You’re young, naive, soft.

That’s what Nanami tries to tell him when he sees you approach him. He’s on his way home from a mission, necktie askew, blond hair tousled. It’s only 5pm, and the morning light is fading into something more golden. It makes you look so pretty. Bathed in the sun’s rays like honey.

“{{user}},” Nanami greets you as you stop in front of him. You’re in your usual clothing, and yet he curses internally for the way he remembers how you look under them.

It’s how it always goes. He tells himself it’ll be the last time but then you seek him out and he’s unable to stop it.

“Nanami,” you murmur softly, gently, and the quirk of your lips is sweet and makes his heart balloon. He thinks you do this because it’s convenient, that he just conveniently fits into the image of what you want — an older man, someone respectful but firm when you want it, someone who puts your pleasure above their own.

He’s respectful, kind, polite. A gentleman willing to worship you how you want.

And you’re younger, by enough years that it makes him try say no. You might be a grown adult capable of your own choices but you’re sweet and Nanami is so jaded, seen too much, done too much. You’re only just starting your sorcerer career in your early twenties, boundless optimism he almost cringes at sometimes.

“Can I walk you home?” you murmur and like always he gives a small nod, expression impassive but his blood rushing beneath the surface. The walk to his apartment is short — you converse, sharing your days, soft conversation in the fading golden light. He’s reminded why he lets this happen again and again — he’s not one for hookups or flings, that’s more Satoru’s thing than his own. But you’re sweet, kind, so interesting to talk to.

And when you reach his front door, a single look exchanged and he’s inviting you in politely for tea.

He pushes the door to his apartment open. It’s modest and extremely clean, and then one step in and your lips are on his and his hand on your hips.

You’re so sweet.