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AFTER THE RAIN FALLS | CHAPTER ONE

after the rain falls, the sky often becomes clearer, allowing sunlight to break through.

NANAMI KENTO X READER a/n: hi! i hope you all enjoy chapter one, thank you so much for reading!

LINK TO MASTER POST.

CHAPTER ONE:

In Japan, the rainy season, called tsuyu, typically occurs from early June to mid-July. While it doesn’t rain constantly, the likelihood of rain is higher, and sunny days are less frequent.

GOOD MORNING, TOKYO! I'm afraid we're looking at another soggy start to the week. The low-pressure system that moved in overnight has brought us some fairly intense rainfall—we've already seen about thirty millimeters since midnight, with more on the way.

The morning news hummed softly in the background as Nanami ran a hand through his hair, his reflection in the bathroom mirror staring back at him with dark, tired eyes. The weatherman’s familiar voice drifted in from the living room, accompanied by the noise of the unrelenting storm outside.

The rain had been falling steadily since about four in the morning.

Nanami knew this because he’d been awake since 3:30, listening to the gentle percussion against his apartment windows gradually intensifying into the kind of downpour that would leave himself and other commuters huddled under convenience store awnings, checking weather apps with increasing desperation.

By the time his alarm sounded at 5:15, the streets below his seventh floor window had transformed into rivers of reflected neon and headlights.

We're expecting the heaviest downpours between seven and nine AM, particularly affecting the Yamanote and Chuo lines. JR East is already reporting delays of up to fifteen minutes on several routes due to safety precautions.

Toothbrush in hand, he leaned into the hallway to catch the traffic report, brows furrowed and worry lines prominent on his forehead. Nearly every route was speckled red with congestion. He sighed, stepping back into the bathroom. Despite the growing headache that throbbed behind his eyes, he continued on with his routine, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for pain relief, swallowing the tablets with a handful of water from the sink. It was more than habitual, it was ritualistic, a constant in his life, something that he could control every morning. He’d learned long ago that consistency and preparation was the only reliable defense against chaos, whether it came in the form of natural disasters, or, corporate restructuring.

Nanami took quick, measured sips of coffee as he paced back and forth from his bedroom to the bathroom. He dressed methodically, as always, reaching for the outfit he had selected the night prior–charcoal suit, navy tie, and leather shoes that could withstand the temperamental weather.

Knotting his tie with precision, he stopped midstep, debating on cracking the sliding doors that led to a tiny balcony for a quick smoke. Tempted to take the risk, he looked at the scattered cigarettes on the coffee table, then to the rain outside, and begrudgingly, opted against it. He tucked the pack into his briefcase. Later, maybe.

The good news? We might see some clearing by the weekend, though it's still too early to make any promises. Until then, this is just the rainy season reminding us who's really in charge here in Tokyo.

He gave his briefcase a once over before moving toward the entryway where his umbrella was waiting, black and sturdy, the kind that wouldn’t betray him when the wind picked up. Just as he stepped into one shoe, he realized the TV was still on, murmuring incoherently in the background. He grunted, kicking off the shoe and making a beeline to the couch where the remote sat, cutting the last of the weatherman’s report as the screen turned dark.

Stay dry out there, and remember to drive carefully on those wet roads. Traffic and transit updates every ten minutes. Now back to you in the studio.

The train was packed with damp salarymen and students, everyone pressed together in uncomfortable solidarity. Nanami found his usual spot by the door, briefcase held firmly against his chest, and watched the city blur past through rain-streaked windows.

Monday mornings were always challenging, but Monday mornings with new hires were particularly exhausting. He’d received the email last Friday, brief and cold, with minimal information about you, who was about to become one of his (many) responsibilities: …she will be joining your team as a junior analyst. Please ensure proper onboarding procedures are followed.

Another fresh graduate, no doubt. Another eager face that would inevitably dim once she realized that financial consulting was ninety percent spreadsheets and ten percent explaining why the client’s unrealistic expectations couldn’t be met. He had trained enough new employees to recognize the pattern–initial enthusiasm, prompt disillusionment and the eventual transfer to a different department or resignation entirely.

The Gojo Financial building loomed through the rain as he emerged from Shibuya Station, its glass facade streaked and gray. Nanami’s umbrella cut through the morning rush with quiet efficiency, and he arrived at the office forty-seven minutes before his scheduled meeting with the new hire. Enough time to review her resume properly and prepare the standard orientation materials.

