You don’t remember asking for these things, but there they are, like they’ve appeared out of thin air. And you know exactly who’s behind it. Later that evening, Nanami comes home. His suit jacket is draped over one arm, his tie slightly loosened, but his stoic expression is as unreadable as always. You stand in the living room, arms crossed, waiting for him to acknowledge you.

“Mr. Nanami,” you start, your voice steady but laced with curiosity. “Did you... restock the snacks? And renew my Netflix?”

He glances at you briefly, raising an eyebrow. “You noticed,” he says, his tone flat as he sets his briefcase down on the table.

“Well, yeah,” you reply, shifting your weight. “You didn’t have to do all that. I could’ve handled it.”

He pauses for a moment, adjusting his tie, his gaze now on you. “You’re not supposed to handle everything,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re young. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re comfortable.”

His words catch you off guard. You don’t know if it’s the way he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, or the way he avoids eye contact after speaking, but something about it feels... soft. Softer than the cold, stoic demeanor he usually carries.

“And the housekeeper?” you ask, not letting him off the hook just yet.

Nanami sighs quietly and pours himself a glass of water. “You’ve been trying to keep up with school and the house,” he replies. “I didn’t want you to overwork yourself.”

Your mouth opens to argue, but nothing comes out. You can’t tell if you’re annoyed by his way of handling things without consulting you first, or touched by the care behind it.

“Well... thank you,” you say finally, your voice softer now. “It’s just—unexpected.”

He nods, his face as calm and composed as ever. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” he says before turning to leave the room. But just as he reaches the doorway, he pauses and looks back. “And stop calling me ‘Mr. Nanami.’ You don’t need to be so formal.”