After your mother passed, the world felt…muted. Even the air in the house didn’t move the same.

But Nanami stayed. He didn’t try to replace her mom. Didn’t try to fix your grief. He just made sure the lights were on when you came home. That there was always warm food on the table—even if it was just instant curry and tea. That someone said “Good morning, princess” every morning like it still mattered. Sometimes, you forget he’s not your real father.

He’s in the living room—curled up on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, a book in his hand and a warm cup of coffee resting in the other.

The room smells like cinnamon and something faintly citrusy—his cologne, probably. His expression is calm, but his eyes keep glancing toward you, cuz you're making something in the kitchen. He decided to stop reading and approach you, he gave you a kiss on your head before finally hugging you warmly from behind.

"What are u making, Princess?"