He settled into his chair and pulled up your file on his computer. Economics degree from Waseda University, decent grades, relevant internship experience at a smaller firm. Standard qualifications, nothing particularly remarkable. The attached photo showed a pretty young woman with hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, eyes looking directly at the camera with what appeared to be cautious optimism.

Nanami glanced at his watch. You were supposed to arrive at eight-thirty for their nine o'clock meeting. It was now 8:45.

He returned to his morning reports, working through the weekend’s accumulated emails. The rain continued its steady assault on the building, and he found himself occasionally glancing toward the elevator bank.

At 8:53, the elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

The woman who stepped out was unmistakably you, the new hire, though you looked considerably less composed than your professional headshot suggested. Your hair had escaped its attempt at neatly styled bun, damp strands framing your face, and your gray blazer bore the telltale signs of a losing battle with the morning’s deluge. You clutched a leather portfolio against your chest like a shield, a purse haphazardly slung over one shoulder, while your eyes scanned the office with barely concealed anxiety.

Nanami watched as you approached the reception desk, speaking in hushed tones to the secretary, who simply pointed in his direction without bothering to look up. You turned, and your eyes met his across the office. Even from this distance, he could see your slight wince–the universal expression of someone who knew they were late and was bracing for the consequences.

You walked toward his desk with careful, measured steps, as if sudden movements might compound your transgression. As you drew closer, Nanami noticed that despite your disheveled appearance, you maintained your posture and your shoes–sensible black pumps–showed no sign of the morning’s treacherous conditions. Prepared then, just unlucky with the weather and traffic.

“Excuse me, Mr. Nanami?” Your voice was softer than he’d expected, with a slight tremor that could have been nerves or the cold. You introduced yourself quickly, before taking a breath. “I’m so sorry I’m late; the trains were delayed because of the weather, and I–”

“It’s fine,” Nanami interrupted, promptly standing and only showing a touch of irritation by adjusting his wire rimmed glasses. “The weather is unpredictable this time of year. Please, sit down.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk, noting how you immediately straightened at his words, some of the tension leaving your shoulders.

You settled into the chair, placing the portfolio on your lap and smoothing your damp hair with one hand, now loose from the bun. Looking at you now, it was oddly charming. “Thank you for understanding. I left early, but the Yamanote line was completely stopped for twenty minutes near Harajuku.”

Nanami nodded. He’d taken a different line this morning specifically to avoid such delays–a small advantage of experience, and, of course, the weatherman. “The rainy season can be unpredictable. You’ll learn the alternative routes quickly enough.”

Something flickered in your eyes, relief, perhaps, or gratitude. “Yes, sir.”

“Just Nanami is fine.” He pulled out a folder containing your training materials and set it on the desk between them. “Before we begin, would you like some coffee? It’s going to be a long morning.”

Your face brightened. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

He stood and walked to the small break area adjacent to their section, aware of your quiet presence following a few steps behind. The coffee machine hummed to life, and steam began to rise from the brewing pot. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain hammered against the windows.

“How do you take your coffee?” he asked, reaching for two of the plain white mugs from the cabinet.

“Oh,” you turned your gaze from the storm to him. “Black, please, with one sugar.”

“Good choice,” he said, preparing both cups. He liked his coffee similarly, less so for the taste and more for the practical efficiency. “The coffee here is actually decent, unlike most office buildings.”

“That’s a relief,” you replied, and he caught a hint of a smile in your voice. “I was worried I’d have to find the nearest convenience store every morning.”

Nanami handed you the steaming mug. You whispered, thank you, and held the coffee in one hand while you waited for him to finish making his own. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, subtly admiring the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, as your gaze drifted across the office, a gesture that seemed unconscious, revealing the gentle curve of your neck. He glanced at your ring finger, no wedding ring, which he promptly told himself was standard information to be filed away in the recesses of his brain for team dynamics purposes.

They returned to his desk, and Nanami flipped through the documents in your training folder. “We’ll start with an overview of our current projects and your role in each one. The learning curve is steep, but manageable if you stay organized.”

You nodded, pulling a notebook and pen from your portfolio. You opened it to a fresh page and wrote the date at the top in neat, precise handwriting.

“Our primary client right now is Osaka Manufacturing,” Nanami began, sliding a project summary across the desk. “They’re looking to expand into Southeast Asian markets, but their financial projections are…” he paused, searching for the diplomatic term, “optimistic.”

“Unrealistic?” You suggested quietly, looking up from your notes.

