in his arms ♡

"I think it'll hold, no hairspray right?" You aim to shake your head as he clicks his tongue, keeps his pinky pressed against the recently pinned hair, the rest of his hands at the sides of your head to tilt it back in place, Nanami refuses to have an off-center pin placed into your hair. He does that thing again though, head tilts up to the side, your eyes drop to the collar of the sherwani, he's buttoned to the very top. It must be stiff, even if you told the tailor to provide enough margin because Nanami Kento is disciplined. Which means he works out, which means his measurements provided a month ago would shift up slightly. But not this much, right? You raise a hand, he stops twisting the next strand of hair, "Pause, please." Turning, your bangles, payal, and lehenga chiming. Raising your hands to undo the top most button and aht! Your eyes narrow. "Hmmm…agar isko…aisey…"* Your fingers sink down and in, another button falls victim to your curiosity as he inhales sharp, "Darling, we don't have time for this." A smirk to your lips as a song dances in your head, "And what is the this, Kento? What are you imaging, huh?" You are trying to solve his problem here, you're being productive. You are not indulging in your most favorite task of undressing Nanami Kento, please! You know better than right before an event, especially in a heavy mirror-work lehenga, "Where's your undershirt?" "My what?" "The tank top, or one of the cotton shirts you wear around the house?" Eyes finding his, gosh he really thinks there's some magic hidden in your iris, and your hands. Whatever you've done to add the shimmer and shine to your eyes, the crisp edge of the winged eyeliner—always waterproof—otherwise you're a raccoon for days, the soft smile radiates on his lips. Keeps his hand firm on your hips, least he do something stupid and let his thumb push over your carefully painted lips. He's not an animal, not yet, that's for after hours. Where all he's helped doll and dress up is also his to reset; back to his darling who wears soft clothes and rubs her eyes freely. There's that thing you use that he doesn't like, mascara was it? Makes your eyelashes long and fan out, framing the window of your soul with entice, but he's aware it gives you a major headache. Plus it's impossible to get off with that oil thing you use, what was it? Cleansing balm that turns into oil in the heat of his palms? But it's the least abrasive thing on your skin; Nanami Kento has long stopped trusting you to be gentle when it comes to makeup removal. Yes it takes longer if you triple cleanse your face and no, that's not a good reason to not wash it. Whatever, he'll help your skin breathe free from all these layers soon enough.

You're looking at him, soft smile, lips yet to be kissed by your favorite rosewood lacquer, "Kento, if you don't wear an undershirt it'll get real itchy." "Thought you said I'd get too hot, it's on a rooftop right?" "Yeah, but still, would you rather sweat and itch without protection?" He wiggles an eyebrow up, your hand finds his mouth, shushing him, "No. Don't go there." "You walked right into that." He kisses the top of your head as you turn back around and assess. "Hmm, red?" You note the rani and gulab around the sleeves, maybe using that as accent for your lips and blush would be good. When your eyes meet his you can tell he's stuck on your comment about unprotected sweating, it's an embarrassed "Shh! Forget I said it. Shoo! Go! I'll finish up." And maybe just maybe, you aren't able to forget your comment because he, very purposefully, sits on the bed, unbuttons the sherwani. It's late enough in the day that the efforts of his weekly discipline, and your cooking, are evident on his form. He's firm and squeezable in all the right places. Shouldn't take a man like that, with biceps like that, to take an eon to don an undershirt. The sherwani is met with a sigh, it's stiff and not as forgiving as the soft cotton on his skin, over his head, careful not to touch his carefully styled hair and the vibrant orange fabric is back on him.

When he catches your eyes, his deft and speedy fingers slow down exponentially, buttoning up one golden circle at a time, smirking to himself, because he knows that look, "We've got ten minutes, darling." You pull away and finish applying your lipstain, "I'm already done. Unlike someone else."

