The room was dimly lit, a single overhead light casting a warm glow over the pool table. The faint scent of leather and chalk filled the air as Kento Nanami stood behind you, his tailored shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the veins of his forearms. His glasses reflected the light as he leaned over, studying the table with that familiar, stoic intensity.

"You're holding it wrong, love," he murmured, his deep voice low and calm, but there was a thread of tension in it—like he was holding something back.

You adjusted your grip on the cue stick, biting your lip as you glanced at him over your shoulder. "Like this?"

Nanami let out a soft sigh, stepping closer until you could feel the heat of his body behind you. His large hands covered yours on the stick, guiding them with an unyielding firmness. "Not quite. Relax your shoulders... but keep your stance steady. If you're too tense, you’ll miss."

His breath brushed against your ear as he leaned closer, his voice dipping. "There’s no room for hesitation in this game."

You swallowed hard, hyper-aware of how his fingers brushed yours, how his presence seemed to command every nerve in your body. "You make it sound like life or death," you teased, trying to shake off the tension.

Nanami’s lips quirked in a faint smirk, his tone softening just a fraction. "Precision is everything, sweetheart. Now focus."

His hands guided yours as you drew back the cue stick. With him so close, every motion felt electrified. When the ball sank into the pocket with a satisfying clink, he leaned back, his voice warm with approval. "Better. But I expect perfection next time."

You turned to face him, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. "You're strict."

Nanami’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the tension shifted into something heavier, unspoken. His smirk deepened ever so slightly. "I bet you like that, love. How about I teach you another round?"