ּ֯ . ❥ ּ֯ ┆the times nanami tried to propose… and failed
it all started when nanami took you to italy for your eighth anniversary. you didn’t think much of it. just another trip, a whole week alone with your boyfriend.
but to nanami, this trip meant something more—he was going to propose. ever since the day you spoke about what made you the happiest, the way your cheeks ached from smiling and your eyes sparkled with excitement, he knew.
he wanted to drop down on one knee and make you his wife. after eight years together, he knew the time was right and he couldn’t wait to finally have you as his fiancé, after holding himself back for so long.
he had it all planned out, something romantic, something perfect. nothing could go wrong… or so he thought.
ATTEMPT ONE — his original plan.
nanami had planned to ask you to be his wife just one day into the trip. together, you wandered through italy’s landmarks, slipping into every restaurant that caught your eye. you didn’t want to miss a second of it.
after a full day out, nanami had you change into something a little more formal.
obviously, you didn’t think much of it. just that he might be taking you out for a fancy dinner, not knowing he was planning to ask the big question that night.
you being oblivious about it, changed into a sparkly gold dress, that draped over you like liquid light, its off-shoulder neckline soft and effortless. it hugged your figure with gentle ruching before flowing to the floor, shimmering subtly with every step.
your hair and makeup was all done before putting the dress on. all you had to do was put on some perfume and you were set.
while you were trying to pick out which one, you didn’t realise nanami was leaning against the bathroom door admiring you.
the way his eyes softened, not daring to leave your figure. you looked up to see him in the mirror. your face immediately lit up.
“hi baby” your voice, so soft, made nanami’s heartbeat pound against his chest. it was like he was the boy from college having a big crush on you, all over again.
“hi, darling. almost done?” nanami asked as he stepped further into the bathroom. he came up behind you and, without hesitation, slipped his arms around your waist.
you catch his gaze in the mirror and smile. “yeah, just gotta pick which perfume. can you pick for me?”
nanami leaned down, resting his chin on the crown of your head as he studied the perfumes in your hand. he hummed softly before pointing to the one you always wore.
you grinned, quickly spraying it on. but for nanami, he couldn’t wait for the perfect moment. the ring sat in his back pocket, and everything at the lookout was already set.
once you were ready, you stepped out of the hotel with nanami, your arm linked with his. your steps fell into sync, your heels clicking softly against the pavement.
as always, nanami opened the car door for you, gesturing to the passenger seat. “my lady.” you giggled at his formality.
“thank you, kind sir.” you say, dipping your head as you slide into the car. nanami circles around and gets in, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your cheek before starting the engine.
when you arrived, he handed you a blindfold. gou looked at it, then at him, then back again. “what is this?”
he chuckled. “nothing. just put it on.” you clicked your tongue, taking the blindfold. he’d never asked you to do something like this before, and it made you just a little suspicious.
of course, you didn’t think he was going to propose. you were more focused on whatever he had planned for you.
you slid the blindfold over your eyes, tying it snug. your only concern was the eyeliner you’d spent ages perfecting… maybe he should’ve warned you before you went to all that effort.
nanami stepped out, quickly circling to your side. he opened the door and gently guided you out.
you didn’t know, but just a minute away, a candlelit table waited at the edge of the cliffs—petals scattered along the steps, fairy lights glowing softly, and a heart-shaped arch lit in the middle was ‘will you marry me’.
he’d spent a small fortune on the setup, his heart racing despite the calm front he kept. beneath it all, nerves twisted tight. worried you might say no, leaving him standing there, foolish.
he knew you wouldn’t, but there was always that small, nagging possibility.
once he helped you out of the car, he guided you toward the spot. “why am i blindfolded again?” you asked, your hands hovering cautiously in front of you.
“shhh, just enjoy the moment.” nanami whispered in your ear, giving you shivers. he had that thing where he made you nervous without trying.
as you walked, a comfortable silence settled between you. the kind that felt right, perfect, like nothing could go wrong.
nanami could barely contain his excitement. any moment now, he’d ask you the question, silently hoping you’d say yes.
he’d been waiting so long for this moment, wanting it to be perfect—so perfect that neither of you would ever forget it.
but when you reached where everything was supposed to be perfectly set up, it was far from that. in that moment, nanami felt like the ground might swallow him whole.
the table that was meant to hold your dinner was now swarmed by birds, picking through the food, and the heart-shaped arch with the big question, lay toppled by the wind.
it looked as if the whole place had been ransacked.
nanami stopped you suddenly, making you nearly trip over your heels. “kento!” you shrieked, but he caught you, holding you steady against his chest.
