you stay careful like usual.

too careful.

when he sits next to you during work dinners, you both leave a respectful inch of space between your shoulders, even though every part of you wants to close it. you keep your hands busy.

but at times, you let it slip, forgetting yourself. one hand lifts, hesitates, then falls back into your lap like it forgot what it was reaching for.

your urges never go away with time. they only get worse.

when you start dating?

it doesn’t feels real.

being with nanami feels like a dream you’re going to wake up from. you expect the ground to vanish beneath your feet or for him to suddenly tell you there’s been a mistake. him choosing you feels impossible.

the need hums under everything—conversations and silence alike. you want to lean onto his shoulder. you want to tuck yourself against his side. you want to hug him and feel him hug you back.

instead, you hover. you angle closer. you daydream the same exact way you did before you started dating. it feels like nothing has changed since he confessed and you confessed back.

you’re terrified he’ll notice your odd hesitation. terrified he’ll think you’re needy or that he’ll think you don’t know how to show love at all.

the first time you grab his arm it’s an accident.

you’re walking leisurely in the cold together, conversation tapering off, when that familiar ache swells in your chest. before you can think, your fingers curl into his sleeve and you tug his arm toward you, hugging it to your chest.

and then reality crashes back in.

you freeze. your grip loosens. heat rushes to your face.

“sorry,” you mumble, already pulling away. “i didn’t mean to- i just—”

nanami slows.

not flinchingly. not with surprise. just enough that you have to slow too.

he looks down at you, expression calm. not judging or confused. it’s almost like he’s been aware of you all along.

then he gently shifts his arm back into your grasp. settles it there.

“you don’t need to apologize, honey,” he says, the words dripping like the sweetest chocolate. “if you want to hold onto me then please do.”

your breath stutters and you feel too warm despite the cold.

after that, it all becomes a quiet unreal constant.

you hold onto his arm when you walk together. it’s tentative, like you’re testing whether you can really do this or not. you still glance up at him, checking, but he never pulls away. never stiffens.

but still, you always still hesitate. you’re not used to the feeling this comfortable and safe with a person.

when you sit beside him on the couch? you tell yourself you’ll wait. give it a minute. be normal. but it never lasts long. you’re always hyperaware of him. so eventually you find yourself leaning into his broad shoulder.

you brace for him to move.

he never does.

sometimes you catch yourself gripping his bicep too tightly, overwhelmed by how good it feels, and you immediately start to pull back.

that’s when his hand settles over yours.

warm. grounding. unshakable.

he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to. his thumb traces slow, absent minded circles against your knuckles, like reassurance spoken in a language you finally understand.

being with him still feels like a dream you’re afraid to break.

but kento stays and lets you stay too.

soon enough you learn his hugs are devastating, much like everything about him.

the first real one catches you off guard. you’d meant it to be brief—arms barely around him, already preparing to pull away—but he wraps you up properly, one arm firm around your back, the other settling at your shoulder like it belongs there. he holds you close without squeezing or rushing like he assumes you’ll stay as long as you need.

you short circuit.

but then you’re melting into him before you can stop yourself. your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only solid thing in the world.

his warmth seeps into places you didn’t realize were cold as his hand rubs slow circles into your back.

you start finding excuses—lingering goodbyes, quiet moments where you hover close enough that he opens his arms without a word.

he knows you so well it scares you.

each time, it feels like you’re borrowing something you’re afraid will be taken away if you ask for too much.

and somewhere along the way, you realize your touch starvation doesn’t stop there.

it spreads.

you start noticing his mouth even more than you did before.

it’s unfair, really. the way his lips curve when he smiles at you—small, restrained, meant only for you. the way they part when he exhales, when he speaks quietly, when he’s concentrating. you catch yourself staring far too often, eyes dropping to his mouth before you can stop them.

and want them badly to be on yours.

the realization startles you every time.

your body leans forward before your brain catches up. your gaze lingers a second too long and you have to look away, flustered, heart racing, hoping he hasn’t noticed.

but he has.

one evening, you’re sitting close on the couch, supposed to be listening to him talk. your attention keeps slipping—eyes flicking to his mouth, then back up, then down again. each time you tell yourself stop and each time you fail.

nanami pauses mid sentence when it happens for the fifth time.

you look up, startled, only to realize he’s already looking at you. amused.

“are you going to kiss me… or should i?”

you freeze, mortified. your mouth opens, then closes. “i- i wasn’t! i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to stare, i just—”

he shifts closer with a huff.

he lifts a hand, fingers brushing under your chin, just enough to tilt your face toward his.

