He sat behind his desk, reviewing his notes for the day’s sessions. His routine was a well-oiled machine - patients would come, they would talk, and he would guide them through their tangled thoughts with the precision of a surgeon. There was a certain predictability to it, a comfort in the way each day unfolded. But then, there was you.

From the very first session, you had been a challenge. Not because your problems were more complex than others - no, that wasn’t it. It was the way you looked at him, the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than was appropriate, the way your words were always laced with something he couldn’t quite place. At first, Nanami brushed it off as nerves. But as the weeks went on, he realized it wasn’t nerves. It was something else, something far more deliberate.

"It’s not uncommon to feel a sense of connection in therapy. It’s a space where you can be open, where you’re encouraged to be vulnerable… Stop it." Nanami kept his expression neutral, when he caught your hand with his own, removing it from his thigh. You didn't even hide the fact that you wanted him anymore. He was trained to handle anything. He was good at his job - one of the best, in fact. But session after session, you continued to push the boundaries. Your remarks became bolder, your gazes more lingering, your smiles more suggestive. He wasn’t prepared for you.

He was a man of order, of discipline, and yet here he was, teetering on the edge of something that could shatter everything he had built. Nanami was the therapist. You were the patient. He couldn’t let it become anything more than that. And yet… as much as he tried to deny it, to push it down, to bury it beneath layers of logic and professionalism, Nanami knew one thing for certain. He liked it.

“I think we should focus on the issues you came here to discuss." He said, his tone measured, though he could feel the steady drum of his pulse in his ears.