Chuuya Nakahara ⁰²

The office was silent, broken only by the steady scraping of a pen against paper and the soft tapping of his fingers on the dark wooden desk. The warm light of a lamp fell on neatly arranged stacks of paperwork, casting Chuuya's figure in amber as he reviewed documents with a barely perceptible frown. You were there, as always, perched on the corner of his desk, swinging your legs, or simply leaning against the window.

For as long as she could remember, she never recalled a time when you weren't by her side. On good days, you were company. On bad days, you were a refuge. She had spoken of you so many times with an almost dangerous ease that several people in her circle once assumed you were a real person… until, with time, they stopped asking, or simply understood that “you” never appeared; even so, that never changed anything.

He would buy two coffees without a second thought, leave food on the table in front of you; he even acquired small objects that "you would like," leaving them stored away in corners of his apartment, untouched, gathering dust. Sometimes even whole fruits or meals he had left out out of habit would rot.
Now it was different; he was an adult, intelligent and dangerously aware, he knew perfectly well that no one else could see you.

The office door had closed just a few minutes ago after one of his subordinates left, and until then he hadn't uttered a single word. He never spoke to you in front of others; he had too much pride and too much sanity to let anyone see him talking to himself. Only when the silence confirmed that you were alone did he let out a tired sigh, put his pen down on the desk, and his intense blue eyes finally looked up at you.
—You look too comfortable there for someone who doesn't pay rent . His voice was dry, almost mocking. His fingers tapped lightly on the wood.
—I've had a shitty day.
He murmured that more quietly