“sorry… i think we came to the wrong spot.” he said, the lie slipping out a little too quickly. beneath it though, disappointment settled heavy. everything had been ruined.
“what?!” you said, brows lifting beneath the blindfold. you’d walked blindly for what felt like ages. for nothing.
you brought your hands up to the blindfold, already starting to peel it back. until nanami knocked your hand aside. not harsh, but firm enough to make his point “what’s wrong with you?”
“keep it on… uhm, we’re going somewhere else.” he gave a small, awkward laugh, already turning you around before you could question it. his hand lingered at your back, guiding. but his jaw had tightened, just enough to betray him.
everything had been set. every detail accounted for. he’d gone over it again and again, down to the exact moment he’d reach for your hand and now it was gone. just like that.
the irritation flickered through him, quick and hot, before he forced it back down. not at you. never at you. still, it clung to him, heavier than he wanted to admit.
he’s definitely going to complain.
ATTEMPT TWO — fancy restaurant
after the seaside disaster, nanami had spent forty-eight hours in a state of high-functioning irritation. he was a man of logic, a man of schedules, and yet the Italian wind and a flock of opportunistic seagulls had managed to dismantle his perfectly calibrated future.
he wasn't going to let it happen again. if the outdoors were too volatile, he would bring the proposal inside. to a place where the variables were controlled, the service was impeccable, and the birds were safely roasted and served with a side of truffle jus.
the winding drive to ravello was a blur of lemon groves and sheer cliffs, but by the time the car pulled up to the palazzo, nanami had regained his mask.
or so it seemed. internally, he was a ticking clock of anxiety. he had booked a table at a michelin-starred restaurant where the balcony felt like it was floating in the clouds, high above the unpredictable elements.
you wore your favorite dress, the one that made him lose his train of thought every time you moved, and the way he looked at you across the candlelight made your skin flush.
but as the night wore on, you noticed the signs. his foot was tapping a frantic, silent rhytm against the marble floor.
“you're being remarkably attentive to the dessert menu“ you teased, swirling the last of your wine. you had counted, he checked his watch every thirty seconds since the mains were cleared.
“expecting an urgent international phone call? or is the lemon curd time-sensitive?“
“expecting a result“ he muttered, his voice tight. he didn't elaborate. instead, he sat up with a sudden, rigid posture as a pair of waiters emerged from the shadows of the kitchen, silver trays balanced aloft.
this was the correction. he had tipped the head waiter a vulgar amount of money to ensure the ring was placed inside the lemon soufflé. it was a classic. it was safe. it was—
“wow! look at the height on that thing! it's like a yellow skyscraper!“
the atmosphere didn't just break. it was shattered by a man three tables over. he was wearing a neon-pink tropical shirt that seemed to vibrate against the sophisticated decor.
you watched, blinking in confusion, as the waiter. the very one nanami had spent twenty minutes briefing—placed a towering, golden soufflé in front of the stranger instead of on your table.
“honey, look!“ the man hollered to his wife, who was busy adjusting her hair. “i'm gonna demolish this. one bite, no regrets. hmmm, it looks so good.“ he brandished his spoon like a shovel, hovering it over the quivering center of the dessert.
nanami's soul seemed to leave his body for a fraction of a second, replaced by a gold, calculating fury. the 'result' was currently three feet away from being swallowed by a man who thought cargo shorts were evening wear.
nanami didn't merely stand. he moved with the explosive grace of a man intercepting a live grenade. he practically vaulted over the centerpiece of white hydrangeas. “sir! stop! do not consume that!“
the restuarant plunged into a vaccum of silence. the man in the pink shirt froze, his spoon centimeters from the crust. “whoa, take it easy, man! i paid for the tasting menu! get your own pudding.“
“hand over the utensil.” nanami commanded, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, suppressed rage.
“look, buddy, i don't know what your problem is,“ the man stammered, looking around the horrified diners. “is it gluten free? is there a calorie limit? piss off!”
“it is a matter of… internal integrity!” nanami snapped. he didn’t wait for permission. he lunged forward, seized the man’s wrist with one hand and the silver spoon with the other.
you sat in mortified stillness, watching your usually dignified boyfriend perform a frantic, surgical excavation of a strangers dessert.
he dug into the steaming egg-white foam, his jaw muscles leaping as he worked with desperate concentration. the tourist began to shout.
