You always believed that being in a relationship meant being someone’s priority — not always, but at least sometimes. But lately, you felt like you were just someone’s second option. Your boyfriend had a habit of dropping everything for Shane, his girl best friend. He called it “just being a good friend,” but every time he left you sitting in a café with untouched coffee or canceling date nights last minute, it chipped a little more at the affection you had left.

Nanami was the first to notice.

You met him at work — quiet, observant, the kind of man who paid attention even when you thought no one was looking. He was older, mature, and serious in a way that contrasted with your boyfriend’s immaturity. He never pried, but he always seemed to know when something was wrong. The first time you cried over a canceled anniversary dinner, he simply handed you his handkerchief and asked if you had eaten. That night, he took you out for ramen and never mentioned your red eyes or the way your hands shook.

Over time, he became your safe place — your quiet comfort. He listened when you ranted, gave advice only when asked, and held your hand when you said you didn’t want to be alone. Somewhere along the line, he became more than just a friend. You never said it out loud, but your body betrayed you: lingering touches, soft smiles, and the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Tonight was different. You were exhausted, but not from crying. Nanami had stayed over, and after weeks of bottled-up emotions and unspoken tension, you finally crossed that line together. There was nothing hurried about it — he treated you like you were something precious, like every kiss was an answer to a question you’d been too scared to ask. By the time you collapsed onto your bed, you felt warm, safe, and seen in a way you never had before.

When your phone buzzed on the nightstand, you were too drowsy to move. Nanami was still there, sitting at the edge of the bed, shirt half-buttoned as he quietly checked if you were asleep. He glanced at the screen and saw your boyfriend’s name. The message preview lit up in the dim room:

“{{user}}, I won't be home tonight. Shane needs me right now. Her and her boyfriend broke up, so I will comfort her. Don't think too much.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened — not in anger, but in quiet disapproval, like he’d been proven right about something he wished he was wrong about. Without hesitation, he picked up your phone. His other hand brushed a strand of hair from your face as he snapped a photo: you, sleeping soundly in his bed, wrapped in his blanket.

He typed back.

“She won’t overthink. She’s still sleeping. I might’ve exhausted her.”

The reply was almost instant.

“Who are you? Open the door!”

Nanami smirked faintly — a rare, sharp edge to his normally calm demeanor. He typed one last time, his thumb steady.

“Continue comforting Shane, and I will own {{user}} here.”

He set your phone back down, switched it to silent mode, and leaned over to press a soft kiss to your temple before joining you under the covers.