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Nanami is a gentleman, through and through.
He enjoyed your company and the moments of peace you brought him, and always had. The friendly exchanges of words, the late hours spent stressing over students you both felt responsible for. He enjoyed being your friend, even as he begun wanting more.
However, despite the growing fondness in his heart, he practically forbade himself from disrupting the status quo. The fear of being wrong, of risking pushing you away, was successful at keeping him silent…at least for a while.
But after almost a year of pleasant conversations that never led anywhere, timid glances, and the rare brushing of your gentle hands against his, his resolve all but snaps. Your friendly moments were simultaneously everything to him, yet no longer enough. Kento was a kind man, a good man, but even he had his limits. So, for the first time in his life, he let himself fall.
It’s the end of the day when he comes up to your door, knocking of course, and much to your surprise— apologizes.
He’s curt and to the point in a way that’s so him, but you don’t miss the look of something desperate- something pleading- in the way he looks at you.
He says he’s sorry, truly sorry, but he just can’t ignore the way he feels anymore, lest he go insane. And he’s about two steps away from lunacy. He tells you no matter how hard he tries, he can’t continue on like this, pretending he’s okay with just being coworkers. Just being ‘friends’. Frankly, the word now disgusted him; how could ‘friends’ ever encompass the way he’s grown to feel about you, as if his fleeting, hopeful glances could ever be labeled as something casual. Like he wasn’t fighting an inner battle just to stop himself from touching your hand. Like he didn’t think about you every waking hour; like he didn’t think about you as something so much more.
So, he apologizes. Apologizes for coming to your door like a madman, apologizes for laying his feelings to you like this and being unhappy with the thought of never being more. Yet he doesn’t ask for forgiveness for the way he feels about you, not once. What he asks for instead, is the opportunity to take you on a date. The way you deserve, and he so desperately wants.
He waits for your response, and you almost laugh incredulously at it all; did he even have to ask?
You tell him yes, a thousand times yes, and he smiles in a way you’ve never seen before, but knew you would see a million times again.
He breaths out a heavy sigh he didn’t realize he had been holding, his shoulders slumping forward like a heavy weight had been lifted. He takes another moment to collect himself before he straightens up and nods his head politely, clearing his throat.
He thanks you, forever the gentleman, promising to be at your door the next day at 6pm. And like clockwork there he was, not even a second late, dressed in a perfectly ironed suit and holding a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen.
From then onwards, he made it a point to greet you with your favorite flowers before the start of every date. His approach to courting you was respectful, considerate, and purposeful. He would lift your hand to his lips and gently kiss your knuckles, murmuring a soft hello. He refused to even let you think about paying for dinner, just as he refused to ever let you walk home alone. Not when you had him.
Not even two months go by before he decides it’s time to take the next step and invite you into his home. Maybe it’s a strong sense of hospitality, or maybe it’s the small voice in his head that wants to impress you, but he puts in the effort to make it special. Romantic.
There’re candles everywhere, his home glowing prettily with a warm yellow light. He puts on some music in the background, the romantic instrumentals not loud enough to interrupt conversation. He cooks a lovely dinner for the both of you, taking the time to perfect the recipe, and his cheeks turn a soft shade of pink when you compliment his work.
When the meal is done, he looks down at you with something unfading, something akin to yearning. He gets up from his chair and tenderly gestures to the music, asking if you want to dance. You say yes and he pulls you close, the feeling of his strong chest against yours making you blush. You feel shy suddenly, the heat in your cheeks unmistakable, and you’re not sure if you remember how to move your feet. Nanami notices the flustering, of course he does, but he doesn’t mention it. He looks down at you for a long time, just memorizing the details of your face, before reaching down to place a steady hand against your cheek.
“You are so beautiful.” He says finally, his voice hushed but certain.
“Not a day has gone by where your beauty didn’t steal my breath away”.
He says it like a prayer. Like he’s wanted to tell you for as long he remembers, physically unable to think anything less of you. While you dance in your slow rhythm, his hazel eyes never leave yours. Not when you lean in closer, not when he does the same, or when you realize you’ve both stopped dancing. Not until the very last moment before he closes the gap, and pulls you in for a long overdue kiss.
Kento Nanami never once considered himself a poetic man, or one too fond of romantic metaphors, no matter how well-read he had become over the years. But in that moment, it was like his skin was ablaze. The more the kiss deepened, the hotter he burned, kindling something in him that had long been buried.
He was a man on fire, and ironically, it was only you that could put out the flames.
Every moan from you was a douse of water, yet every brush of your lips another round of flames. What a vicious, torturous cycle, he thought, hoping it would never end even if it consumed his soul into ash.
Time simply didn’t exist that night, uninvited to this moment you two now shared. You weren’t sure when you had moved, somehow finding yourselves in his bedroom, a mess of needy touches and hungry lips. His hands were reverent- steady- not at all accurate to the ravenous thoughts that were polluting his mind. But he would indulge another day; tonight he simply wanted to give.
“I love you,” he says breathlessly, clothes scattered across the floor, his limbs tangled with yours.
Before he could register what he’d said, or have a moment to worry he’d done too much, you whisper back “I love you, too”, and the rest was history.