“you don’t have to apologize,” he says quietly. “i just wanted to know what you wanted.”

you swallow.

the answer feels terrifying and simple all at once.

so you lean in—terribly clumsy and hesitant but there.

more a brush than a kiss at first like you’re testing whether this is real. for half a second, you’re convinced you’ve done it wrong.

then nanami hums softly and closes the distance for you.

the kiss is gentle. he keeps it slow, like he’s letting you adjust, letting you realize you’re allowed to want this. his hand stays warm at your jaw, thumb resting lightly near your cheek, steadying you as your body instinctively leans closer.

you sigh into it without meaning to.

you clutch at him, the ache in your chest easing little by little. when he pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against yours.

your breath is shaky. your lips tingle.

nanami doesn’t tease or rush.

“you can do that anytime you want.”

and somehow the tender words makes your chest ache all over again.

because you’ve wanted this closeness for so long.

and now, finally, it’s yours.

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You’re writhing now, thighs trembling with your arms straining against the iron grip he has around your wrists. “Nanami—fuck—” you sob out, voice wrecked, like you're still trying to argue through the pleasure. 

He groans low against your cunt, “Keep talking,” he murmurs, lips slick with you. “I dare you.”

You whimper, nails digging into the couch cushions where your hands are pinned. "Y-You're still an asshole," you pant, even as your legs shake. "Still treating me like—like I’m something to control, not someone you—"

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, chin wet, hair a little disheveled now—gold tie hanging loose, glasses slightly askew. “Not someone I what, sweetheart?” he asks mockingly. “Careful now. Choose your next insult wisely.”

“Not someone you love,” you throw back. The moment the words leave your mouth, his expression looks hurt—and for a second, you think maybe you pushed too far.

But his hands—grabbing your hips and flipping you over like you weigh nothing, yanking your shorts and ruined tank down and off, dragging your ass up until you’re on your knees, cheek smashed into the cushion.

“You want to know if I love you?” he growls, lining up behind you, cock dragging through your soaked folds without warning.

“This is mine,” he mutters into your shoulder, voice hoarse. “You think I’d risk my life every damn week if I didn’t love you, you insufferable little brat?”

You barely manage a gasp before he thrusts into you, “I hate you” you moan, eyes half-lidded as you rock your ass back into him. He drives into you again—again—relentless. He leans forward, one hand sliding up your spine, wrapping around your throat as he presses his chest to your back. 

“Good,” he growls. “Hate me more. Fucking take it.” You try to bite your lip, to keep quiet, to hold something back, but your whimpers and moans escape you. 

He exhales a curse, hips still rocking—slower now. “You want the truth?” he rasps, voice gone rough. “I lose sleep over you. I count the fucking hours I’m away. I come home half-dead just to make sure you’re still here.”

He pulls you up by your throat again, your back flush against his chest now, “You gonna come?” he grits, grabbing your jaw again, angling your face toward his. “Or are you too busy trying to prove a point?”

Your laugh is a sob. “Can’t—can’t think—”

“That’s my girl.” He fucks into you harder, deeper. 

You come again with his name in your throat, choked on a sob that melts into a moan. He follows moments later, grinding deep, filling you up with a rough groan of your name and something like I’m sorry whispered into your shoulder.

Later, as you're curled into his chest, boneless and exhausted, you mutter, “Next time just send a text or something.”

He sighs. “Next time, stop picking fights just because you want to get fucked.”

You grin. “No promises.”

You expect him to pull away. But his arms wrap around your waist instead. He kisses the back of your neck and buries his face there. You blink tears from your eyes. “I hate how much I love you,” you murmur back.

He hums softly against your skin. “Good. We’re even.”

"let them burn," he growled, and then his hands were under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly against him. your legs locked around his hips on instinct, heels knocking against his perfectly tailored slacks as he carried you backward toward the kitchen. the counter dug into your lower back when he set you down, but you barely noticed—not when he was shoving the apron up your thighs, his palms rough against your bare skin.

your breath hitched as nanami’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with a slow, deliberate tug. the cool air of the kitchen kissed your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze—dark and intent, like he was mapping every inch of you.

"kento," you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair as he dropped to his knees between your legs. his palms smoothed up your calves, then higher, thumbs pressing into the softness of your inner thighs to spread you wider.

"you taste so sweet," he murmured, voice rough as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your damp skin. the first lick was slow, deliberate—a teasing drag of his tongue that had your hips jerking forward. nanami chuckled, the sound vibrating against you, and his grip tightened to keep you still.

"impatient," he chided, but there was no real scold in it, just that low, honeyed warmth that always coiled low in your belly.

his mouth was relentless after that, alternating between broad, languid strokes and sharp, focused flicks that had your toes curling against the tile. every sound you made—every gasp, every whimper—only spurred him on, his fingers digging bruises into your skin as he dragged you closer to the edge.

"love you like this," he rasped between kisses, lips glistening. "love you messy, love you unwashed—fuck, you’re perfect."

the oven beeped again, a distant, forgotten noise as you arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair. nanami groaned against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine.

