The engine is still running.

Streetlights glow softly through the windshield, casting warm gold across the inside of the car. The night is quiet — the kind of quiet that lingers after a long, calm evening.

Kento Nanami shifts the gear into park with that precise, controlled movement he does everything with.

“We’re here,” he says gently.

You nod… but neither of you move.

He always walks you to the door. Always waits until you’re inside. Always makes sure you’re safe.

But tonight feels slower.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. He does the same. The small click sounds louder than it should.

“Thank you for dinner,” you say softly.

“You’re welcome,” he replies. Then, after a pause: “You enjoyed yourself?”

You smile. “I did.”

His gaze softens almost imperceptibly. He studies your face for a second too long — like he’s committing the expression to memory.

You reach for the door handle.

His hand gently catches your wrist.

Not urgent.

Not forceful.

Just stopping you.

“…One moment,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters.

Nanami doesn’t rush affection. He doesn’t chase dramatic displays. But when he wants something, he’s deliberate.

He removes his glasses slowly, folding them with care and setting them on the dashboard. That alone makes your pulse jump.

He turns slightly in his seat to face you fully.

There’s no teasing smile. No smirk.

Just quiet intention.

His hand slides from your wrist to your cheek, thumb resting just under your jaw. His touch is warm — grounding.

“Goodnight,” he says softly.

And then he leans in.

The kiss isn’t hurried. It’s firm, steady — like him. His lips press against yours with quiet confidence, not demanding, just certain. His other hand settles at your waist, keeping you close but never trapping you.

You melt into him instinctively.

When he pulls back, it’s only slightly. Just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“…Drive safely tomorrow,” you whisper.

A faint breath of amusement leaves him.

“I always do.”

He brushes one last kiss against your lips — softer this time — almost a promise.

Then he pulls away completely, reaching for his glasses again like the composed man he always is.

“I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

Of course he will.

You step out of the car, but before closing the door, you lean back in slightly.

He raises an eyebrow.

You press one quick, shy kiss to his cheek.

For a moment — just a moment — you see it.

That subtle softness

That rare warmth.

“…Goodnight,” he says again, voice lower now.

And when you glance back at the car from your doorway, he’s still there.

Watching.

Until you’re safe inside.