As if he didn't help you into the top, as if he didn't fight with two of the world's smallest invisible zippers known to man to get your blouse and lehenga closed. As if he didn't watch reel after reel to learn how to pleat the chunni in the style you wanted. As if he isn't aware of how many safety pins are hidden within your choli. As if he isn't back, finishing off twirling your hair and applying the juda pin. "Mmmm what should I smell like? Mother's Day Auntie Chanel or Forgotten Mother's Day Burberry Discount?" You hold up perfumes saved for these events. It's easier if you smell like the rest of the crowd, it results in less of a painful headache from all the conflicting perfumes in the venue. "How about, this?" Mohave Ghost. His scent, least it has been the last three years. "Smelling like my husband? Scandalous." But you spritz it all over, then remembering how Rihanna spritz her perfume and shower yourself with the comforting scent and Nanami who turns around so you can get his back. Resisting temptation to mess up his freshly styled hair, you nod as his hand rests at the nape of your neck, thumb pressing into clavicle bone, anchoring himself for a moment. He's not one for big functions or events like this; neither are you, but it comes with the territory of maintaining family relationships and seeking moments of celebration and joy. What was it you had said? Creating whimsy in things you simply have to do as an adult, "We don't have to go do we?" He had asked, "And what, face the wrath of my mother who ordered our outfits months ago? Nanami Kento, we, know better." A click of your tongue had stunned him into silence, "This is how you'll get old Kento, all work and no play, Family drama is the spice of life! Or at least nonsense background music we can dance to. Do you want to lead a dance-less life? Won't be me, nu uh, puh-lease." He pulled you into his lap then didn't he? Made sure to stun you right back. 🪩

It's three am and he wished he remembered the last hour because he's on the sofa of your shared space, the lights are all off. How did he get here? Goodness golly, did he make you drive? In your lehenga with the cancan underskirt? How did you even fit in the driver seat?

But there you are, on the phone, warm amber signaling your movements around him, soft voice informing your mother you've arrived home safely. Pretty ghulaby and rani embellished blouse with soft black workout shorts, how'd you get one of those sneaky zippers open on your own? Kento reaches an arm up, outward in your direction, your head turns as your feet automatically start to walk over, still listening to your mother who is irate. How dare Seema Aunty even suggest Nanami Kento is anything but perfect? It makes your heart sing, as your hand can finally mess up that too perfectly styled pushed-back hair of his. "Why would Kento-beta do pairi-pauna to her? Her own son doesn't even fold his hands for namaste! Besides, what's she trying to show off? Knock-off sandals!" It makes you laugh as Kento's arm snakes around your torso, pulling his head into the softness of your belly, "I'm sure she didn't have anything else to nitpick, Ma, are you home now?" "Ten minutes out." In the background you hear your father correct her, "8 minutes." It's a bit of light chatter before the tell-tale sign of the garage door opening and closing occurs, "Okay I need to turn the house-alarm off, goodnight darling. I'll call tomorrow." "Not too early. Let me call you, sweet dreams." Nanami pulls you even closer the moment the phone lays on the coffee table. Your hair is half undone, some of it free and wild, still soft long curls, nothing like your usual hair texture, his hands itch to correct this. "Sleepy man, don't you wanna get out of this itchy thing?" He let's all willpower leave his arms, they fall lifeless, as you smooth over his forehead and cheek, "Oi, Kento Kento, Suno*, Mr. Nanami Kento, I'm speaking to you." "Too tired." "Then the bed, na? Chalo." "Too far, you'll have to leave me here." "Arre? Here? On this cold cold leather couch in this cold and dark room?" There's a mirth to your voice that moves closer and closer, lips to his chin as his hands find life, up the back of your neck, into your hair, all those juda and bobby-pins poke at his finger tips but it's worth it, it's worth finally getting his own lips stained ghulaby red. He expects to taste the jalebi, needlessly sweet that dessert, but from your lips the perfect potion of everything mint and joyous spills into his. Chases after the kiss as you move back, "Nu uh, I wanna wash my face and sleep on a real bed, my feet hurt Kento." There is, very little leeway in being stern with him, especially when he makes that muffled gruff sound, claims your lips as his own. Isn't it easy to get lost in this? The faded cedarwood and magnolia that clings to you both, the way starved off impatience returns with appetite—"Nain, Uth jao! Chalo!"* Reason enough for him to move quickly, with staggering accuracy, hoisting you over his shoulder, not stopping until he's carefully settling you on that bathroom counter top, hands bracket your very alarmed and slightly turned on form, "Is this what happens when you stay up past your bed-time?" Nuzzling into his neck, "Wait." He's trying to get that silly zipper on your blouse loose, it's stuck though.

