"How many fingers am I holding up? ... I don't have six fingers."

The office was quiet, save for the soft hum of machinery and the occasional rustle of papers as Mairon worked at his desk. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him offered a breathtaking view of the city's skyline, now bathed in the cool light of evening. Most of the office staff had left hours ago, even Thuri, their chairs pushed neatly under their desks, but Mairon remained, his focus entirely on the screen in front of him.

Melkor, who had been in his own office reviewing projections for an upcoming merger, noticed the glow from Mairon’s desk still burning brightly. He leaned back in his chair, the soft leather creaking as he considered what he'd observed over the past week. Late nights. Missed meals. An edge to Mairon’s tone that wasn’t there before. Well. More than usually, at least.

Melkor stood, the slight weight of years in his movements, and strode through the expansive, open office floor toward Mairon’s workspace. His steps were soundless on the marble floor, and he could see his laurina's, his golden one's posture—tense, leaning forward, one hand gripping the edge of the desk as he scrolled through data on the screen. Mairon hadn’t heard him approach, too lost in thought.

“Laurina,” Melkor’s voice, low but steady, cut through the silence.

Mairon’s fingers froze above the keyboard, his head lifting just slightly before he turned to meet his spouse's gaze. There was a flicker of surprise in his amber eyes, quickly masked by his usual composed expression.

“Mbelekhoruz. I didn’t realize you were still here,” Mairon said, his voice even but faintly strained. He straightened up, trying to suppress the weariness in his shoulders. It didn't work as much as he'd thought he would. “I’m just finishing the last bit of prep for tomorrow.”

Melkor raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes sweeping over the array of documents and spreadsheets that cluttered Mairon’s desk. “That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before that.”

Mairon gave a small shrug, his mouth pulling into a tight smile. “I just want everything perfect. We can’t afford any mistakes with the board breathing down our necks.”

Melkor crossed his arms, his gaze still locked on Mairon. “Perfect doesn’t come at the cost of your health.”

“I’m fine,” Mairon replied, too quickly. He looked back at his screen, tapping a few more keys as if to prove his point. He liked to do that - pretend he could run on coffee only, and no others of sleep, as if he were some sort of corporate superman. “There’s still a few things I need to refine, but I’m almost done.”

Melkor stepped closer, his presence a silent force that was impossible to ignore. Mairon’s fingers faltered on the keyboard, his focus slipping under the weight of Melkor’s stare.

“Stand up.”

Mairon hesitated, then pushed his chair back reluctantly, standing. He didn’t meet Melkor’s eyes, instead staring at the illuminated cityscape outside the window. His heartbeat quickened slightly. This was how it always started—with a single look or word that cut through his defenses like a blade. Always... Since, as a matter of fact, the very day they had met. Back when... ah, fun times. Back when the only interest for him was Melkor's bank account.

Melkor circled him slowly, his footsteps deliberate. “You’ve been running yourself ragged,” he said softly, his voice like the low rumble of distant thunder. “For days.”

“I can handle it,” Mairon insisted, though the words rang hollow. He could feel the exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his vision, like shadows pulling him down.

Melkor stopped in front of him, his tall frame casting a shadow over Mairon’s form. His eyes, dark and sharp, held none of the irritation Mairon expected. Only concern—an emotion that felt heavier than any reprimand.

“Sit,” Melkor said, and Mairon, despite himself, sank into the chair without protest.

For a moment, neither spoke. Melkor leaned against the edge of the desk, his arms still folded, his eyes never leaving Mairon’s face. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken words.

“You’re not invincible, laurina,” Melkor said finally, his tone quieter, softer now. “Not even you.”

Mairon’s jaw tightened, the familiar frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had built himself on being the best—untouchable. Melkor knew that, and yet here he was, always pulling Mairon back just when he thought he was about to reach that perfect pinnacle.

“I know what I’m doing,” Mairon muttered, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the polished floor. “I’m just—”

“Tired,” Melkor finished for him.

“I’m fine.”

Melkor’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “That’s the second time you’ve said that, and I don’t believe it any more than the first.”

Mairon lifted his head, finally meeting Melkor’s gaze again. The weight of those dark eyes, steady and patient, seemed to strip away his defenses one by one. “It’s just... the pressure’s been building. I don’t want to let you down.”

Melkor’s expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing slightly. He reached out, his hand resting lightly on Mairon’s shoulder.

“You’ve never let me down,” he said quietly. “And you won’t.”

For a moment, Mairon felt something unclench inside him—a knot of tension that had been there for weeks, maybe months, loosening under the weight of his husband's steady reassurance. He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of wood polish and the faint traces of Melkor’s cologne. Intoxicating, as always.

“Tell me something,” Melkor’s voice cut through his thoughts again, softer now. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Mairon opened his eyes, blinking. Melkor held up a hand in front of him, and Mairon frowned slightly as he tried to focus. He counted, slowly, then frowned deeper.

"Four. Why?"

Melkor smirked, amused at Mairon’s confusion. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Six?”

Melkor’s quiet chuckle filled the air between them, warm and deep. He lowered his hand, brushing his thumb lightly over Mairon’s cheek. “I don’t have six fingers.”

Mairon blinked, the fog of exhaustion lifting just slightly. He exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and amusement.

“You need sleep,” Melkor said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ve been pushing too hard.”

Mairon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hate when you’re right.”

“I know.” Melkor’s hand lingered on Mairon’s shoulder, grounding him. “But I’ll always be here to remind you when you need to stop. You’re more important than the work.”

The room fell quiet again, but the tension that had filled it before was gone, replaced with something calmer, more familiar.

Mairon nodded slowly. "Fine," he conceded, and stood again - if only to sag against his spouse. "But just this once."

Melkor's smile was small but genuine. "Just this once, then."