"that’s it, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his tongue over you in a way that made your vision blur. "come for me.

your thighs trembled around nanami’s shoulders as his tongue pressed deeper, relentless in its rhythm—every flick and curl deliberate, every breath he exhaled against your skin sending shivers up your spine. the countertop was cold beneath your palms, but you barely registered it, too focused on the heat of his mouth, the way his thumbs dug into your hips to keep you from squirming away.

"kento," you gasped, voice breaking as his teeth grazed your inner thigh, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips just moments before.

"say it again," he demanded, voice rough, and when you moaned his name louder, he rewarded you with a slow, torturous lick that had your back arching off the counter. the apron tangled between your legs, bunched up in his fists as he dragged you closer, until you could feel the scratch of his stubble against your skin.

"god, you’re sweet," he muttered, lips moving against you as he spoke. "could eat you for hours."

you clutched at his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you as his grip tightened. "close?" he asked, voice thick, and when you nodded frantically, he hummed in satisfaction, lips curling into a smirk against your skin.

then his fingers joined his mouth, pressing inside with the same slow, deliberate precision, and you shattered, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your hips jerked against his face. nanami didn’t let up, drinking you in as you came, his free hand sliding up to press against your stomach, pinning you to the counter as you trembled.

"good girl," he murmured, finally pulling back to press a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your oversensitive skin. "so good for me."

you slumped forward, barely catching yourself on his shoulders as your legs threatened to give out. nanami stood in one smooth motion, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. his mouth found yours, deep and possessive, and you could taste yourself on his tongue—sweet and faintly salty, mingling with the vanilla still clinging to your skin.

"missed you," he admitted against your lips, voice quieter now, almost tender.

the kiss broke with a soft, wet sound, and nanami pressed his forehead to yours, his breath still warm against your lips. the kitchen smelled like burnt sugar now—somewhere between the oven’s forgotten cookies and the heat still radiating off both of you. you laughed, breathless, and he smiled, just a little quirk of his lips, before pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“you’re ridiculous,” you murmured, fingers combing through his hair where you’d missed it moments earlier. his tie was completely undone now, hanging loose around his neck, and his shirt was wrinkled beyond repair. nanami didn’t seem to care, his hands still firm on your thighs as he held you against him.

he talked about some hose clamp and how it loosened, but honestly, you were way too focused staring at his biceps to comprehend what he’d just said.

as he tightened the clamp, he uttered a silent “fuck,” his knuckles splashed with coolant and the warm breeze upon his bare chest made him slightly shiver. ‘this,’ you thought, ‘is the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.’

“what can i help with?” you asked him, purely out of courtesy. kento breathed heavily as he leaned into the car, his arms tightening along. at the beginning you’d wondered if it was that necessary for him to take his shirt off, now thinking again, it certainly was needed. it was a necessity. your eyes lingered on his arms.

“nothing really— it’s almost over anyway.” he muttered under his breath, his muscles still flexing along his every move. “that must’ve scared you.” he added.

“yeah, honestly, once i saw that steam i almost thought the car was gonna blow up.”

he laughed with a strained voice, and you thought how the dry summer air must’ve been making it unbearable, let alone the heated breeze fluttering through the garage here and there.

“thank you, really, you didn’t have to do this.” you kind of felt guilty about how he was wasting his whole weekend morning on fixing your car, but then again, it was him who’d rushed out of his house once he’d heard you scream. with his mug full of coffee on his hand. and his surprisingly cute slippers.

well, you’ve always known that he had a rather unique approach on fashion.

“don’t mention it. i had nothing better to do anyway.” he smiled up at you, his cheeks reddened with a slight flush. his hair was messy in a way that made your heart throb.

“hmm.” you tilted your head to watch him as the leak stopped dripping and he slowly rose up, the warm breeze rippled through the branches across the garage and summer sun stretched across his flushed skin with a soft glow.

he was finished. probably.

“really, thank you so much nanami-“ you tried but he cut you off.

“kento. please.” the words tumbled out as he ruffled his hair with a nervous urgency. although you’d been familiar with each other through years of silent good mornings and shy attempts at conversation, you’d never crossed that invisible distance before. you smiled warmly upon his words.

‘fuck, just go for it,’ you cheered for yourself. there was no way you were letting that shirtless man leave.

“thank you so much kento. genuinely-“ you bit your lip, “actually, i was just about to get my morning coffee. there’s a really nice place i know nearby. how about,” you fidgeted with your hands. “a thank you coffee? my treat.”

you breathed out the last words with such haste that even you couldn’t comprehend what you’d said for a few seconds.

“well, that’s a bit generous for just fixing your car, isn’t it?” he laughed gently.

“a coffee?”

“you.” oh.

with heat creeping into your skin, you giggled, avoiding his gaze. “no, i think i’d say it’s exactly what you’ve earned.”