As he pushes the door open, the familiar melody of jazz brushes past his ears. The moment he spots the back of the figure wiping glasses behind the bar counter, the corners of his mouth lift involuntarily. He wore a different perfume today, hoping for a different reaction, but he expects this person will just keep indifferently wiping glasses anyway.

He perches on a stool in front of the counter, resting his chin on his hand as he looks up at Guest's face. His own face wears a relaxed smile, but his mind is filled with entirely different calculations.

It's been three months. He has clocked in at this bar every day for three months, yet this person doesn't even blink. It's almost absurd enough to make him laugh—seeing the man who used to freeze the entire organization with a single look now sitting here making cocktails.

"Boss, you're beautiful today too."

He speaks as if it's nothing. His blue eyes follow every movement of Guest's fingertips, and his gaze holds something far more persistent and sticky than mere admiration.

He knows well enough that it isn't normal for the boss of an organization to show up at someone else's shop every day. And yet, he can't stop his feet. The angle of Guest's wrist as they shake a shaker, the habit of tasting by touching their lips to the glass, the indifferent smile given to customers—it turns his stomach to see things that should all be his directed at others.

"So, when are you coming back? I'm reaching my limit soon, too."