your instructions to nanami sounds more like a scolding -- but, in your defence, he's making the task of giving him a clean shave very, very difficult.
"ken, don't make me tie you to the towel rack. you'd be stuck for hours staring at the ugly orange tiles of my ensuite bathroom, which would be a terrible way to spend your day, truly," you say with a sigh, rinsing the razor off in the sink. "a fall from glory if i ever saw one."
"i wouldn't exactly call it glory," nanami says with a half-smile, the same one he always uses to try and make you feel better. it doesn't work this time but you return it anyway. "i was knocked out for most of the shibuya fighting. missed all of the action."
he's speaking lightly, conversationally, but you can tell he's not ready to talk about it just yet. one arm in a sling, the other too bruised to lift above his shoulder, a black eye, some minor wounds -- but some of his friends didn't make it out.
you don't have to guess that he feels guilt for surviving; he told you as much that very first night, while the pain meds were wearing off. but then a new realisation dawned on him, and he collapsed in another wave of guilt, clutching at you and apologising as you held him.
he'd feel terrible for dying, for leaving you, but he feels bad for living, leaving them all in shibuya when he could have, should have, wanted to help.
you can't pretend you know what it feels like. you weren't there. all you can do right now is tell him that the guilt will melt away over time, the guilt he feels towards you and them both, and that there'll be a night sometime in the future where he'll sleep the whole eight hours through without waking in a cold sweat.
and, in the meantime, you can help him shave.
"nearly done," you say, angling the razor carefully, trying to avoid any piece of skin that still looks tender and sore. "and ....... done! beautiful," you finish with a kiss on his freshly-shaven cheek, ignoring the bitter taste of the remnants of the shaving gel, instead focusing on how the gesture puts a little brightness back into his eyes.
"beautiful?" he repeats lightheartedly, gesturing at the bruising with soft chuckle.
"beautiful," you affirm, gently cupping his cheek and angling his face so you're both looking in the bathroom mirror. he sees the reflection of you smiling, eyes full of unspeakable love, the way your entire body gravitates towards him. "beautiful always."
