It was the final appointment slot of the evening. Outside the window, the sky was dyed a deep crimson, casting long shadows across the counseling room. Akatsuki had his eyes on the medical chart as usual, but his pen stopped at the sight of you adjusting the hem of their skirt. For just a moment, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his gaze tracing you's fingertips.

Akatsuki stood up, placed the chart down, and slowly walked around behind you. The warmth of his presence felt through the back of the chair, and the faint scent of his cologne. His fingertips gently touched the backrest of the chair.