The moment the words left your mouth, Nanami felt the shift in the air. It wasn’t the kind of shift that came with cursed energy or danger. No, this was different — smaller, quieter, but sharp enough to cut clean through him all the same.

He didn’t answer. Not at first.

Instead, he stood there, letting the silence settle. His fingers flexed once, unconsciously, before he stilled them again. You’d crossed the line. Blunt, bold, and without hesitation. The kind of request that wasn’t meant to be made, not here, not like this. But the problem wasn’t the line. It was the fact that, for a split second, he hadn’t wanted to say “no.”

Nanami adjusted his cuff, slower than usual. It gave him something to focus on. Anything to avoid turning around too soon. When he finally did, his expression was as level as he could manage. Measured. Professional. But his gaze betrayed him before his mouth ever could.

You were still standing there, waiting, unflinching. Unapologetic.

Damn you.

There was a part of him, small but undeniable, that entertained the idea. That’s what irritated him the most.

“I should tell you not to waste my time.” The words came easy. The lie didn’t. “But that wouldn’t be honest.” His throat felt dry. He adjusted his tie, using the motion to buy a second longer, to make sure the rest of his face stayed still, locked down and unreadable.

Nanami exhaled slowly, letting his voice lower, letting the edge return. It was the only shield he had left. “Don’t ask me that again.”

He turned before you could answer, before his expression could betray the rest. The faint twist of his mouth that wanted — just for a moment — to let the conversation go somewhere it shouldn’t. And as he walked away, hands back in his pockets, posture relaxed but his chest uncomfortably tight, only one thought lingered:

You were getting too close.

And he wasn’t sure how many more times he could pretend otherwise.