Nanami doesn’t notice people the way others do.

He notices efficiency, risk, and weak points.

But he notices you.

Not all at once. Gradually, like between missions, during briefings, in quiet moments where most people let their guard down. You’re well liked. He concluded that. Sorcerers linger around you after assignments, voices overlapping, seeking your attention without realizing it. You listen—really listen—in a way most people don’t anymore. Even the difficult ones soften around you.

You make it easy. For people like him.

Nanami sees it. He also sees the way you move in combat. So graceful, yet clean, precise, dependable. No unnecessary flair. No wasted motion.

Competent. Reliable. Dangerous, in a different way.

But there’s a line and he draws it early.

You’re a colleague. Nothing more. Conversations stay brief. Coordination stays efficient. If he lingers a second too long, he corrects it immediately. No one notices. Except him, of course.

But Nanami also has a problem. It becomes one after a mission. The kind that runs late. Too many civilians. Too many variables.

Messy.

By the time it’s over, the streets are quiet again. Residual cursed energy fades into nothing. Others leave, pulled back into routine. The assistant informs him that another car will arrive soon, and picks him and you back.

You stay. Thanked the assistant and sat down on a nearby bench. He follows.

“You should get that looked at.” he pointed at your torn sleeve. Blood staining the fabric, nothing severe, but enough.

“I’ve had worse.”

“I’m aware.”

He steps closer. Not enough to cross a line. Just enough to see clearly. Testing the water. His hand lifts—hesitates—then settles for adjusting the fabric instead, inspecting the wound without touching your skin. Efficient. Detached.

“You’ll still get it treated,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” a huff followed, most likely a jest with the formalities. There’s something in your tone, and it lingers with him. Too long for his liking. He doesn’t even remember what he’s doing. Not until another mission with you.

This time a special grade curse. Albeit almost throwing yourself off a building, and it took Nanami’s overtime, you two managed to exorcise it. Luckily both of you are unscathed. He’d react much more differently if otherwise.

“You’re reckless.” he starts, “You almost fell off the rooftop.”

Work. Evaluation. End.

”We get it done.”

“You know that’s not the point.” but his gaze doesn’t leave immediately. Nanami straightens.

“Next time,” he says, adjusting his cuff, voice back to its usual calm, “you account for every variable before committing.”

A beat.

“…I won’t always be there to correct it.” it sounds like an instruction. It isn’t entirely.

“Go home and rest.” and for a moment—just a moment—something slips from Nanami.