He's welcome to try. You sit pretty and patient, arms on his shoulders so he can wiggle and tug fabric and a too small zipper that feels like it shrinks under his judgment, "I could cut you out of this?" "No, sleepy, I wanna wear this for the dandiya raas we got invited to, remember?" The circle dancing with sticks thing, he sorta remembers, too sleepy to understand more than a few things at once. One - you look gorgeous still, two - he needs to get you out of this blouse carefully, and maybe three - more kisses, stat. "Hey—I'll handle this, you take yours off and let's get to bed?" Ever the planner and sense-maker, he nods along. In some miraculous coordination, his heavy biceps and lead like forearms move up, unbutton, tug and shrug off the sherwani jacket. The doti is easy to slip off and damn, you were right about the undershirt.

It's autopilot after that, a quick body-rinse shower because he did sweat and was itchy, and then he finds you rubbing your face as if it's a washboard. "Aht aht—" firmly stopping your hands from going to scratch at your eyes, he gets a pouty whine, "Mascara! I hate it!" He shouldn't smile but you can't see him so he does, "Gently, darling, you like your eyelashes." A sigh, "I do." Nanami keeps his hand in your hair, as you wash your face, even though it's not necessary, hands you the towel to pat your skin dry and softly softly, brushes a finger across your lips, "There you are." "Here I am." At the tip of his lips, the word you reserve for him when he's being the utmost stubborn, jaan*, he's not stingy with the ways he addresses you, however, it feels too precious, too tempting of fate. And he hasn't had enough days or nights to gloat.

"Chalo*." He calls softly, leading you from the shared bathroom towards the softness of cool sheets lidded with promise of warmth and company. "Ah, the carafe." You're up on your elbows, ready to bounce back to the kitchen and refill the pitcher, but a kiss to the top of your head has you momentary confused. Isn't he sleepy? "Kento, I can—" He's already disappeared. Something warm expands across your heart. It's a small thing, something to aide you back to sleep, Nanami Kento doesn't even drink water this late at night. "I got it." Hmm. Hiding a smile into your pillow, considering how very sweet your husband is being. Even if this is his usual demeanor, it still makes your heart beat faster.

Warm arms embrace you from behind, lazily you turn into him. Nanami waits for it, surely you aren't too sleepy to notice his lack of undershirt this close? And when you do pull back, there's a twinkle in his eyes, "What?" "What…what. Goodnight Kento." But he doesn't let you shuffle back into him, no, you see, he was a pure and proper gentleman all night! "Darling, you aren't going to ask?" "There's—there's nothing to ask, go to bed." "Oh? You'd let me go to bed…without protection?"

"Nanami Kento!" But he's already kissing away at your protest, of it being so late and so not cool of him to use your innocent words against you. You were looking out for him, "If you had worn it raw then you'd—" "Raw." He laughs, you try to stay serious you do. You're sleepy, you're not careful with words with you're sleepy. "Stop! Unhand me—"

"Jaan." Oh oh oh, the way he says it, the way he keeps saying it into your skin, down your neck and across your chest, hands tracing up your sides.

There's a plethora of reasons why not to, the sore hands and feet, the fact it's closer to sunrise than sunset, there's some morning run or class to attend to but you only need one reason to keep going. And it's evident, his lips on your skin.

_______

Apologies if I romanized anything incorrectly, this is how I've learned to spell them. If there's anything I haven't translated or would benefit from being explained, please let me know! Thank you for reading.