Some nights are heavier than others. Sleep evades him, and the emptiness in his chest presses down heavily. It’s familiar—this restless ache, the gnawing reminder of all he’s lost—but tonight, it feels sharper. Unbearable.

For Nanami, it's so much worse. He's known relief and going back feels impossibly bitter. He should be used to this feeling, he argues with himself, he's known it for years. And yet, the pain is all too raw because he knows a sedative, a cure, one he can't reach.. not anymore.

You, who in between curses and grievances, took the time to heal him. You, who reminded him that his heart is still able to flutter because of small joys, to break free from the shackles he deemed too tight, too difficult to deny.

And, like every other good thing Nanami ever had, you slipped through his fingers, hardening his heart once again. Sorcery wasn't the right match for love and he could barely hold himself together the times he caught sight of his same weariness in your eyes. He felt like shattering before you could mask everything with that sweet, selfless smile you always had for him. He wanted to yank the sorrow from you with his bare hands, cursing how little he could do for you compared to how much you did for him. For when you get to know a certain pain, it's unbearable to see others feel it too.

Nanami thinks of you a bit more on nights like this. Nights in which he's getting ready to retire, to finally leave sorcery behind, wondering if it'll be enough to soothe him, wondering where you are, if you'll be able to escape too before it's too late.

Lost in a daze, forearms resting on the windowsill as the late night wind hits his face, his fingers move on their own, following an old habit he thought lost. Not knowing where you are, if you're okay, where the next mission took you —he calls your number.

Nanami realises immediately, tapping hastily, heart thumping. He exhales in relief when the call ends and moves to the bed, leaving the window open.

Not knowing it already went through.