“hey! that’s my dessert! someone call security, this guys a lunatic! he’s trying to eat my soufflé!”
finally, nanami’s eyes flashed with a grim, bitter relief. he fished something out of the depths of the lemon cream. something small that he instantly closed his fist around, shielding it from view with speed of a card shark.
he didn’t explain, he didn’t drop to a knee. he simply marched back to your table, his face mask of a cold stone, his hand clamped shut like he was holding a piece of radioactive shrapnel.
he was fuming. the poetry of the evening had been replaced by the sticky reality of a botched delivery.
“kento,” you whispered, your face burning a shade of red that matched the wine. “what on earth was that? and what is in your hand?” you glanced back over at the man, to see him glaring at nanami.
“it is compromised,” he stated flatly. he grabbed a heavy linen napkin and shoved his closed fist inside it, scrubbing at the hidden object with aggressive, jerky motions.
he stuffed the entire bundle. napkin and all. deep into his blazer pocket. he adjusted his tie, his jaw set in a line of pure, unadulterated frustration.
“the logistics have failed,” he said, staring at the empty space between you, his eyes dark with irritation. “the moment is contaminated. we shall order the cheese plate instead. it is much harder for a fool to accidentally ingest something.”
he signaled for the check, his hand still resting over the pocket containing the sticky, napkin-wrapped ring.
ATTEMPT THREE — the beach
the next morning, nanami was a man possessed. after the lemon-soufflé debacle of the previous night, his typical composure had been completely eroded by seventy-two hours of logistical nightmares.
avian sabotage, and jewellery that now smelled faintly of citrus. he wasn’t just a man trying to propose anymore. he was a man waging a war against a universe that seemed determined to keep him as a boyfriend.
at 5:30 am, he was shaking you awake.
“kento… it’s still dark,” you groaned, burying your face in the cool hotel pillows. “is the hotel on fire? are we catching an early flight home?”
“we are catching the light,” he replied, his voice a low, urgent rumble. he already had his trousers on and was buttoning a crisp white shirt with hands that moved with clinical efficiency.
inside, he was fuming. he had calculated the exact angle of the sunrise to ensure no shadows would obscure the moment. “dress warmly. quickly, please.”
you were half asleep and entirely bewildered, your hair a birds nest of tangled waves as he practically bundled you in the car.
he drove with a silent, white knuckled intensity, his eyes scanning the horizon as if he expected a meteor strike to ruin his third attempt. by the time he led you down a narrow stone path to a secluded cove, the sky was bruised purple, bleeding into a soft, hazy gold.
the sand was cool and damp beneath your toes, and the air smelled of seawater and the lingering chill of the night.
nanami stopped near a jagged outcrop of rock. he was breathing like he’d just finished a sprint. this was it. no birds. no tourist in neon shirts. no misplaced desserts. just the rhythmic pulse of the mediterranean and the woman he had loved for eight years.
“one last try,” he whispered, more to himself than you.
“a try for what? kento, you’re acting really strange.” you said, rubbing sleep from your eyes and shriving, despite having nanami’s hoodie on. “are we looking for a specific shell? did you drop your keys in the sand?”
he didn’t answer. he turned to face you, his hand reaching into his pocket. he was just about to reach for your hand, his body tensing as he prepared to make the good transition from ‘man standing’ to ‘man proposing’.
when his ears picked up a low, rhythmic thumping that seemed to vibrate through the ground. “ON YOUR LEFT! GO, GO, GO! VAI! VAI! VAI!”
the ground didn’t just shake. it roared. a thundering herd of thirty italian marathon trainers, all clad in blinding, yellow vest, exploded onto the beach from the trailhead.
they were a pulsating, panting mass of sweat and ambition, moving with the terrifying momentum of a freight train.
one runner, a particularly enthusiastic man with a headband, veered too close to nanami. his heavy sneakers struck the soft grit just inches from nanami’s feet, sending a literal wave of sand-spray directly into nanami’s face.
“SCUSA!” the runner yelled over his shoulder, not slowing his pace as the entire pack barreled past like a stampede of high-visibility wildebeests, effectively wedging a wall of neon between you and nanami.
nanami froze. he stood there, eyes squeezed shut, his mouth a thin line as grains of sand clung to his eyelashes and dusted the pristine white of his shirt.
he hadn’t even managed to get the box out of his pocket before he was nearly trampled. he slowly wiped a layer of grit from his lips, watching the retreating neon yellow blur with a look of such concentrated, murderous fury that the air around him practically hummed.
you, however, had reached your limit. the sheer, cosmic absurdity of timing, the way he looked like a statue of a very angry man covered in dust.
it hit you like a physical weight. you clutched your stomach, your knees buckling as you started to howl with laughter.
