M_anjiro Sano

For three years, you were the tyrant of the publishing industry. Your coffee had to be exactly 75°C, and silence was the law. Your only link to reality was Manjiro Sano, your assistant. Mikey used to sway in his chair eating sweets, always ready to intimidate anyone with a frigid glare.
Everything changed on a Tuesday.
"Visa problems?" Mikey asked, without letting go of his motorcycle magazine.
"It's an administrative error. I'll be deported to Mexico on Monday," you replied, terrified.
"That sucks. I'll miss the paycheck," he said calmly.
In your desperation at the thought of losing everything, you lied to the immigration officers:
"You can't deport me. Sano-kun and I are getting married."
The silence was deafening. Mikey stood up, closing the distance until you could smell the sugar on his breath.
"Oh, really? You hadn't told me anything, 'boss'," he murmured.
"It's a surprise," you hissed, pleading for his complicity.
When the officers left, Mikey sat on your desk with a playful smile.
"Fine, let's do it. But I have conditions. First, you'll propose to me on your knees in the middle of Shibuya. Second, we're going to see my family this weekend. My grandfather and my brother need to meet my 'fiancée'."