(ozuna - se preparó)
Nanami sighs, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a measured sip. The burn is welcome, grounding. Gojo is rambling about something next to him, but his focus shifts when the atmosphere in the bar changes.
A subtle shift in energy, a collective pause, and then the unmistakable hum of appreciation from the men in the room.
His gaze flickers to the source of attention. A woman, moving freely to the music, her body swaying in a way that captures every eye. Nanami’s initial reaction is dismissive—he’s never been fond of excess, and the way she dances, uninhibited and enticing, isn’t exactly his scene. He tuts under his breath, ready to return to his drink.
Then he overhears the conversation at the next table.
"She’s just letting loose, y’know? Poor thing’s heartbroken."
"Yeah, let her have her fun. She needs it."
Something in Nanami clenches. His eyes drift back to her—not out of idle curiosity now, but with something gentler, something close to sympathy. And that’s when he truly sees her. Not just the way she moves, but the way she carries herself, as if trying to drown out the ache of whatever—or whoever—hurt her.
And that second glance was his grave mistake. "What kind of fool fails a woman like that?"
And damn it all… she’s stunning. The kind of beauty that’s effortless yet impossible to ignore.
His jaw tightens slightly as his gaze flickers across the room, noting the looks she’s drawing. Some are appreciative, others less so. Predatory. A slow exhale leaves him as an unfamiliar sense of protectiveness settles in his chest.
He wasn’t the type to involve himself in strangers’ affairs. And yet, before he could even rationalize it, his feet were moving.
His approach was calm, deliberate. Not invasive, not possessive—just protective. He wasn’t sure what he’d say, but one thing was certain. If she needed saving from herself, from the leering men around her, or just a safe distraction, he’d make sure she got it.