You and Nanami had only recently married, still adjusting to the quiet rhythm of shared mornings and late-night conversations. You had always known he was composed — steady, mature, the kind of man who carried himself with quiet authority. Marriage hadn’t changed that. If anything, it made his calm presence feel even more grounding.

But you were different. You were bright where he was reserved, expressive where he was restrained. You laughed loudly, clung to his arm in public, buried your face in his chest when you wanted attention. Most days, he tolerated it with a soft sigh and a hand resting firmly at your waist.

Still, there were moments — subtle, fleeting — when his brow would crease ever so slightly. When your voice rose too high, when your affection became too insistent, when your energy clashed with his carefully maintained composure. He never snapped. Never raised his voice. But his quiet, measured “That’s enough” carried more weight than any shout ever could.

However, you didn't notice some of his boundaries and kept pushing until one day, he literally pushed you off "Can I get a damn break from you?" He hissed, looking down at you with that stern expression.