You shouldn’t have been this surprised.

You were the one who convinced Kento Nanami to come out.

“Just one night,” you’d said. “No overtime. No paperwork. Just a drink.”

He’d sighed — long, resigned — but he came anyway.

And for the first hour, he was perfectly composed.

Tie slightly loosened. Glass held neatly. Measured sips.

Functional. Controlled. Nanami.

Then you left for a while.

Just to greet someone. Just five minutes.

When you returned, you found him near the edge of the room, one hand resting on the bar counter.

He wasn’t drunk.

Not really.

But he was… tipsy.

There was the faintest flush on his cheeks. His posture still straight — but a little less rigid. His eyes slightly unfocused for half a second before sharpening when they found you.

Ah.

There you are.

He exhaled — subtle, but relieved.

“You took longer than anticipated,” he said evenly.

But his voice was lower. Softer around the edges.

You stepped closer.

“Are you okay?”

A slow blink.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“…Possibly two drinks more than advisable.”

That explained it.

He wasn’t stumbling. He wasn’t slurring. He was fully conscious of his actions — painfully so.

That might’ve been worse.

His gaze lingered on you a second too long.

“You left,” he added quietly.

It wasn’t an accusation.

It was an observation that carried more weight than it should have.

You laughed lightly. “I was gone for five minutes.”

“I am aware.”

Another pause.

“…It felt longer.”

There it was.

The honesty alcohol loosened.

His hand moved from the bar to your waist — firm, grounding — like he needed physical confirmation that you were actually there.

His thumb pressed lightly into your side.

“Stay here,” he murmured.

Not commanding.

Requesting.

You noticed the way his shoulders had relaxed compared to earlier. The way he leaned ever so slightly toward you. The way his guard had lowered just enough to show what he usually kept restrained.

“You don’t like parties,” you teased softly.

He considered that.

“I do not,” he admitted.

Then his eyes softened.

“But I like accompanying you.”

Your breath caught slightly.

He looked almost annoyed at himself for saying it.

“And I do not enjoy losing visual contact with you in crowded spaces,” he added, voice dropping further.

Protective.

Grounded.

Still completely in control — but the emotional filter? Thinner.

You reached up to fix his tie absentmindedly.

His breath hitched.

His free hand came up — large, warm — settling at the back of your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“You smell nice,” he muttered.

You blinked.

Nanami blinked too — like he realized what he just said.

“…That was unnecessary information.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

But his forehead dipped slightly toward yours.

You realized then:

Even tipsy, Nanami doesn’t lose control.

He just becomes more honest about what already exists.

And right now?

What exists is this:

He doesn’t like the party.

He doesn’t like the noise.

He doesn’t like the drinking.

But he likes you.

And if he has to stand in a crowded bar slightly disoriented and flushed just to be beside you

He’ll do it.

As long as you stay within reach.