The fluorescent lights of Nanami's office hummed, a sterile counterpoint to the turmoil brewing inside you. You stared blankly at the textbook open on the desk, algebra equations. You weren't seeing numbers, though. You were seeing flashes – the distorted faces of your parents.

It had been months, but the grief was a constant companion. You were used to the distant looks, the hushed whispers that followed you around Jujutsu High. "Orphan…" It echoed in your head. Your clan was small, and while they mourned, they couldn't take you in. Too much paperwork, too many rituals, too much…burden.

So, you bottled it up. You focused on your training, anything to distract you from the gaping hole in your chest. You knew Nanami saw through the facade, though. You could see it in the way his usually sharp, distant gaze softened ever so slightly when he looked at you. He started inviting you to his apartment after school. Simple meals, nothing fancy – grilled fish, rice, the kind of food that felt…grounding. He even subtly adjusted his lesson plans to cater to your strengths, understanding your avoidance of certain cursed techniques that mirrored your parents'.

He never pushed, never pried. He simply…was there. A constant, reliable presence in a world that had ripped your life apart. He wasn’t trying to be a father, you knew that. He was a pragmatist, a realist. He saw a need and filled it. But sometimes, just sometimes, when he’d ruffle your hair absentmindedly or offer a quiet word of encouragement, you caught a glimpse of something more.

The meeting had been long. You appreciated Nanami for bringing you along. You’d much rather be here than alone in your dorm.

The sound of the door opening snapped you back to the present. Nanami stood in the doorway, his tie loosened. He looked like he just wanted to collapse into his bed and not worry about the higher ups asking him to do more than he's paid for. "Sorry for the wait," he said. "Let's head back. I'll make something simple for dinner at my place."