Walk Me To the Car: A Winter Romance
yule-ish nanami x f!reader fluff
You didn't expect to run into him at the work Christmas party, the Kento Nanami you knew as a teenager seemingly long gone. Handsome, striking yet stoic, you can't bring yourself to approach him after all these years. However, memories are awoken when he offers to walk you to your car through the frosty night.
suggestive themes, angst and pining as per usual... flabby with fluff and agonising longing; my seasonal contribution. This can work as a standalone but I have followed this up with four more parts full of sauce. Inspired by the There'd Better be a Mirrorball by Arctic Monkeys and went from there.
4.6k words
Skin taught in the bitter cold, you step out and take a breath, like a plume of dragon’s smog. The thrum and delight of the party is left behind, a real of laughter, the wistful melodies of the music a teasing song as the door swings shut behind you. Your cheeks are warm, even now, as the snow clouds overhead ripe and purple promise more chill. The frost of the evening leaving all it touches glittering beneath the glow of the streetlamps.
You wonder if he noticed you leave.
There are people filtering into the lobby of the hotel from the function room, even as the party rings alive, shrugging into their coats, chatting idly. You can’t see them through the cloudy glass of the double doors. Pulling your gloves on, you glance up and down the street from the top of the steps, gritty with the salt, crunching beneath your heels.
He couldn’t have. Kento Nanami didn’t think of you anymore.
At first you were not sure it was him. How could an established, elusive man like him be frequenting a work party for their financial company? You didn’t even know he worked there, in fact you suspected he still didn’t. He couldn’t?
You were surprised you’d been invited; the PA’s and secretaries had been under the impression that they were not included in the staff Christmas gathering. All the money in the room was stifling, yet they were welcoming in the end. Although you were cautious to let them too near should they see the cheapness of your outfit. Their perfumes were intoxicating, beautiful, the men were so slick yet with the wine poured they unwound and resembled any other merry party-goer. Though the music was far classier.
In the years since you had last seen him, he had changed so much. Broader and taller, his fair hair brushed and styled neatly off his brow, it was a startling contrast to the meek, stooped figure at her side in middle school. His hair once a veil down his face, he kept running a hand through it, pushing the stray parts off his face, his thick arms flexing beneath his suit as he did so. Though he seemed to say little, he didn’t appear to feel out of place. Not like you had.
Although it was not the only reason you had to leave; it was late, and the colleague and acquaintance had hitched a ride home with one of the HR folk. With so few allies left and practically no alcohol in your system, though a belly full of nibbles, it seemed fitting to leave. That and you were certain Kento caught you staring at him a couple of times.
Because you kept thinking about going up to him. Yet your feet morphed with the floor, the words died in your throat. The past wouldn’t be the same; the what if’s already staining what had been.
Your paths never really crossed. At one point he was a couple of bodies down the line for the food table. At the bar he was walking away with a drink in each hand, whilst you were heading over for a fruit juice. Your friend and you had a hearty conversation with some colleagues and one of the men had knocked him accidentally and they had a cordial exchange. He glanced at you briefly, though you saw him clock the others too; you weren’t that memorable. And someone called him over, said his name, and you couldn’t say you didn’t know for a fact it was him. How many Kento’s did you know who looked like him?
After that you tried to go speak to him. Catch him in a lull. Tap his shoulder at one stage and vanished before he could see it was you. But he never seemed to be alone after all. Thought of a thousand ways to broach the past, but it was a buttress, an impenetrable mass unfamiliar to you. If he didn’t remember you, what then?
Inside, the clip-clop of heels strike the polished floors and the group are about to come through the doors. You step aside, rummaging in your bag for your keys - in the right grip they made a perfect weapon. Just in time, it seems, the door swings open and bodies pour out, a couple of voices exclaiming at the cold.
Three women, one man, huddled on the top step, rubbing their hands together, playing with their breaths, jumping up and down and squealing; they are a symphony of sound and motion. One of the women start when they see you and immediately apologise.
“I can’t believe he said it right in front of him. He’s the kind of guy to log it all for later.” One of the men scoff taking no notice of anything, swaying a little as another woman holds his arm. A cigarette hangs from his mouth, his lighter won’t spark.
