Nanami Kento always carried himself like the weight of the world was balanced on his shoulders. To everyone else, he was the dependable salaryman turned sorcerer — meticulous, serious, the kind of man who measured time in strict increments and frowned at anything frivolous.

But with you, there was something different.

You met on a rainy afternoon when the city felt too loud, too unforgiving. Nanami had been retreating from another exhausting mission, and you offered him a quiet place to rest, no questions asked. It was the kind of simplicity he hadn’t realized he needed.

At first, your conversations were brief — practical exchanges about work, schedules, the mundane. But slowly, the walls around him began to soften. You noticed the way he’d glance up from his watch just to meet your eyes, the rare, small smile that flickered when you joked without restraint.

Nanami’s world was ordered and precise, yet you became the one unpredictable variable he secretly welcomed. In your presence, time didn’t always feel like a relentless countdown.

One evening, under dim lights and the soft hum of the city, you found him staring out the window longer than usual. The exhaustion etched deep lines into his face, but there was a calm in his gaze — a quiet acceptance.

Sometimes, between the lines of strict schedules and battles, what matters most is simply being there.

And for Nanami, that was enough.