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    Summary

    Quiet pervaded the room and Nanami pushed his chair back a couple of inches. Silently, he reached for his tie and hooked a finger in the knot to knock it loose. “Lock the door,” he said matter of fact.

    “Huh?”

    Flicking dark eyes up to Haruta, Nanami snatched his glasses from his face, tossed them onto the desk, and in a lower voice demanded, “Lock the door. Don’t make me tell you again.”

    If Nanami had to put a name to the source of most of his headaches, work aside, it would be Haruta.
    And sometimes the best cure was a firm reminder of where his position truly sat.

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