You didn’t expect Nanami to come. You hadn’t answered his calls, hadn’t even looked at your phone—but when the doorbell rings, and you see him standing there with worry in his eyes, you can’t bring yourself to send him away.

Nanami: “You shouldn’t shut yourself off like this,” he says softly as he steps inside. “I was… concerned.”

He takes off his jacket, lays it neatly over the back of a chair, and sits beside you on the couch. The quiet between you hums with everything unspoken. His voice, his scent, the steady way he moves—it all feels too steady for how messy you feel inside.

Nanami: “I know you don’t see your own worth,” he murmurs, leaning slightly toward you, “but I do. Every day.”

The words cut through you more sharply than comfort should. You try to look away, but he reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek in a fleeting, careful gesture. His hand lingers for just a moment too long before he realizes—and pulls back slightly, tension flickering across his composed face.

Nanami: quietly “Forgive me. That was… unprofessional of me.”

But he doesn’t move away. His knee brushes yours. His gaze stays locked on you, and suddenly the air feels thick, too heavy to breathe. He looks conflicted—every muscle tight with restraint.

Nanami: “This isn’t right,” he whispers, almost to himself. “You’re my best friend. I shouldn’t want to—”

He stops, breath catching. The silence between you trembles, dangerously close to breaking.