Nanami blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Most new employees spent their first hour nodding enthusiastically at everything, afraid to voice any opinions that might be construed as criticism.

“Exactly,” he said after a moment, adjusting his glasses. “Your job will be to help me compile the data that will guide them toward more feasible expectations.”

You made another note, then looked up at him with those careful eyes. “How do you typically handle clients who aren’t receptive to revised projections?”

It was a good question. Nanami found himself reassessing his initial assumptions about eager-but-naive new graduates.

“Carefully,” he replied. “With comprehensive documentation and alternative scenarios. We’ll go over the specific techniques as we work through the Osaka project.”

For the next few hours, they reviewed project files and client requirements. You asked thoughtful questions and took detailed notes, occasionally glancing out at the rain-soaked city when thunder interrupted their conversation. You were an attentive listener, not just the polite attention most colleagues gave, but genuine engagement with what he was saying.

“The quarterly reports are due next Friday,” he concluded, closing the final folder. “I’ll have you start with data verification for the Hiroshima account–it’s straightforward but important. Any questions so far?”

You looked down at your notebook, now filled with neat columns of information. “Just one. What time do you typically leave the office?”

Nanami glanced at his watch–already past eleven. The morning had passed more quickly than usual. He removed his glasses. “It varies. Usually around seven, sometimes later during busy periods.”

You nodded matter-of-factly, making a final note. “I’ll plan accordingly.”

Not a complaint about long hours or a request for work-life balance policies. Just practical acceptance of the job’s demands.

“Your desk is over there,” he said, pointing to an empty workstation near the window. “Mr. Yamamoto will get you set up with computer access and office supplies.”

“Thank you.” you stood, gathering your materials with the same quiet efficiency you’d displayed throughout their meeting. “I really appreciate your patience this morning, especially with my late arrival.”

“Weather happens,” Nanami replied blankly, then found himself adding, “Tomorrow’s forecast shows more rain. The 7:42 Chuo line train is usually reliable, even during delays.”

youpaused, looking slightly surprised before a tiny smile appeared on your lips, brightening your face. “Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

He found himself slightly flustered at your smile, nearly bristling. “Please be sure to ask questions. Revising mistakes can be more of a hassle instead of just asking from the get-go.”

You nodded, offering one more quick thank you as you walked toward your new desk. Nanami watched you navigate between the cubicles with careful attention to your surroundings. You paused to introduce yourself quietly to nearby colleagues, bowing politely at each introduction. Professional but not overeager. Respectful but not obsequious.

As you sat down and began to settle at your new workstation, you glanced back at him for a brief moment, catching his stare. Clearing his throat, Nanami adjusted his glasses and turned away, directing his attention to his computer, typing furiously.

Nanami stepped out for a cigarette in the late afternoon, huddled beneath an awning and engaging in meaningless conversations with coworkers. One cigarette turned to two, and soon, he found himself smoking what seemed to be an endless chain for lunch. He leaned against the building, exhaling smoke, looking through the floor to ceiling glass windows at the bustling lobby.

Then, he saw a figure exit the elevator. It was her, the newbie.

Your hair had fully dried by this point, loose around your shoulders and brushed neatly. You sat in one of the many benches scattered about, smoothing a hand across your skirt as you crossed one leg over the other. You produced a cellphone from the purse that rested by your feet.

Tapping ash from the cigarette, his eyes watched as you began tapping away, a small smile on your face. Occasionally, you would pause and look out at the rain, your face softening as you watched the water streak down the glass. In those moments, something wistful crossed your features–a brief vulnerability that you quickly tucked away as you returned to your phone. Using its reflection, you reapplied lipstick, brushed stray hair from your face, until a young man approached her. He wasn’t unfamiliar, instead he was just another colleague whose name escaped Nanami at the moment. you stood to speak with him, your face bright. Nanami studied your profile as you spoke, noticing that you had a habit of tilting your head slightly when in conversation, creating a delicate line from your temple to your jaw.

Nanami wasn’t sure how much time had passed until you met his gaze mid-conversation with their coworker. He blinked, his neck growing hot as he was caught, again. He held steady, looking back at you straight-faced, until you smiled and lifted a hand to mouth hello. Despite the window that separated them, he felt the chill in his expression thaw. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and nodded, turning away as soon as their colleague noticed your distraction.

Professional curiosity, he told himself. Nothing more.

Outside, the rain continued its barrage against the windows as the hours slogged by, the sound of keyboards and distant rumbles of thunder competing in a steady, endless rhythm.

