⤷ ゛policeman!nanami finding you crying on the sidewalk and comforting you. ˎˊ˗
the precinct’s fluorescent hum had long since faded into the city’s evening static, replaced by the softer glow of streetlamps and the distant thrum of weekend traffic.
nanami saw you from half a block away.
a splash of color against the grey concrete, seated on the edge of the sidewalk like a garden flower that had somehow taken root in a crack. and you were crying, just quiet sniffling reaching his ears, your shoulders curved inward, a crumpled tissue pressed to your nose.
nanami slowed his pace. he didn’t sigh, he did, however, briefly close his eyes as if asking the universe why it had to be him when all he wanted was to go home and read the newspaper. but the universe was predictably silent, so he approached. it was his duty after all.
your eyes were wet and a little glassy, framed by lashes that clumped together in tiny, tragic triangles, your bottom lip was still trembling a bit and despite it all— or maybe because of it— nanami found himself thinking you looked rather lovely, as if you were a watercolor painting left out in the rain.
“are you all right?” he asked, voice even. “do you need assistance?”
you blinked at him, then sniffled. “you’re… really tall.”
“yes,” he agreed, because, well, it was true. he pursed his lips, head tilting forward as he patiently awaited for any kind of continuation from you.
“and you have a…” you gestured vaguely at your own face, “...thing. on your face.”
“glasses,” you repeated, nodding sagely as if he’d just shared profound wisdom. “i like them.”
“what’s your name, miss?”
your brows furrowed as you tried your best to give him the right answer before you muttered it out. he made a note to remember it.
you were clearly drunk; definitely drifting somewhere warm and hazy beyond sobriety. nanami assessed this in about two seconds. he also assessed that you were alone, it was getting late, and that sitting on a sidewalk in that dress was an invitation to every piece of gum and city grime within a three-foot radius.
“can you tell me why you’re crying?” he asked, because protocol dictated he should establish whether a crime had occurred before he started making assumptions. but his voice had softened at the edges without his permission.
your face crumpled a little, enough to make something in his chest tighten. what a sad little creature you were.
“he said—” you started, then stopped, dabbing at your nose with the tissue. “he said i was trying too hard. that i looked…” you gestured down at yourself, at the shimmer of your dress, “...like o was desperate.”
nanami’s expression didn’t change as he intently listened to your words.
“and i just thought…” you continued, voice wobbling dangerously, “i thought i looked pretty. i felt pretty. i did my nails and everything, sir, see?”
you held out your hands. your nails were meticulously shaped, painted a delicate, pearlescent pink that caught the streetlamp light. your fingers trembled slightly.
nanami looked at your nails, his own hand darting forward to catch one of your fingers between his and rub on the surface. he looked at your dress, he looked at your face, all hopeful and devastated and endearingly tipsy, seeking validation from a complete stranger in a police uniform.
“they’re very nice nails,” he said.
you perked up, tear-tracks glistening. “really?”
“really.” He paused. “the color suits you.”
it was the truth. he’d never been good at saying things he didn’t mean, which was probably why he was still a beat cop instead of moving up the ladder. he saw you smile for the first time: a small, wobbly, watery curl of your glossy lips, and felt something quietly dangerous settle behind his ribs.
“thank you,” you whispered. then you deflated, as if remembering your grief all over again, “he didn’t even show up. i waited for an hour. an hour. and when i texted him, he said…” you trailed off, fresh tears spilling over.
nanami didn’t need to hear the rest. he’d been a policeman long enough to piece together the shape of it. someone had let you down and had made you feel small for daring to care. it was, in his opinion, unforgivable. you were adorable.
“may I?” he asked, gesturing to the spot on the curb beside you.
you nodded, sniffling, and he lowered himself down. his long legs stretched out in front of him, polished shoes planted on the asphalt. up close, he could smell your perfume—something floral and soft—and the faint lingering scent of whatever you’d been drinking earlier. wine, probably. something sweet.
you leaned toward him instinctively, a little magnet seeking north. “you’re sitting on the sidewalk,” you observed. “isn’t that against the rules?”
“i’m off-duty in twenty-three minutes,” he said. it was close enough to true. “i’ll let myself off with a warning.”
that earned him a giggle, hiccupy and surprised, and you clapped a hand over your mouth like you’d forgotten you were capable of making that sound. nanami felt the corner of his own mouth twitch.
“you’re very nice,” you said. “pretty policeman with the glasses. sitting on the dirty ground. for me.”
“the ground isn’t that dirty,” he replied, “and you looked like you needed someone to sit with you.”
your face crumpled, then smoothed, then crumpled again. you pressed your lips together hard. “that’s… that’s a really kind thing to say.”
he didn’t answer, he wasn’t even sure he could. instead, he just stayed there, solid and warm beside you, while the city hummed around you both and you slowly, gradually, stopped trembling. after a while, your head drifted sideways and landed on his shoulder. he let it.
“he doesn’t deserve your nails,” Nanami said eventually, into the quiet.
you let out a surprised laugh. “my nails?”
“or your dress,” he added. “or the hour you waited. none of it.”
you were quiet for a moment, before muttering very softly, “you don’t even know me.”
“i know enough.” he turned his head slightly, looking down at the top of yours. “someone who puts in that much effort deserves someone who shows up.”
you pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes red-rimmed but clearer now. “is that, like, a police thing? you have to say nice things to crying girls on sidewalks?”
“it’s not in the manual,” he said. and because you were looking at him like he’d hung the moon, and because he was very tired and his filter had apparently clocked out early, he added, “but I mean it, sweetheart.”
you stared at him. he stared back.
“okay,” you whispered. “okay.”
he helped you up when your ride arrived— a friend you’d called, voice still thick but steadier now. before you climbed into the car, you turned back to him.
“wait,” you said, fumbling with your phone. “what’s your number? so i can, um. thank you properly. when I’m not…” you waved a hand at your own face. “this.”
nanami hesitated. it wasn’t very professional of him, yet he gave it to you anyway.
“text me when you’re home,” he said, sliding the phone back into your waiting hand. “so I know you made it safely.”
you nodded, clutching the phone to your chest like something precious. “i will. i promise.”
he watched the taillights disappear around the corner and stood there for a long moment, hands in his pockets, the ghost of your perfume still lingering on his uniform. he had twenty-three minutes left on his shift—well, less now—and a strange, unfamiliar lightness in his chest.
the next morning, he woke up to a text from an unknown number. It was a photo of your nails, catching the morning light, with a message underneath:
see? still pretty. thanks to you. - the sidewalk girl
nanami stared at his phone for a long time. then, very carefully, he saved your number and typed out a reply.
i’m glad. coffee sometime?
he hit send before he could overthink it, and for once in his life, was glad he did.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
origamiaround
titsay
