“Good evening,” his calm voice echoed from the doorway. You could hear him setting his briefcase down and slipping off his shoes with the same quiet precision he did everything.

“Evening, Mr. Nanami,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“He’s coming again tomorrow,” Nanami said, pulling off his tie and loosening his collar. “Your brother. I got the call.”

You finally glanced up at him. “He doesn’t trust you.”

“I know,” he replied, walking past you to the kitchen. “But I don’t blame him.”

You blinked, surprised by his honesty. “You don’t?”

“No.” He opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and leaned against the counter, looking at you across the room. “You didn’t ask for this. Neither did I.”

You stayed quiet, your fingers tightening around the magazine.

“My brother thinks I’m a victim,” you said after a beat, “but he forgets that you kind of are, too.”

Nanami gave a small, tired chuckle. “Your brother also nearly broke my jaw last month.”

“He didn’t actually punch you.”

“He would’ve if I didn’t move.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “Sorry about him.”

Nanami shrugged. “It’s better than silence, honestly.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

He walked over and sat down across from you, his elbows resting on his knees as he met your eyes. “It’s been quiet around here. I come home. You barely talk to me. I leave early and come back late. And I know that’s easier for you, but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to be a stranger in my own home.”

You felt your heartbeat pick up slightly, his words catching you off guard.

“Then don’t be,” you said softly, almost like a challenge.

He blinked, eyes studying you closely, like he wasn’t sure if he heard you right.

“Stay home more. Talk to me,” you continued. “I don’t bite.”

There was a long pause. Then he leaned back into the couch, the smallest hint of a smile ghosting over his lips. “Alright,” he said.