Kento Nanami visits your massage parlor a lot.

He never talks about whatever it is that makes his body so wound up and stressed, but you have to assume that it’s something to do with whatever it is he does for a living.

Either way, you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s very good for business — he always leaves extremely generous tips and he’s significantly more respectful than most other customers you have to deal with on a daily basis.

“Hello again,” Nanami mutters, his greeting warm but his expression exhausted as he lays himself face down across the table, the bottom half of his body covered by one of your large fluffy towels. “The usual, please.”