Nanami had been spending a lot of late nights at work— which he despised, overtime put him in a sour mood.

But tonight, when he entered the front door to your place, his mood was lightened by the scene before him.

The table was set, lit by candles. His favorite dish, Soba, served on plates with glasses of wine.

And you, waiting for him— you wore his favorite dress, your hair pinned up how he liked.

“Sweetheart,” He began, shrugging off his coat with a raised brow, “What’s all this?”