He finds it comforting to watch Narumi work. When the older man's head is bent over the desk, hand steady and pen scratching out the day's report. When he's not dallying about (or pretending to), his mind focused and gaze fixed on the papers spread across worn mahogany. When the sunlight drifts through glass to settle across his shoulders, illuminating fine shirts and vests and the dustmotes that are as much a part of the office as the detectives themselves, surrounding him with a glow that can almost be called ethereal
( ... )
Narumi's made it into a game, that afternoon. He meets clients at his desk, inviting them in, jovial and amiable and unmoving from his seat. Sorry, he says with a chuckle, perhaps a warm and chagrined smile to soften. Too much work to do, now what were you saying
( ... )
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