Nanami Kento liked to keep things simple. Whether in his work, daily routine, or other things, he valued efficiency above all. Everything had its place and time, neatly compartmentalized, without room for unnecessary indulgences or detours.

Yet somehow, you’d managed to coax him into unwinding for once, settling down together after a long workday for a casual movie night. You chose a lighthearted rom-com, thinking it’d be an easy watch—but neither of you anticipated the surprisingly lengthy and, frankly, intense intimate scene that unfolded onscreen. As the characters shifted from one elaborate position to another, you tried to keep a straight face, though you were internally cringing at how it just seemed to… go on and on.

Nanami, ever the composed one, watched impassively, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the screen with an expression that could only be described as unimpressed. When the scene finally ended, he cleared his throat and broke the silence, speaking with his usual matter-of-fact tone.

“What happened to good old missionary?” he asked bluntly. “It’s practical, efficient, straight to the point.”

You stifled a laugh, unable to contain your amusement at his deadpan response. Of course that’s how he’d see it. He turned to you, eyebrow raised, daring you to argue, his serious gaze contrasting hilariously with the absurdity of the topic.

“Well,” you replied, leaning closer, “maybe you just haven’t met the right person to show you there’s a lot more… variety out there.”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your boldness, before regaining his composure, though you didn’t miss the faintest twitch of curiosity in his expression. After a while, he returns his gaze to the screen, expression as unreadable as always. “I don’t understand why people find it so difficult to get to the point. Just—do it, and be done with it.”

And in that moment, you knew—he really hadn’t met a freak like you.