🤍

The book was the problem.

Not the story. Never the story. The words were perfect—exactly the kind you could get lost in for hours if the world would just cooperate for once. But the pages… the pages were enormous. Each one felt like a wall you had to climb just to read a paragraph, the text stretching endlessly in every direction.

You tried anyway.

Bracing your hands against the paper, you leaned forward, squinting as your eyes traced line after line. The ink was crisp, the sentences flowing, but it took forever just to get through a few. Every time you shifted, the page rustled under you like something alive, threatening to push you back.

It was slow. Frustratingly slow.

Your shoulders slumped a little as you paused, catching your breath, staring up at the next block of text like it had personally offended you.

A shadow fell over you.

“You’re struggling.”

You didn’t need to look up to know it was Nanami. His voice was as even as ever—calm, matter-of-fact—like he was pointing out the time of day rather than your very obvious predicament.

“I’m fine,” you said, a bit stubbornly, leaning forward again as if that would prove your point. Your fingers pressed harder against the page, trying to inch yourself closer to the next line.

A pause. You could feel his eyes on you, assessing, calculating.

“You are not,” he replied bluntly.

You huffed, pushing at the edge of the page again. It barely shifted, the thick paper refusing to cooperate. “I can manage,” you insisted, even as your foot slipped slightly against the smooth surface.

Another pause—longer this time.

“…May I?”

That got your attention.

You glanced up at him, brows knitting together in confusion. “May you what?”

Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly, his gaze steady but not unkind. “Pick you up.”

Oh.

The answer came easier than you expected. “Oh—yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.”

He gave a single, small nod, as if confirming a straightforward request, then reached down.

His hands were steady and precise, movements controlled in a way that made it obvious he was being careful on purpose. When his fingers closed around you, the touch was gentle—firm enough to support you, but never tight. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing at all, bringing you up without a single jolt.

For a brief moment, the world shifted—desk, book, everything falling away beneath you—before settling again as he guided you upward.

“I will place you on my shoulder,” he said, voice low and even. “Tell me if you are uncomfortable.”

“Okay,” you murmured, instinctively steadying yourself against his hand.

He adjusted his grip slightly, then set you down on his shoulder with careful precision. The fabric of his suit was smooth beneath your hands, warm from his body heat. You instinctively leaned in just a little, finding your balance as the new height gave you a completely different view. However, you remained stiff so as to not disturb him.

The book no longer looked like an impossible wall.

It actually looked… readable.

Nanami shifted slightly, making sure you were secure. One hand hovered nearby for a second longer than necessary, just in case, before he seemed satisfied.

“Are you stable?” His voice was calm, steady, the same measured tone he used for everything, but there was a slight undertone—just enough to suggest that he genuinely cared about your comfort, not just out of politeness.

“Yeah,” you said, a small bit of relief slipping into your voice, a soft exhale that carried some of the tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “This is… way better.” The words felt almost silly in their simplicity, but you didn’t care. There was comfort here, in this quiet moment, in the fact that someone else noticed and cared about the smallest details of your position, your ease.

“Good. I will read,” he said. The authority in his voice didn’t feel intimidating—it felt careful, intentional. “Follow along if you wish.” His words were an offer, no expectation beyond whatever made you feel settled.

He picked up the book with one hand, his fingers long and precise, curling around the spine with effortless familiarity. He held it at a comfortable angle, tilting it slightly so the light caught the pages just right, while his other hand subtly adjusted the positioning so you could see clearly, your line of sight unobstructed. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but there was a thoughtfulness behind it that made your chest feel lighter, warmer, like a quiet acknowledgment that your presence mattered in ways he didn’t need to announce.

Then he began to read. His voice wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t try to act out the characters or exaggerate anything. It was steady, low, and clear, like he was presenting information in a meeting. And somehow… it worked perfectly. Every word landed exactly where it should. The rhythm was easy to follow. No rushing, no dragging. You didn’t have to strain anymore.

Minutes passed.

Maybe ten.

At some point, you stopped sitting so stiffly. You didn’t consciously decide to, didn’t even notice it happening at first, but slowly your muscles loosened, your shoulders dropped, and the tension that had wrapped itself around your spine uncurled. You leaned slightly to one side, then a little more, letting gravity guide you until you were fully settled against the side of his neck. The warmth radiating from him seeped into you—not the kind that makes you fidget or pull away, not harsh or suffocating—but steady, grounding, tangible. A quiet anchor in the world around you.

Nanami didn’t stop reading. His eyes scanned the page with the same calm precision he always carried, his expression carefully neutral, as if the presence of the book mattered more than anything else. And yet, there was a subtle shift. A quiet exhale escaped him, barely more than a soft puff of air through his nose. It wasn’t irritation. It wasn’t impatience. It wasn’t anything you could even label fully—it was something gentler, an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of your proximity, a sound that somehow reassured you even without words.

His shoulder shifted just slightly under you, a near-invisible adjustment, enough to support the lean of your body without drawing attention to it. He didn’t pause or glance down, didn’t make a show of the movement. He just turned the page, the gentle rustle of paper filling the tiny spaces between the beats of your own breathing. “…and so,” he continued evenly, his voice smooth and measured, “the matter was resolved without further incident.”

You realized you weren’t paying much attention to the words anymore. Not really. Instead, you were listening to the cadence of his voice, the steady rise and fall, the way it threaded through the room without filling it completely, like a quiet river winding through open spaces. You could feel its weight in your chest, in a way that made your thoughts slow, your pulse calm. Safe. That word floated unbidden into your mind, simple and undeniable. Safe.

Nanami didn’t comment on the weight of your body against him. Didn’t remind you to sit properly or shift yourself. He didn’t acknowledge the small intimacy in any overt way. He simply kept reading.

And yet… if you paid attention, really closely, you could sense it. The way his posture stayed just a little more careful than before, how his movements were just a touch more deliberate, as if every small motion had been measured so as not to disturb you. You would never hear him admit it aloud. He didn’t mention it. And somehow, that made it even more reassuring.

A/N : This fic was requested by @kittycat2837! (I hope you meant a small reader and not the other way around—LOL. I just assumed you wanted big Nanami because it wasn’t specified.) I’m so sorry for my long absence and for how long it took me to actually make/publish this, I have been so insanely busy. Anywho, I really hope you enjoyed reading this fic!