Nanami Kento was the most respectable man you knew, the way he presented himself to the way he spoke he was so refined, so mature for a man in his late twenties.

He reminded you of red wine with an odd elegance to him, even in battle fighting against the cursed spirts and users he moved so perfectly. The man had a way about him, and it intrigued you, a part of you yearned to know more about him, to see the way he thought, another part of you desperately wanted him.

Recently Nanami had been in a fight, in which the cursed spirit he was fighting against had been wrongfully labelled being told it was simply a second grade, not a special grade. He was able to exorcise it nonetheless, however it did manage a blow that shattered his wrist, meaning he was unable to do missions for a while.

Satoru had instructed you to take care of Nanami as he recovered, to help him do the things he couldn’t and to protect him just in case, Nanami did think that was just unnecessary but Satoru persistency was not something he wanted to argue with.

You were sat comfortably on a sofa, waiting for Nanami to get ready, Satoru had called you saying he wanted to check up on Nanami, see how he was feeling and whatnot.

As you sat fumbling with your thumbs still patiently waiting for him, you heard Nanami grumble some incoherent words, before groaning. The sound of his sleek shoes clicked through the halls until he entered the room you were in, his shirt was unbuttoned and his tie loose around his neck, his blonde hair was unkept and his cheeks were flushed with a pink blush.

He stood lingering in the doorway, his lips parting as if he were about to say something but choosing not to, instead indicating to his bandaged right hand, then to his tie, as if a plea for assistance.