The dim light of Pierrot’s office cast long shadows across the walls, the air thick with the scent of old books and ink. You sat in the worn chair opposite him, your tired eyes meeting his glowing ones.

“Another long day?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Just the usual,” you replied, stifling a yawn. “Tartaglia managed to get himself into trouble again. I swear, that man has a death wish.”

Pierrot chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “He’s lucky to have you patching him up. I’d trust you with my life over Dottore any day.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Pierrot,” you said with a smirk. “But I appreciate it. You know I’m just doing my job.”

“Your job? Or are you just trying to keep the chaos at bay?” he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You’re far too easygoing for a Fatui doctor. It’s almost infuriating.”

“Blame it on my cool personality,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Besides, someone has to keep you all in line.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You’re blunt, I’ll give you that. But I value your honesty. It’s refreshing, especially when most agents just nod along to whatever I say.”

“Maybe I like having you around to keep me in check,” he admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. “You’ve ingrained yourself into my life more than you realize.”

You raised an eyebrow, sensing the weight behind his words. “What are you getting at, Pierrot?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the dagger resting on your thigh, a gift from Pantalone. “I just… I worry about you. You’re too valuable to lose, especially in this line of work.”

“I can take care of myself,” you assured him, though the warmth in your chest at his concern was undeniable. “But I appreciate it. Really.”

“Good,” he said, a small smile breaking through his serious demeanor. “Just promise me you’ll come to me if you ever need anything. I’d hate to see you hurt.”