Another arm shoots out the doorframe, holds out his lighter aflame. It’s Kento Nanami. So two men…
The cigarette is lit and swiftly, he lights his own before he spots you. The flame burns in his eyes only briefly before it is extinguished; surely it is only your imagination that his gaze lingers on you.
You nod to him, reflexively, expecting no reply.
“Hi,” He says.
You say it back, feeling stupid. His group are still chatting, as he steps out of the doorway, into the cold with the rest of you, wriggling briefly at the cold, tugging at his collar.
“It’s been awhile.” He utters, after a long drag of his cigarette.
So he does recognise you.
He turns his head, a stream of smoke away from you all.
“Yeah,” is all you can say, practically a whisper, drowned out by the others.
He gestures inside, readjusts his cuffs, glancing up at you beneath his lashes, “Did you have a good evening?”
Before you can answer his friends let out a groan of impatience. “The cab said it’ll be here by now? Do they refund like pizza joints?” One of the women bemoans.
“Doubt it; it’s far worse waiting when you’re hungry.” Another snorted.
They turn to you, the woman who jumped at the sight of you, “You okay hun? You getting home all right?”
Kind of them really, you think. Embarrassed to still feel Kento’s eyes examine you, you reply, “I drove here, it’s only a few blocks. I would offer to drive you all but; I won’t have enough room…”
She waves it off. A grumble in the night signals the arrival of a car. The cab rolls up, hitting the brakes far more violently than necessary in the climate; a marvellous signal for them.
You fish for your keys again as they file down the steps, wobbling in heels, merry on the booze that had flowed freely. You were glad you had driven, otherwise self-restraint would have been non-existent and this weird exchange with Kento would have been wilder.
He doesn’t follow, however. He continues to puff on his cigarette, “It’s late, I’ll walk you to the car. If you’d like?”
The keys jangle to the floor and you fumble to retrieve them, “Really?”
He is swift as he nabs them, holding them out to you. You can feel that flush from evening, it’s not subsiding; those eyes keep piercing right through you, even as a ghost of smile twists at his mouth, yet everything seems to polite, “You don’t have to do that, you can go with your friends. It’s out of the way.”
You take the keys with a muttered thanks. A crease at his brow, he is about to reply.
“I don’t… mind. You want to walk with me?” You say.
“I wouldn’t offer, you know that?”
You did.
“Are you coming Kento?” The woman, the jumper, calls back. The others are piling into the cab, intent on the warmth, lots of exchanges as they struggle with seating and seatbelts.
You hope he says yes. That he takes your words and digests them fast, leaves you for the evening and not shake the settled dust free of your memories. They had been good and it hurt and time had only dulled it, but it was away and safe. Seeing Kento filled the years you wondered what if. A shitty boyfriend in your senior year, a few smitten disappointments afterwards, unreciprocated feelings, little heartbreaks that made relationships feel unbearable, alien to you, it manifested all that might have been if Kento hadn’t vanished from your life.
If he leaves in that cab, you can pretend there is not more to it. His request offers too much, he can’t sense its weight, but you can’t carry it on your own.
He glances at them then looks back to you, “I’m going to make sure my friend here gets back safe.”
You catch your breath, feel your heart hammering. You look to the woman.
He was different in ways that frightened you. How he stood with such, relaxed yet certain, self-assured and strong, towering over you. There was a detachment, from all those around him, even those he left with; he felt so far away even now right in front of you.
His presence was powerful.
Yet you could remember. He had been sweet, polite though quiet. Sat side-by-side in homeroom, back in middle school and it wasn’t long before you became friends though he said little at first. You used to be more talkative, outgoing even, sometimes loud. The pair of you just clicked and you couldn’t explain it. In him your saw something constant yet kind, even when he avoided crowds, kept to himself. He had a warmth that melted you. He got you through those awkward years.
His friend had called out goodnight after a little hesitation. He waves to her, and you do too even when she is no longer looking, slamming the door of the cab behind her. The car is speeding off.
Kento puts out his cigarette in his carry case and descends the stairs, the heels of his polished shoes clicking on the stone. Then he turns at the foot, expectant as he stares up at you. You’re beginning to understand that feeling when the world is no longer real, when something is the universe is off-kilter and unreliable and impossible.
Kento is there, full-grown. You ran into him at a work do. And now he wants to walk you to the car. The in between didn’t add up, not your version.
