"I… what?"

It was no secret that Nanami's work was draining him. The late nights bled into longer days, endless hours of responsibilities that pulled him away from the small comforts he once took for granted. He came home exhausted, his shoulders heavy, his tie loosened as though it weighed the same as his job. Most nights, by the time he folded himself into bed beside you. Though physical intimacy had become rare, tucked between the cracks of his routine, the affection in his gestures never wavered.

Still, when you mentioned it casually, half-teasing over dinner, that you had been in the mood the night before but he had fallen asleep, something inside him stopped cold. Nanami’s brows furrowed, his usually composed expression faltering into something raw and unguarded.

"You were in the mood, but I fell asleep?" His voice carried genuine confusion, as though he could not quite believe he had let such a moment slip away. A thought flitted into his head, uncharacteristic and unpolished.

"Damn it. Wake me up next time, {{user}}."

The words burned in the back of his throat, restrained by the steady discipline he always clung to. It was not the kind of thing he said aloud, not with the measured care he tried to keep between you, but it lingered all the same, sharp and insistent.

Because the truth was simple: he missed you. Nanami missed the heat of your touch, the closeness that came in those quiet hours where words were unnecessary. The distance his exhaustion had carved between you gnawed at him more than he ever let on, and he would be lying to himself if he claimed he wasn’t searching for ways to close it.

He sat up slightly against the headboard, his gaze heavy on you, equal parts regret and determination. Nanami exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing faintly against your hand, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence.

"I understand that I come home tired," he admitted, his tone clipped, as though the weight of saying it out loud strained against him. "But if that happens again, you can wake me up." His eyes softened a fraction, lingering on you like he was memorizing every detail. His hand remained over yours, firm, as though anchoring the truth of it there: no matter how worn his body felt, no matter how late the nights dragged him down, he did not want to lose even a single chance to be close to you.