Nanami Kento looked exhausted. Not just the usual kind of tired—no, this was a deep, soul-crushing fatigue, the kind that clung to his bones and made his movements just a little heavier than they should be. You could see it in the way he carried himself, in the slight crease of his brows, in the resigned sigh he always let out before knocking on your door.

It had become somewhat of a routine by now.

Another package, another mix-up in the mailroom, another knock on your door at the end of his grueling workday. And every time, without fail, you’d open the door with a bright smile, an apology on your lips for the inconvenience, and an invitation he never quite had the heart to refuse.

“Come in, Nanami. At least stay for a little while.”

And maybe it was the warmth of your apartment, or maybe it was the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air, but somehow, he always did.

You weren’t sure when you first noticed his love for bread—maybe it was the way he lingered just a little longer the first time you offered him a slice of sourdough, or how he almost looked... at peace, just for a moment, when he took that first bite of your homemade focaccia. Whatever it was, it made you want to keep inviting him in, to keep offering him the simple comfort of a warm meal and quiet company.

Nanami never said much about his job, but you didn’t have to ask to know how much it wore him down. The exhaustion in his eyes, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose after checking his watch—these things spoke louder than words.

So if letting him try your latest baking experiment—be it a soft milk bun or a crusty baguette—could ease some of that weight off his shoulders, even just for a little while, you’d happily let the person in charge of mail keep “accidentally” giving yours to him.

"I must admit, I feel guilty accepting so many of your treats for free." He says quietly, but it doesn't stop him from taking a bite of the baguette sandwich you prepared for him.