“Wont your friends be confused?” You sigh, taking each step carefully, hand clutching the carved stone balustrade. The salt may have missed an icy patch, you feel even more self-conscious under his scrutiny. Kento reaches out a hand, more like an extra support than an offer of intimacy.
“They’re more colleagues than friends. It doesn’t concern them what I do. How could I leave you to trek through this?” He shrugs.
“That’s cold, man.” You chuckle.
He quirks his head, “What is?”
“They seem like friends.” You stop on the bottom step. Your eyes just about meet his, locking him down. He puts one hand in his pocket and inspects you. Funny how time feels thick and heavy, impossible to slice through to the threads of your relationship, gelatinous with years yet the tethers are there, and his gentle smile melts you. You begin to wonder why you didn’t approach him throughout the night. What had been the problem?
“Well maybe they are; I was never good at knowing when I had any. Except with you. You were a good friend.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, not sure if you were excited or disheartened. He remembers the friendship. He holds out his arm again to you. You place your hand to his firm forearm and jump the last step and now he towers one again.
Walking down the street however, you keep a foot between you at least. He slows his pace to match you, though you attempt to be as brisk as you can.
“Do you mind? My wanting to catch up?” He asks, examining the footpath ahead.
What did he mean by mind anyway? This all felt unreal anyway, you weren’t sure if there was anything to mind; it might have been a flux in the matrix, a mistake in the timeline. You did mind, with every inch of your being. He was walking beside you. The heat of his body had been pulsing when you met him on the step, so much more of it, running on high as he always had. Crow’s feet teasing the skin around his eyes, weary though they look, yet they were the same eyes you had put to memory.
Of course you minded that you could still see him this way. That you couldn’t be indifferent.
You’d just been kids, hardly fifteen, and he had left you behind. When he was gone you knew you could miss him, and you knew that he took a piece of you even if he never knew nor cared.
And there was his hand now, those long fingers looked strong, leather of his gloves taught against them balled in a fist as it swung at his side, the other hand in the pocket. You kept your hands to yourself, wrapped around your body like a straightjacket, though you could think of so many things when you thought of his hands.
You had loved them.
You had held his hand, and felt the touch of his lips on yours, and you could still remember the shape of his fingers as they laced through your own, how his palm pressed to yours when he kissed you with curious brushes, almost awkward if they hadn’t been so gentle.
“Is that what this is?” You scoffed, unable to completely contain the frustration bubbling within,
He taps your shoulder, “I was wondering what you wanted to say to me.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, making a disgruntled noise, as you round the corner turning off the main street along the residential apartments that line the avenue, spindly dormant trees stand tall, “How’d you know it was me?”
“Who else did you see creeping around the party?” He shakes his head as you grumble something unintelligible, “Of course I knew it was you.”
You jab your finger at him, “I didn’t know you worked with my company. I work the front desk, I never see you come in, never spot you leaving. It seems kind of weird. I mean… you’re Kento.”
He nodded, “Hmm, well, how to expose the workaholic in me, I guess. Though,” Kento scratches his chin, “I’m thinking of giving it up.”
“You are?” You falter in your step. He seems ready to support you, but it is nothing. You lead on. Here it is, you found him again and already he has an exit plan.
He shrugs, and deflects, “It was good to see the whole team invited this year. To the Christmas event. We’ve been saying for years how unreasonable it is to segregate us.”
You roll your eyes looking out at the quiet road so he cannot see the gesture, “Well, before, receptionists probably weren’t deemed worthy of all those pricey wines.”
“Well, that’s not true.” He tuts and then pauses a moment, before rubbing the back of his neck, “I should have approached you earlier. When I spotted you, I couldn’t believe it… You haven’t changed at all.”
Flattered though you are, you shake your head, “I did stop growing.”
“That’s exactly what I was referring to.” He laughs softly, “What happened to your art? You used to do those brilliant sketches, the little comic strips that used to have me in stitches.”
You pressed your lips together to hide your smile. Kento’s idea of uncontrollable laughter is another’s well-mannered giggling; but you knew you were the one to make him laugh. You loved that, and it was why you made all those comics. They were always for him.
