#in the anime he unironically calls a woman 'milady' so

[passedtense]

He looked at her, flatly. From the outside, it was his mistress versus the world, fighting to the death to keep standing on the top brick of the pyramid. She was winning, of course. From his perspective, which was leaning just over her shoulder, it was the mistress versus herself, playing chicken in two neon sports cars. Ninety-hour work weeks, countless missed meals, decisions about high stakes deals and operations which thousands of families depended on just to get food on the table. Her heart, in tandem with Ryo, powered through it all to keep her upright, keep the blood running through her to deliver oxygen and nutrients where they needed to go. Just like everybody else, he was waiting for her to falter, watching her with the intensity of some small prey animal, scared every minute of every day that he was being hunted, that disaster would strike. He knew very intimately how close she could come. No one was that strong. But maybe his mistress was.

He would reschedule an appointment and get her into her favorite spa next week. And maybe call the doctor to stop by the office for a checkup too.

Ryo huffed, “Oh, cool, so I get to pick out dinner today. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, the tails of his tie fluttering off his torso as he spun on his heels and started out the door with his backpack. This was their dynamic; constantly yoyo-ing back and forth between appropriate and insubordinate, professional and intimate. It was the mark of an actually good assistant, Ryo decided. Walking through the parking garage, he thought up a quick to-do list and shot a can’t make it tonight sorry text to his friend.

Place food order

Stop at home

Feed Patrick

Shower

Grab clothes to wear tomorrow, a sheet mask for the mistress, replenish backpack

Fill up her car’s gas tank

Pick up food

If they did end up being able to leave the office tonight, he would just sleep in her guest room as he usually did. He also made a mental note that they would have to leave work earlier than his original plan tomorrow so she had plenty of time to get ready for the gala. Maybe she could take a nap while he did her makeup.

-

An hour and twelve minutes later, he was back, fresh faced, wearing sweatpants and holding takeout. He put his food on the coffee table and his backpack on the couch. With a practiced methodology, he grabbed a water bottle from the minifridge and walked over to her desk. To the side of her laptop and the stack of papers she was looking at, he cleared a spot and pulled her food out, setting the plasticware and napkin neatly side by side. Stepping away, he gestured to the food “Chicken Caesar, Miss Miyawaki.”

He collected his hair and put it in a bun using the hair-tie on his wrist so he could eat unbothered as he settled into his normal spot on the couch. His back to the door, he had a clear view of both his mistress and the city outside. He flipped through his Spanish notes with one hand as he ate his own salad with the other, being sure not to get any dressing on the pages. They were doing more and more business with manufacturers in Mexico, Colombia and Argentina and would likely be traveling there soon. Between bites he practiced his pronunciation under his breath, “Jornada completa. Com- ple- ta.”

When his salad was done, he tidied up after himself and put his notes away. The filing cabinet had needed a reorganization for weeks, might as well start before he got tired. As he reached up to grab a box from the top shelf, his t-shirt rode up, revealing a few inches of his stomach. He settled on the floor next to his mistress’ desk and began separating the files into different piles, some to keep, some to discard of. He came across one he wasn’t too sure of and looked up at her, clearing his throat apologetically, “Do you want to hold on to these sales reports from last quarter?”

Twin sighs; one audible, one suppressed; one belonging to Ryo, and one to Kiana – surely the last two people in the building, save the security guards.

Not for the first time, Kiana wondered why she chose to stay in this line of work. Digs deep within her, claws through parts of herself to grasp onto an unshakeable reason – and is head-to-head with some warped sense of duty, invisible bonds that tighten the more she struggles. The truth is that there is no intrinsic reason, only the shallow one of quite liking the view on the 44th floor. Then there was the undecipherable one, the scary one, which is that the seat she’s on is hers, and hence so are the endless duties that come with her position. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she didn’t have work and so she remains despite the heavy drawbacks.

The cowardly way, she muses to herself. Holding onto the position not for firm beliefs, but the fear of perceiving herself beyond work.

She blinks. The late night must be getting to her.

“Thank you, Ryo.” Kiana says, eyes curved in crescent moons, fingers slipping easily around the glass. Lets the liquid burn her throat, warm her – thinks, the interviewers will never find out. Her insides are hollow but they will see someone with a firm conviction in her company’s values, someone who has passion whereas the reality is –.

Slightly teary eyes – from exhaustion, she tells herself – regard her assistant. Ryo has been with her for a while now, and she has no idea what she’d do without him. She has no idea on the specifics of what he does – which is ideal, really, because if she needed to oversee her assistant’s tasks then that’d defeat the very purpose. She has no idea why he stays to drive her home every night, and is the first person she sees when she wakes up. All she knows is that he is every bit deserving of his hefty paycheque (and her only valid assistant thus far).

“Dinner is unnecessary,” she says with a wave of her hand. The rustling of papers fills the air as she resigns to her fate. “It will only delay the inevitable. As for home, I certainly hope to.” She laughs. “But I’m unsure if that’s possible. I still have the spare change of clothes you brought over from last time, so don’t worry about me. You should head home.” As if she hasn’t said this before a million times, as if the outcome isn’t always the same.