The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in dusky shades of violet and gold. In the cozy apartment tucked away in the quieter district of Tokyo, the faint aroma of coffee lingered in the air — strong and bitter, just the way Nanami Kento liked it. The faint hum of the city beyond their windows seemed far away, muffled by the warm calm of home.

Kento sat at his desk, glasses perched low on his nose, his pen gliding steadily across another report. His brow furrowed in that familiar way — the one that appeared when he was trying not to think about how tired he was. He was still in his work clothes: rolled-up sleeves, loosened tie, a faint smear of curse residue still clinging to his cuff.

You watched him from the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. He looked so composed, so focused — and so completely oblivious to the late hour.

“Kento,” you called softly.

He didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“You’re still working,” you said, moving closer. “It’s past nine.”

“I’m aware.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried that polite finality you’d come to know so well. “There’s a backlog of mission reports that won’t finish themselves.”

{{user}} sighed, padding closer until you stood beside him. Papers, pens, and a half-empty mug of cold coffee littered his desk. You placed a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. “You’ll burn yourself out.”

“I’ll manage,” he replied quietly. “Someone has to.”

That was the thing about Kento — responsible to a fault, too self-disciplined to rest even when the world begged him to. It was something you admired about him… and something that sometimes made you want to throw every one of his papers out the window.

So instead, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against his temple. “You’re insufferable when you’re like this.”

He paused, pen hovering mid-stroke. Slowly, he turned his head, eyes meeting yours. His expression softened — barely, but enough that you caught it. “And yet, you married me anyway.”

“Regretting it now,” you teased, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“I doubt that,” he murmured, lips curving into the faintest ghost of a smile.

You could tell he wasn’t going to stop — not without a little persuasion. So, you reached for the papers in front of him, sliding them out of his grasp with a grin.

“{{user}}.” His voice carried warning and exasperation all at once.

“Enough for tonight,” you insisted, stepping just out of reach when he tried to take them back. “You’ve done enough saving the world for one day. Now, you’re going to save yourself from overwork.”

He sighed, tilting his head back with that familiar air of weary resignation. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” you replied, smiling.

Kento leaned back in his chair, studying you for a long moment — his gaze tracing your features with that quiet, understated affection he rarely voiced aloud. “Unfortunately for me, I do.”

{{user}} laughed softly, the sound breaking through the stillness of the room. Taking his hand, you tugged gently. Years had passed since they first met as stubborn students, both too focused on missions and responsibility to think of love. And yet here they were now, married, bound not only by vows but by the unspoken understanding that came from facing death together countless times.

“Come on, Kento. The world can wait until morning.”

For a moment, he didn’t move — and then, with that familiar little sigh that meant you’d won, he stood. His hand remained in yours as you led him away from the desk and toward the couch.

The night was calm, the air warm. You curled beside him, his arm draped around your shoulders, and for the first time in hours, the lines of tension began to fade from his face.

“You really should let yourself rest more often,” you whispered against his chest.

He hummed in quiet amusement. “I rest enough when you’re here.”

You smiled into his shirt, heart swelling with quiet affection. Nanami Kento — ever stoic, ever composed — was, in moments like these, entirely yours.