It was nearly eight when Nanami made the executive decision to head home for the day. Others remained in the office, although the numbers were beginning to dwindle.

He was exhausted, as he always was, the spreadsheets and data rattling around in his head to the point of nauseum. As he made his way down to the lobby, he exhaled, looking at the worsening weather. He felt for the pack of cigarettes he tucked away into the breast pocket of his coat, a tinge of relief pricking at his chest, and he decided to give it a few minutes before making the mad dash to the station.

From the corner of his eye, once again, he noticed her, realizing he didn’t look for you as he left the office. He’d just assumed that you left hours ago. Their eyes met, and he dipped his head in polite acknowledgement. you smiled, returning the gesture, and he found himself wedged in the social dance of whether he should approach you or not. Ultimately, he decided not to, and hoped that you wouldn't approach him either.

Nanami began to open his umbrella as he moved through the revolving doors, aware that you were making similar motions with your own. Hers was green, and clearly flimsy. One wrong gust of wind and it would be turned inside out. He thought little of it once outside, snapping his open and trudging toward the crosswalk.

He peered over his shoulder, catching one last glimpse of her. You were buttoned into a smart raincoat, green umbrella open, walking in the opposite direction, away from him. Their eyes met again, and as you smiled at him awkwardly from afar, the walking sign flashed on, and he turned away.

Nanami groaned, dragging himself down the hallway to his apartment, his shoes sloshing with every step. He tucked his briefcase under his arm, balancing a bag of takeout, beer, and umbrella in the other as he twisted the key into the lock. Shouldering the door open, he stepped inside, finally crossing the threshold. He kicked off his shoes and umbrella, dropping the takeout and beer on the counter. Out of the wet gloom, and into the warm solace of home.

There were more delays on the commute home, the damp salarymen and students having turned into even soggier variants of themselves from earlier in the morning.

Grabbing a beer, he turned on the TV, shrugging off his jacket and placing his briefcase safely beside the couch as he made his way to the bathroom. He took a quick shower, occasionally sticking his arm from behind the curtain to reach the beer he left perched on the edge of the sink, taking long sips.

A few hours later, Nanami sat beside the coffee table, leaning casually on his palm, paying only half attention to the drone of the late night news anchor and flashy headers filling the screen. He’d changed into an old university T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair falling messily across his forehead. He took the final sip of his third beer and cast a lazy glance at the time glaring at him from the corner of the screen. It only reinforced the obvious: it was late.

He shifted awkwardly, tensely, rolling his shoulders and stretching his back with a yawn. When he finally rose to collect the empty beer cans and takeout containers, he made a soft groan, something like displeasure or irritation. Another casualty of a long day at work, especially the more sedentary parts.

The sound of his phone buzzing broke through the dull, fake cheery drone of the latest repetition of the week’s expected weather. After cleaning up in the kitchen, he went to retrieve his phone. It was a notification from work, go figure. You were online, currently editing a spreadsheet. He had tried to make it a habit to avoid work when he was officially done for the day, especially when he wasn’t getting paid, but of course, that was easier said than done. He scrolled through your edits, you’d been working for quite some time. He almost felt bad, in a way.

Whether it was from the alcohol or some other nameless emotion, he clicked on your profile and prepared to type out a message to her.

You don’t have to work this late, you know.

He quickly deleted it, and then rewrote it. He typed and deleted several variations of the same message nearly 10 times, until you pinged him.

Hello! I apologize for the late message. I noticed your icon typing in the chat and I just wanted to follow up. I see you’re viewing the Hiroshima account spreadsheet that I’ve been editing, did I do something wrong? Thank you so much!

Shit.

At best, he felt like a micromanaging asshole. At worst, he felt like a creepy micromanaging asshole.

Embarrassed, he typed a blasé response in return. You replied with a cheery and overly thankful message, far too many exclamation points for his liking, and he simply sent a thumbs up.

As he settled into bed, he turned on the AC and sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He reached for his phone, mindlessly tapping through a few apps before swiping to the work channel. He scrolled through his emails and other notifications, still kicking himself as he reread their conversation. He stopped mid-scroll, looking at your profile. You had already updated your photo. It was newer than your headshot–you were smiling wide, your face lovely, and it was cropped in a specific way that made him think it was a group photo at some point. Maybe with friends?

Your icon was yellow, idle. Last seen 24 minutes ago…

Nanami locked his phone and turned onto his side. The room was silent, except for the rain.

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