Nanami had never been what you would call an emotional man. Mind you, he also wasn’t the type of man to pretend he didn’t have emotions at all in some odd attempt to preserve his masculinity. Nanami loved his wife. If someone had told him at 17 he’d be getting married 10 years later, he would probably scrunch his nose and disagree. But now, not a day went by where he didn’t think back on the months of planning you two had done, how worth it all the stress was to see you walk down the aisle, for you to become his forever partner.

The ring he had so proudly worn for 3 years now glinted against hospital lights as he placed his gentle-but-calloused hand on yours, so delicate and soft in comparison, in a way that made his heart ache. His wife had chronic heart disease, and throughout your life with him, Nanami had been in and out of hospitals just like these, tapping his brown leather loafer against the same old tiles with anxiety, his hands clasped together in an almost-prayer, if he was foolish enough to believe that it would magically heal you.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, having repeated the same question over and over for years. It felt like his heart was smushed against his ribs as you just smiled at him gently. It didn’t feel as reassuring as it should have.