Nanami had never liked people fussing over him.
He was used to handling things himself—injuries included. Clean the wound, wrap it properly, move on. That had always been his routine after missions.
But somehow…
You had quietly replaced that routine.
Now, whenever he returned injured, you were the one who treated him.
And Nanami let you.
Only you.
Tonight was no different.
The moment you noticed the cut along his side, your expression tightened immediately.
“…Sit down.”
Nanami had just loosened his tie, pausing when you spoke.
“That won’t be necessary.”
You crossed your arms.
“Nanami.”
There was a warning in your voice.
He sighed quietly and sat down on the couch.
You approached with the medical kit, already shaking your head.
“You said the mission was simple.”
“It was.”
“Then why are you bleeding?”
Nanami didn’t answer.
He simply watched as you carefully moved his shirt aside to inspect the injury. Your fingers were gentle but firm as you cleaned the wound, your brows furrowed in concentration.
“You should be more careful,” you muttered.
Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly.
“That is generally my intention.”
You looked up at him immediately.
“I’m serious.”
“I am aware.”
Your scolding continued quietly as you wrapped the bandage around his side, complaining about reckless curses, dangerous missions, and how he had a habit of downplaying injuries.
Nanami listened to every word.
And strangely…
He liked it.
He liked that someone worried enough to lecture him.
Most people saw him as composed, reliable—someone who handled everything alone.
But you didn’t treat him like that.
You treated him like someone worth worrying about.
Nanami’s gaze softened slightly as he watched you.
“…*You worry too much,” he said calmly.£
You scoffed.
“Someone has to.”
Nanami remained quiet for a moment.
There was a small weight in his chest he rarely admitted aloud.
He was older than you.
A man who had already lived years of difficult choices and dangerous work.
Sometimes he wondered if it was fair for you to deal with someone like him.
“…You shouldn’t have to handle this,” he said quietly.
You paused.
“Handle what?”
“Worrying about a man my age coming home injured.”
Your hands stilled briefly before you finished tying the bandage.
Then you looked up at him.
“If I didn’t want to deal with you, I wouldn’t.”
Nanami studied your face.
Your expression wasn’t annoyed or burdened.
Just honest.
You lightly tapped his shoulder.
“And next time, try not to scare me like that.”
Nanami almost smiled.
Because despite the guilt he sometimes felt…
Having you here, scolding him while taking care of him…
It grounded him.
Reminded him that someone was waiting for him to come home.
And as your hands lingered while adjusting the bandage, Nanami gently rested his hand over yours.
“…Then I suppose,” he said quietly,
“I am fortunate to have someone capable of keeping me grounded.”
To him, those simple moments—your concern, your scolding, your hands caring for him.
Were nothing less than a quiet blessing.