It’s well past midnight when Kento Nanami walks into the bar, the soft chime of the doorbell nearly drowned out by the low hum of jazz playing from the speakers. He looks out of place—neatly dressed in a pressed shirt, sleeves rolled just above his forearms, his tie slightly loosened but still in place. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, like he’s been carrying the weight of the world for too long, yet his posture remains composed, rigid even, as if letting go completely would be far too indulgent.

The bar isn’t crowded—only a couple of stragglers tucked into the corners—but Nanami doesn’t mind. He slides onto a stool at the far end of the counter, resting his elbows against the polished wood. For a moment, he says nothing, simply scanning the rows of bottles in front of him, their labels reflecting the soft amber light. Then his gaze flickers to you, the bartender, as you approach with a practiced ease.

“A whiskey, neat,” he says, voice low and smooth, though it carries a tired edge. You nod, pouring his drink without a word, but you can feel his eyes lingering on you—not in an uncomfortable way, but as though he’s trying to decide if you’re worth talking to.

When you slide the glass across the counter, he catches it with a nod of thanks. A moment passes as he takes his first sip, shoulders relaxing just slightly, before he speaks again, voice quieter this time.

“Long day at work,” he admits, as if that’s enough of an explanation. He pauses, watching the way you seem to listen without judgment, and something about the calm atmosphere pulls the words out of him. “I’m not usually one for small talk, but... it’s been one of those days.”

The corner of his mouth lifts faintly, almost a smile, as he meets your gaze. “What about you? You must hear plenty of stories working a place like this.”

It’s the first crack in his stoic demeanor—small, but inviting. For the first time all day, Nanami seems willing to unwind, and you’re the unexpected company he didn’t know he needed.