°☆.。. | unedited sorry yall D:|
nanami with reader whose had to be her own supporter, parent, sibling and best friend all in one.
you don’t even question it, it’s a second nature at this point; driving your little brothers to their practices when your parent couldn’t, carrying the quiet burden of trying to help your mom, sitting through an argument with your sister who you know should be handling it herself but you can’t help it; there’s a part of you that needs to be there for them.
nanami doesn’t think you even understand the word boundaries when it comes to yourself- always giving, even in friendships where you know they clearly don’t value your time the same way as you. it always ticked the man off, being someone of orderly fashion and who analysed people the same way he would the broad spreadsheets on his screen everyday, it was a blessing and a curse to be able to read people so clearly. he just didn’t understand why you couldn’t do the same - if the edges blurred when you saw it from a different perspective, or if you were choosing to be ignorant.
it’s not until you move in with nanami you realise.
“Yeah, I can try and squeeze in time to pick him up, but are you sure you can’t— No, no I get you’re busy but I’ve also got to pick up my package halfway across town-” you’re speaking into the phone with your mother, phone wedged between your cheek and shoulder, blowing a strand of your hair out your face as you scrub the dish in front of you, frowning as she explains how she can’t pick up your brother again for the third time this week. You’re slightly irritated, the clothes on your body feeling too tight, soap suds on your forearms, and the deadline for your work is creeping slowly and you hadn’t even started it yet—
“Sweetheart, I’m home.” A quick, swift shut of the door brings your attention to the tall blond by the doorframe and you’re about to apologise for leaving the room a little messy, but your gaze falls on the pink package tucked in his arms.
He doesn’t say anything, effortlessly hanging his grey coat up and sliding his shoes off, cool honey eyes studying you. You’re still blinking in surprise when he’s managed to get you sat on the couch, knees scooted up as your mother’s voice droned on through the line.
You didn’t even tell him you had a package, you think, staring at the broad expanse of Kento’s back, the muscles shifting under the blue material of his work shirt as he washed the dishes.
And it didn’t even stop at that. You’ll catch yourself attempting to complain but there it is - the keys you needed on the desk he settles down with a curt nod, a sweet kiss to your cheek before he leaves for work. The laundry pile growing in the corner of the room? Done and folded by the next day. Your friend group were acting strange? It’s fine, he’ll draft up a message for you to send. One night you’re sighing over the deadline and there’s a mug of tea in your hand, large hands massaging your shoulders. You ease into it so comfortably. It’s like you’ve forgotten how it feels to be taken care of.
“Shoot— Sorry, Ken, I was gonna make dinner for us— Oh.” Your shoulders slump, the weariness and fatigue from work leaving a little when he enters the door again with a bouquet of roses in his hand, and a takeaway bag in the other.
How? How the hell does he just know?
“It’s alright, honey. Here you go, I bought these from the new florist in town. Thought you’d like them.” The sweet, deep tone of his voice fills the room, and you feel it sink and sweep into your veins, a weight lifted off. A light pink dusts your cheeks when you take the bouquet in your hands, and when you’re looking up at him, studying the subtle quirk of his lips, it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time.
For the first time in months you feel shy around your boyfriend.
“How the hell do you even have time for a relationship nowadays? I swear I come off my shift and I get annoyed if my man breathes near me,” Your friend is scoffing with an eye roll and she sips from the matcha on the table. You usually agree, reply with a quick quip of ‘Yeah, men suck’, but you’re just smiling a little to yourself, shrugging, a newfound glow to your face that she catches. It only amplifies when you stare at the text message he sends you.
Kento 🩷 : Hope you’re having fun, sweetheart. Just letting you know I’m picking up Ethan for his game, don’t stress about it. I love you.
“Oh, you’re so whipped,” she laughs at you, leaning back in the sun chair and you don’t even care, a grin growing over your face as you hunch over the screen, typing away with the manicured nails he paid for.
With his efforts and the small kisses he drops everyday, you manage to multitask working and your deadline in time. You find it in yourself to cook him a dinner, wear something pretty and wait patiently till he comes home but the next thing you know you’re having a screaming match with your mom on the other end of your iPhone.
Nanami’s day at work goes by smoothly. Being a salesman had honestly become the worst part of his day but it was manageable. It got a bit easier as he sipped his cup of coffee at his desk, every now and then glancing to the lock screen of you both. It gets easier when he hears your voice through the panicked, rush voice note you send throughout the day. He imagines your smile and eyes during certain parts and works just a little harder.
It gets a lot easier when he steps out his car and unlocks the apartment door. Except you’re not standing by the fridge, or laid out on the couch. There’s two plates of smoked salmon and hors d’œuvres surrounding the ceramic plates, a bottle of wine unopened.
It didn’t feel easy though when he pushes the bedroom door open, a frown bracing his features as you, his dear sweet girlfriend, perched on the end of the bed, hastily wiping your tears. His heart lurches, eyes dropping from the iPhone to the little milkmaid dress on your hunched over form.
“Oh, Ken — ‘m so sorry, I just—“
Your wide eyes peer up at the blond man who shifts down beside you, kneeling, dark brows lowered over sharp honey, holding a deep affection. You sniffle, cheek hot under his cool fingertips that wipe away the tears. You can’t help but wonder why he was so insistent on being with you, someone so easily distracted by everyone else around her, someone who couldn’t even do something nice back—
“I’m sick of seeing you being pushed around. Do you understand what I mean, my love?”
You shake your head but he raises a brow and you shuffle before nodding. The subtle hints of his cologne intrude your space and you melt when he sighs, his large hand framing your face.
“What happened? Did you argue again?”
“Yeah— I just, I’m so sick of it, Ken. It’s like I’ve got to do everything, and I know I can do it but they— they don’t care. They don’t care.”
“I care. I see what you do. For everyone.”
You don’t realise you’re still crying until he presses a kiss to one of your tears.
“And that is more than enough. You can’t push yourself too much. You have a limit. And honestly, Im getting a little tired myself watching you do everything.”
“You don’t have to.. You’re just saying that because you have to.” You mumble, lashes dark and slick with tears. Nanami hums.
“Have to what? Support you? Love you? Please, sweetheart. It’s my job.”
“Take a few days off work. We’ll just relax together, yes? What do you call it — bedrotting? You need to put this all behind.” The warmth of his voice bleeds into your veins again and you nod slowly, subconsciously leaning into his touch when he strokes his thumb against your cheek.
“I love you. Im sorry I’m a mess.”
Nanami chuckles, and there’s no malice behind it, light and warm, encasing you in its briefness.
“I just want you to understand I’m here. Okay?”
Teary eyes meet oak brown, resilient and deep. And you got it. It hits you. You understand you didn’t have to do it all on your own.