“it’s not funny.” he snapped, his voice tight, his hand still clamped firmly onto the hidden ring in his pocket.
“kento, it’s… it’s hilarious!” you gasped, doubling over and eventually leaning on him for support because you couldn’t stand. tears of laughter were streaming down your face, ruining whatever remained on your morning look.
“you dragged me here at dawn just to get sand-blasted by a track team! what was so important about this spot?”
he looked down at you—shaking with mirth and looking more beautiful in your disheveled state than you had in the gold dress.
a reluctant, weary smile finally began to tug at the corner of his mouth as he realised the ‘perfect moment’ had once again been trampled.
he sighed, the tension finally breaking as he pulled you into a hug, his hand staying safely in his pocket.
“i am a man of logic,” he muttered into your messy hair, his voice vibrating with defeat. “and the logic suggests that this beach is a safety hazard.”
“you’re so dramatic,” you giggled, completely oblivious to the diamond inches away from your hip. “let’s just go get a croissant.”
“fine,” he sighed, already mentally checking the local jeweller to see if they sold sand-proof boxes. “we shall eat. and i shall never speak of this cove again.”
by the fifth night, nanami’s spirit was held together by nothing but sheer willpower and a high-grade silk tie. the ‘vacation’ had become a tactical nightmare, a series of failed manoeuvres that would have made a lesser man surrender to the whims of fate.
but nanami did not surrender. he simply recalculated. If the land and the beach were hostile territory, he would seek the neutrality of the sea.
he had chartered a vintage wooden speedboat. a gleaming masterpiece of mahogany and chrome that smelled of expensive varnish and salt. as the sun began to dip, the amalfi cliffs turned a deep, burning gold, reflecting off the ripples of the mediterranean.
you leaned back against the plush leather cushions, watching him. he looked like a film star. in a crisp white shirt, dark blazer, and that focused, intense gaze that usually meant he was closing a multi-million-yen deal.
“you’re very quiet tonight, kento,” you said, reaching over to trail your fingers along his forearm. “is the 'overtime' of vacation finally getting to you? you've been acting like you're on a deadline since we landed.”
he offered a soft smile, turning to capture your hand. his thumb traced circles over your knuckles, a gesture that felt tender. “on the contrary. i’m thinking about investments. very long-term ones.”
nanami shifted his weight, dropping his voice to that low resonant frequency that always made your heart skip. “i’ve spent my life looking for stability, for a set of rules to follow. but i realised recently that stability isn’t a place or a job, or a schedule. it’s—“
he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. you felt the air shift, the sudden, heavy weight of the moment. he looked at you with an intensity that suggested he was about to say something that would change the trajectory of your entire lives.
and then, the world tilted.
a massive, triple-decked mega-yacht, apparently piloted by someone with a blatant disregard for wake zones, roared past. Its massive displacement hit your smaller vintage craft like a tidal wave. the boat lurched forty-five degrees to the left.
you tumbled into the cushions with a startled yelp, but nanami, caught mid-reach and off-balance, was thrown forward.
at the exact micro-second, the onboard waiter had been stepping out of the small cabin with a tray of salmon antipasti.
it wasn’t just a spill. it was a tactical spill. a dozen oily, caper-strewn slices of smoked salmon plastered themselves to nanami’s chest like cold, pink medals of dishonour.
“kento!” you gasped, scrambling up to help him. you reached out to wipe a stray caper from his lapel, but you stopped when you saw his face.
he didn't move. he didn't even breathe. he sat there, encased in fish and olive oil, the sunset gold glinting off the salmon scale on his lens.
the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated defeat—the look of a man who had fought the law of averages and lost.
“i believe,” he said, his voice trembling with a suppressed, vibrating frustration as he reached up with two fingers to peel a caper off his glasses, “that the sea has voiced its final objection.”
“are you okay?” you asked, trying, but failing to hide the twitch of a smile. “you look… well, you look like a very expensive appetiser.”
nanami closed his eyes, a single drop of lemon-infused oil rolling down his cheek. he reached into his pocket, felt the small, velvet box that was now likely soaked in salmon brine, and decided to let it stay there.
if he took it out now, a whale would probably breach and swallow it whole.