“The commissions don’t cover the rent. This job just about does and in the quiet moments I can work on some of my things.” You sigh, recalling all the times you had believed you would make millions as a satirist in one of the high-brow papers or create the most marvellous graphic novel to move and laugh and horrify the world, showcase your work at exhibitions to startle the masses. But by university, your parents had convinced you to study something else. Now your passion was your hobby. Your commissions were small, online. The only place you still felt seen as an artist.
“I’m glad to hear you still draw.” Kento leans across to you, “If you get the time, may you draw me something?”
The nod you give is wobbly, half-hearted. You would love to draw something for him, you have countless times; but now, it doesn’t feel enough, doesn’t feel as though you’ll ever get to hand it to him. He already feels elusive.
“What did you want to be, Kento?”
He doesn’t make a sound. If it weren’t for his footfalls, the way the soles of his shoes scraped the sidewalk, you would have assumed he had vanished again. Then it would feel better; this was all in your head, wishful thinking. The car is up ahead, you can see its battered exterior a sorry thing frosted over, nothing like the kind of vehicle you suspected he drove. Not too long now. Fitting time for him to dissipate.
Can you hear his breath, gentle pants as you walk? You want to know how his heart beats now? Have you startled him? Or is he level-headed, like he always appeared. You knew his heart pounded once, when he held you.
At last, through a heavy sigh, he says, “I don’t know.”
You’re not sure why you asked, as tonight the shame of your failure would soften it, that maybe you could confirm that you never wished the life he had for himself on anyone, to think that he was wishing for something else.
He was. He seemed to be wishing for a lot of things.
You’re startled as snow begins to fall, stop to catch them in your palm. Kento had not noticed, a few steps ahead, and turns to find you. When you meet his gaze, after grinning at the snow, at the magic of it in the night, you realise that he only looks at you. And you don’t want to believe it. When his eyes drag up and down your form you don’t know what he sees, what he’s looking for.
“What were you going to say to me, after all these years?” He says.
The snow is cold on your bare skin, melting to dew drops as they land. They cling to Kento’s hair, and he doesn’t’ notice, he just waits.
You slip off your glove and feel the snow in your palm before looking at him, “Where did you go?”
“I can’t answer that either.” He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
The frustration comes back, the one you try to bite down over and over. It’s unfair, this night. What he’s doing, being with you, is not fair on you. You ball up your fists, hope the pain of your fingers clawing your palms will fight off the tears, “You couldn’t call me?”
“I’m sorry-”
“Couldn’t find me?”
“Please-” He holds his hands out though he seems frozen to the spot.
“Why did you want to walk with me tonight? What are we doing?” He just stands there, his arms at his sides, hearing all you have to say, unmoving, “One day you didn’t come to school and you weren’t at your house and then more days came and you still didn’t come back. We were young, I know, maybe there was nothing left for us and maybe we’ve both changed too much now, that we’ll be disappointed in what we find but you were my friend too. I was on my own!”
“I know.” He steps towards you, at last, meek strides despite his long legs until he is close again, an imposing shape before you; broad and present and right there for you to take hold of. You could catch him and he couldn’t get away again. Instead you turn your face away, feeling the tears threatening to fall.
“You’re cruel, Kento. Do you know that?”
He winces.
You could place you ear to his chest, you could rest in his embrace and you could accept and remember this. Beyond this moment, there couldn’t be more. You don’t. Like always you never do. You’ve been teetering all this time.
The rumble of his deep voice as he replies sends a shiver down your spine; he is so close. “You’re right about that. I am. And selfish, for keeping you in my thoughts.”
This time you really do falter. The tears roll down you cheeks, hot in the icy air. If you reach to wipe them away, it’ll only draw attention, you hope they will stop soon.
“Tonight…” Kento continues, “I kept thinking how beautiful you were. Are. Just as I remember.”
Your voice will tremble if you speak; it’s too frightening the words that will come pouring out. He slips off one of his leather gloves, the fabric groaning beneath the movement. With his bare finger he tilts your face up towards his.
Mouth twisted in an attempt not to break, you brace for his repulsion at your tears. How pathetic, after all these years, useless these tears were. Yet his tender touch is unravelling you thread by thread, and you don’t know what he wants from you.
“Are you disappointed in what you found in me?” he asks his voice so low and soft.
“If I was, this would be easier.” You hiccup.
