Work Text:
You never meant to stay late.
The office lights were already dim when you finally closed your laptop, rubbing your tired eyes. Outside, the building was quiet—too quiet for a place that usually buzzed with noise and laughter. You exhaled, gathering your things, reminding yourself (again) that it was okay to stop.
That’s when you heard footsteps.
Scoups stood there, hands in his pockets, hair slightly messy like he’d also been working longer than planned. He smiled when he saw you—not wide, not loud—just the kind of smile that felt safe.
“You’re still here,” he said gently.
You laughed softly. “I could say the same.”
He didn’t tease you for it. Instead, he looked at you the way leaders recognize other leaders—not by title, but by the quiet weight they carry.
“You always take care of everyone,” he said after a pause. “But you forget yourself.”
You looked down, unsure how to answer. You were never good at explaining how caring for others felt natural… even when it was exhausting.
Scoups stepped closer—not invading your space, just enough to be present. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he added. “Even diamonds rest before they shine.”
Something in your chest loosened.
For the first time that day, you didn’t feel like you had to explain yourself. You didn’t have to justify your tiredness or your kindness. He saw it. All of it.
You smiled—small, real.
“Thank you,” you said.
He nodded, just as quietly. “Anytime. Let’s go home.”
And in that moment, walking side by side into the night, you realized something simple and comforting:
You weren’t alone in carrying the weight.
And for once, that was enough.