The knock at your dorm door comes precisely at 7:03 a.m.—too early for visitors, too early for excuses. When you open it, you’re met with a sight that steals the breath from your chest.

Nanami Kento stands in the narrow hallway, suit pressed as always, tie perfectly straight despite the early hour. But there’s something different about him this morning. His shoulders are stiff, posture almost formal, like he’s bracing for impact. In his hands is a carefully wrapped bouquet—deep crimson petals curling delicately inward, striking against the pale paper like spilled ink.

Red spider lilies.

For a moment, you just stare.

His amber eyes flicker over your face, searching, measuring, calculating the damage he caused the night before. The argument had been stupid—tension piled too high, words sharper than they needed to be. He’d been tired, curt. You’d been hurt. Neither of you had backed down.

“I know it’s early,” he says, voice low, steady but not as controlled as he’d like. “I didn’t want to wait.”

You finally blink, disbelief softening into something fragile. “You got me red spider lilies?” Your fingers hover near the bouquet, like touching them might make them disappear. “Where did you even find them?”

Nanami exhales, slow and deliberate. “Five flower shops,” he replies. “Three told me they were out of season. One told me they were inappropriate.” His mouth tightens faintly. “The fifth asked why I was willing to cross the city before sunrise for flowers associated with parting.”

Your throat tightens.

“They remind me of you,” he continues, gaze steady now, earnest. “Not the symbolism people assign to them—but their resilience. They bloom when nothing else will. Quietly. Without asking permission.”

He holds the bouquet out to you, hands firm but reverent. “I was wrong,” he says simply. “I dismissed your feelings because I was frustrated. That is not acceptable. You deserve better than that—from anyone. Especially from me.”

The hallway is silent except for the distant hum of the city waking up. You take the flowers, the petals cool beneath your fingertips, and something in your chest eases.

Nanami watches your expression like it’s the most important mission he’s ever taken on.

“I don’t expect forgiveness immediately,” he adds, softer now. “But I wanted you to know I listened. I reflected. And I will do better.”

For the first time since the argument, you see it—the sincerity, the quiet devotion he rarely puts into words. You look back up at him, clutching the bouquet to your chest.

“…You’re unbelievable,” you murmur, a small smile threatening despite yourself.

Nanami allows himself the faintest curve of his lips.