“we are returning to the dock,” he stated, his voice a flat line of misery. “and i am going to burn this blazer.”
“kento, it’s just a little fish!”
“it’s not just the fish,” he muttered, staring gloomily at the horizon as the boat stabilised.
he was beginning to think the universe wasn’t just testing him. it was mocking him.
FINAL ATTEMPT — the cheap tavern
by the final night of the trip, the meticulous, high-stakes architect of romance had completely collapsed. the ‘perfect italy experience’ had been dismantled piece by piece. shattered by seagulls, hijacked by a man in a pink shirt, trampled by a marathon team, and finally, marinated in salmon oil.
nanami, a man who lived his life by the second and prided himself on his ironclad contingency plans, sat across you from you in a tiny, chaotic tavern tucked into a narrow backstreet of the village.
there were no white linens here. the floor was tacky with spilled peroni and the dust of a thousand footsteps. a jukebox in the corner was blaring a brassy, soulful tune that competed with the rhythmic clacking of local men playing cards and the distant, melodic shouting of kitchen staff at war.
nanami was a revelation. his tie was gone. likely discarded in a fit of pique three blocks back and his top two buttons were undone, revealing the hollow of his throat.
he was currently holding a greasy, folded slice of margarita pizza, looking less like a high-level executive and more like a man who had finally surrendered to the beautiful, messy gravity of real life.
you looked at him, really looked at him and saw the man behind the spreadsheets, and the rigid schedules. he looked exhausted, he looked human, and in the dim, flickering light of a birra moretto sign, he looked more handsome than you had ever seen him.
“you know,” you said, leaning over the scarred wooden table, your elbows resting on a paper placemat. “despite the boat, and the track team… this is my favourite night of the whole trip. no fancy clothes, just this.”
nanami paused, his pizza halfway to his mouth. he looked around at the peeling wallpaper, the sawdust on the floor, and the cracked ceramic carafe of house wine between you.
he started to laugh, a real, deep, belly aching sound that vibrated in his chest and crinkled the corners of his eyes. it was the sound of a man watching his last bit of control evaporate and realising he didn’t miss it.
“i have spent over eighteen thousand dollars this week.” he chuckled, shaking his head in a state of mild, humorous shock. “between the chartered speedboats, the private cliffside rentals, the michelin-starred bribes, and the 'emergency' dry cleaning for salmon-related incidents... i’ve burned through a small fortune trying to manufacture a single, sterile moment of perfection.”
he set the pizza down and wiped his hands on a thin, scratchy paper napkin, his movement finally devoid of that frantic, time-sensitive tension.
“and yet, here we are.” he said, his voice softening. “in a dive bar that smells like oregano and old wood. i was so worried about the logistics that i forgot the most basic rule of any investment. you cannot force the market to move before it is ready.”
he didn’t check his watch. he didn’t look at the lighting or scan the room for interruption. he simply reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box.
it had survived a lot, it had been buried in a lemon soufflé, shoved into a sandy pocket, and splashed with fish oil—but when he slid it across the table, it came to a rest right next to a sticky salt shaker with a quiet, certain thud.
“i’m out of speeches.” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a raw, beautiful sincerity that made the room feel suddenly, impossibly quiet.
“boat was a disaster, the food was stolen, the waiter gave the soufflé to someone else, the beach failed, and the universe clearly had a very long-standing grudge against my itinerary. i have no plans left. no back up. no schedule. just me. i love you. marry me?”
you didn’t even look at the diamond. you didn’t need to see the sparkle to know the weight of what he was offering.
you lunged across the small table, your fingers tangling in his hair, and grabbed his face to pull him into a kiss.
he tasted of cheap red wine, tomato sauce, and salt of the mediterranean, and his hands came up to steady you, gripping your waist with a fierce, relieved strength that told you he was never letting go.
“yes.” you whispered against his lips, the word vibrating between you. “a thousand times, yes. i would’ve said yes the first night, you idiot.”
nanami exhaled a long, shaky breath—the sound of a man who had finally reached home after a very long, very messy journey.
he pulled back just enough to slide the ring onto your finger, the diamond sparkling incongruously against the backdrop of the rowdy tavern.
for the first time all week, nanami leaned back in his creaky wooden chair, took a sip of the bitter house wine, and decided that everything was exactly on schedule.
a/n✮⋆˙ #needamanlikenanami
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