a window and start over.

There were two cups.

One was his.

The other was a little more complicated.

He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, being normal about it.

A pair of administrative staff passed by, and one of them—a tired-looking woman with a lanyard askew—caught sight of the two cups. Her eyes flicked from Keigo's face to the second coffee, then back again. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

Keigo pretended not to notice. He did, of course. He always noticed.

He kept walking, the second cup warm against his fingers.

The corridor bent towards the eastern offices, past the briefing rooms with their perpetually closed doors and the vending machine that only ever ate money. The air smelled like cheap disinfectant and burnt coffee—except for the cup in his hand, which smelled like the good stuff, the kind from the place three blocks over that required a ten-minute detour.

A detour Keigo had, naturally, made.

For reasons.

Entirely professional reasons. Obviously.

Keigo's pace slowed as he neared the familiar turn that led to {y/n}'s department. His wings gave a small, involuntary flick—the kind of movement that had no business happening during a simple morning walk. He caught it, frowned, and forced the feathers flat again.

He turned the corner.

The hallway opened into the usual morning shuffle—agents moving between offices, murmured conversations, the distant click of keyboards. A few familiar faces glanced up, registered Keigo's presence, and went back to their work with the practiced disinterest of people who had seen him wandering this exact route too many times to count.

And then there was {y/n}'s office.

Just up ahead.

The second cup suddenly felt heavier.

He started forward again, slower now, his easy stride tempered by something that might have been hesitation in someone less practiced at appearing unbothered.

The door was visible now. Open, maybe. Closed. He couldn't quite tell from this angle.