As you’re about to pull away, he cups your cheek in his hands, brushing the tears from your cheek. Such a light touch, so tender you find you lean into his hand. You know this touch. How you missed it, even when you thought you had forgotten. It’s warm, firmer than you expect, the skin like silk. He’s worlds away from you, is what you try to tell yourself; wealthy and handsome and accomplished, comforting a tearful child, who never grew out of her childhood crush, never learnt to let go. Here was a man before her.
Yet you accept his kindness. “You don’t know how little I’ve done with my life,” You whisper, “You’ll be awfully disappointed.”
He shakes his head, a playful smile teasing at his mouth, even as his eyes search your face with such intent, “That’s impossible.”
“How do you know you’ve been thinking of the same person all of these years?”
“I don’t.”
“Then how do you know you’re seeing the same person?”
“Right back at you.” He removes his other glove, teasing the material between his teeth before pocketing it and, with the first sheepish look you’ve seen on him all night, he whispers, “May I kiss you?”
You grab the front of his coat, maybe to keep you standing, or maybe to keep him there, suspended on the finest of the threads, “Where’s this going, Kento?”
He bites his lip, brows furrowed as he dips his head, “You’re not gonna like my answer.”
When you snort, it is an unintentionally hideous sound, like a horse. Even he is taken aback, “But somehow I keep asking you for them.”
With one swift tug, you bring Kento closer to you and press your lips to his.
The lips are the same, even when the lines of his face are harsher, even when you can feel the brush of his stubble and the shape of his body beneath his layers pressed to your curves. Soon he has your face in his hands, letting his long pinkie fingers caress the curve of your jaw. You love the way his lips tease on yours, how he turns the chaste kiss into something else, as his tongue teases the slope of your mouth.
You remember this. Yet it is all new. Things are leading to somewhere neither of you ever ventured, though the thought had swum in your adolescent minds, exploring one another’s bodies but always stopping, never sure what to do with it, all that longing. In this, somehow you’re not holding back, not really. You are both more experienced, and hardened yet you’re softer than you ever used to be, perhaps more fragile than before. More vulnerable than before. You have more to lose.
You can taste it on him.
Maybe this was why.
His hands wander, follow the swells of your body, slip beneath your coat and brush the sides of your breasts. You press yourself harder to him. Lower, he roams, large hands marking your waist, squeezing your hips, you loosen them in his grip, let him tug you closer. This Kento, he is bolder than you remember, lost time chased away with and seized in both his hands.
“Let me drive you home.” You murmur against his lips. Your hands have found his hair, nails stroking through it.
He pulls back. What must you look like; tear stained, lips swollen from his kiss. He’s marred your face. Has he no remorse? Perhaps.
He seems to be thinking in all the lives he leads. As are you. But right now, you want more from this very moment. In his arms, all the what ifs feel a little less scary, when this what if could find an answer.
You trace your thumb, still bare, along his brow, where the furrows have been forged. He catches your hand in his, and cradles it delicately, squeezing it and the cold that threatens to creep in. Though his hands are cold, the motions warm you both, yet still he blows gently on them. You shiver.
When he is satisfied, he presses your palms together, as you had as youths, entwining his fingers with yours. Like the heart of a flame. With great attention, he admires the shape of you together; even as you watch him do this, enjoy his focus, how his cheeks are flushed, his nose is rouged with the winter air, the unbearable graze of his thumb against the fleshy part of your hand. Waiting for his answer.
He sighs, “You can drive me anywhere.”
And he is kissing you again.
When you finally make it to the car, even after hearing the additional clack of his belt buckling in, the heat of his body beside your own in the enclosed space, it is not until you’ve been on the road for some time that you accept that Kento is really there. In the passenger seat, he never did vanish. He is speaking sweet nothings, resting a hand on your knee as you drive him into the night. You’re heading home, though you’re not sure who’s. Even now you’re not certain if either of you are ready to go somewhere at all. You just keep driving, even as the snow faintly falls, the night still.
And you revel in his low voice, and the way he comforts you by just being. You are soothed by the years he is willing to share, intimate thoughts tumbling from his lips as only the night hours tease from lovers.
You’re evening is far from over.
---
See you in the saucy Part TWO of FOUR
Or read the rest in my Ao3 -
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