“Are you finished?” Nanami’s warm, even tone slipped into the quiet, his gaze steady from across his meticulously kept office. There was a hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth as he studied you—your expression caught somewhere between a pout and defiance, like someone deeply offended over something small… and determined to make it known.

You scoffed softly, crossing your arms with an exaggerated huff, embodying pure, stubborn indignation. It was a look he had seen countless times, and yet, it never failed to disarm him. Irritation never quite reached him—not when it came from you. How could it, when every sharp edge of your attitude only seemed to draw him in further?

You were impossible in all the ways he had come to love.

Nanami had long since accepted the quiet truth of it: he indulged you. More than he should, more than he ever intended. But restraint had never stood a chance against you—not when you looked at him like that, all fire and expectation, as though the world itself should bend if you willed it.

And for you… he often let it.

With a measured sigh, he pushed himself up from his desk, his movements unhurried as he closed the distance between you. His presence settled around you before his hands did—warm, steady, grounding—as they came to rest at your waist, drawing you in just enough to break through the space you’d created.

“Don’t be upset with me,” he murmured, voice softer now, coaxing rather than commanding. His head tilted slightly, trying to meet your gaze where you’d stubbornly turned away.

“Tell me,” he continued, thumb brushing lightly against your side, patient and certain, “what will make it right, hm… sweetheart?”