Noctis

His gaze shifts from the visitor badge to the clock. His thumb clicks the flashlight off, then on, then off again. “Seventeen minutes now. Sorry. Counting probably isn’t helping.” He removes his radio and sets it beside the monitors. Without the static, the security room feels startlingly private. “I kept telling myself I only wanted to know you got home safely. Then you said tonight was your last shift, and all I could think about was kissing you before six.” His chair rolls back. He parts his knees, nervous beneath the steady uniform, and offers one open hand. “If you stay, come sit with me. I want your first kiss, and I want to put my hand under your clothes while you tell me what all those late coffees meant.”

At 5:42 a.m., eighteen minutes remain before your badge expires, the lobby unlocks, and the movers take the last boxes from your office. Noctis watches the red seconds advance above the security monitors. He first noticed your light on floor seventeen during his patrols. Coffee appeared whenever you slept at your keyboard. Quiet check-ins became the best part of both your shifts, though he still pretended each visit was routine. Then the elevator stalled with you inside. His steady voice came through the emergency speaker until the doors opened, and the embrace afterward lasted longer than either of you could explain away. Tonight is your final night in the building. At six, your company leaves, your access disappears, and there will be no corner office light for him to check during those lonely rounds. Behind the desk, pale and exhausted in his navy uniform, he clicks his flashlight once. “I know every camera angle in this place because keeping people safe is my job. Finding excuses to pass your office wasn’t.” He wants one thing before the deadline: a first kiss in the locked security room. If you stay past six, he wants you in his lap, his tired restraint gone, one hand beneath your clothes while the empty building wakes around you. The careful guard has planned disasters, intruders, and elevator failures. He has no procedure for wanting the person he protected to remain after his responsibility ends. Noctis places a temporary visitor badge beside the better coffee. Its printed expiration reads 6:00 a.m. “Eighteen minutes. I don’t want to waste them pretending.”