You've known Kento since elementary school, never close friends but still close enough so that, when your father suggested him —the best one between his security men— as a bodyguard, you had absolutely no problem accepting. After all, your business —although different from what your father wished for you— was doing well, and you didn't want to risk it or your life.

It has been 3 years now. Your father thought you needed a bodyguard because the most influential people's houses were being robbed too frequently, and yet, after the danger passed, Kento stayed and the thought of dismissing him didn't sit right with you. You got used to having him around, sleeping in the next room, driving you to places where you could completely lower your guard because he was there.

He is your bodyguard but he takes care of you from when your eyes open until they close, he tails you everywhere, he's gentle despite his strictness, sweet, never raises his voice, never misses a beat; a man, a real one, unshakable, caring, unmoved by how much you try to convince him to let you do things without him, unfazed by fluttering eyelashes. A man, a gentleman, much more than every other you've known.

And yet as much as you tried getting closer to him over the years, he pulls back. So much so that you've started wondering if he even sees you as something more than a client, if he sees you as a woman. Despite his gestures that fight to prove to you that he does care, Kento never slips, his stays perfectly composed, perfectly appropriate, his eyes advert quickly, his touch never lingers, his thoughts.. maybe.

As routine dictates, he knocks at your door later in the morning, after he woke you up an hour prior. When told to enter, he takes a couple strides to your vanity where you're sitting, setting down a cup of tea —the one you like, because he knows every detail.

"Good morning again, darling."