hey. nanami who hires reader as a nonsexual companion because he was just told he only has 6 months to a couple years to live and he doesnt want to spend it alone.
he spent so much of life focused on work and building a retirement and. now it means nothing. he's going to die single, with no family left to keep him company.
so, while he's still healthy enough to do it, he wants to pretend to be in love. take someone on vacations and dates. just so he can die knowing he did it.
when he asked you to dinner, you almost said no. It
"I want to be clear." The ice in Nanami's glass is perfectly round and completely clear, like a gem plucked from a jeweler you could never afford. Your own drink is some beautifully bubbly thing the bartender recommended when your request for a vodka cran raised a brow. It's herbal and sweet, something you could easily swallow down if the moment was right. Here, in this dimly light restaurant, with soft music and real adults with real wardrobes, is not the place. "This is is a business deal more than a romantic one."
"Um." You pull at your polyester skirt as if that could possibly make it change in some way. It's very obvious that you don't belong here; wealth and classy don't ooze from your pores. The clasp of your necklace is turning the back of your neck green. It was silly to ever consider someone like Nanami loving someone like you. "What does that mean?"
Your Not Date passes the menu across the table.
"There's a tasting menu for two," he explains. "And I've never had someone to taste it with."
That steals a laugh from you. Nanami Kento, the well dressed, stunning man who tips with twenties, could have anyone he wanted. Hell, it's a miracle someone like that even noticed you. Your amusement fades when his soft, sad expression doesn't change. The man adjusts his glasses by the bridge, dodging your amusement and pretending to focus on that damn ice cube.
You try to recover. "Did you just ask me here to try the menu?"
"Mostly." He twists the glass with two fingers. "I'm dying."
It's not a joke. You know that. But it doesn't feel real. Nanami says it like he's from the local newspaper: a woman grew a gargantuan zucchini, they're repaving the highway, he's dying-
"Uh." You swallow and try to think of the appropriate reaction. It's not like you know the man past early morning small talk; it's not like you can ask why or how or when. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."
He nods with a shrug, very casually, then brings his drink to his lips and drains the whole thing in one big gulp. The waiter described the whisky as smooth, and yet Nanami shakes away the taste. You follow suit, draining your own drink with a little less grace.
"You're the first person I've told," he says after a while, with an levity he's never had before. "I don't have anyone else to tell."
Oh. There's no window into other's lives, no secret door to peer through and learn what's going on when the curtains are drawn. You almost reach a hand over the table, but the waiter comes with the first course of what you assume to be the tasting menu. He asks if you both would like second drinks and Nanami nods firmly. When the waiter looks to you, you look back at the man who's paying; Nanami raises a brow as if he's surprised.
"Order whatever you want."
You do. You need something to do with your hands. Nanami does too-- he keeps twisting at his watch, this tastefully elegant, refined thing with a beautiful face, something only with discerning taste and deep pockets could choose. The interruption has only built tension between the two of you. There's so many questions, but you refuse to ask them.
Nanami clears his throat.
"I poured my life into my work." Nanami examines his plate. You had nearly forgotten there was food in front of you. "I told myself that I could always go on vacation next year, once I had the promotion or once business slowed down. That I could start a family in a couple of years, once I had the time to do it properly. I could see my friends, visit my nephew, once I had the time."
He picks up his fork.
"Now, I'm forty, I have no time, and I have no one."
You wonder about his parents, his nephew, his sister. No man is an island: someone must love Nanami. Someone must.
"So, yes. I did invite you here simply to share the menu," Nanami says. This whole time, he's been placid. He takes a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully for a long, long time. "Do you like it?"
You still haven't tasted it.
"I'm really sorry." is all you can manage to say. You think of texting your mother, despite everything between you.
"If this goes well, I have a proposition," he continues, taking another bite. "Pretend to be my partner. Just for a couple months, until I'm a burden. I would pay you, of course-"
"I'm sorry, I'm not-- I going to have sex with you-" you blurt out, too loudly for the mature space around you.
His eyes go ridiculously wide and he throws up his hands in defense. "I would never, ever ask that of anyone. This isn't about-- I don't expect-- I don't expect any physical contact. Just companionship."
You aren't sure you believe him. Why would you? Despite his boyish smile and romantic blinde hair, he's a man. You don't even know if he's really dying.
"I just..." Nanami sighs. "I want to live in a delusion for a bit. I want to pretend I didn't waste my life."
Wasted life. You want to laugh. There's no way to relate to how he feels, but you know the feeling of the days feeling worthless. The coffeehouse has been draining your soul as your college degree sits around, gathering dust.
"I-- Can I think about it?"
Nanami nods. "Of course."
"If I say no, would you still pay for dinner?"
Again, he gives you a perturbed look.
"I'm not a monster. Of course I would. This isn't a place you go on a barista salary."
Brutal, but true. You finally taste the food in front of you, chewing slowly as an excuse to think. What does companionship even entail? Do you have to pretend to be in love with him, or can you keep being yourself?
"I think you wasted this meal on me," you whisper. "I don't like it very much."
Nanami breaks into his first smile of the night. He leans back in his chair with a ghost of a laugh.
"I didn't either," he admits. "Six more courses, though. Hopefully, we'll like one."
"I'll buy a pizza for us if we don't," you offer. "I can afford that on a barista budget."
.
Nanami doesn't let you pay for the slice.
"Well," he says as he folds his own slice in half. "Now I won't die wondering about that tasting menu."
Most of the mischaracterization Riza suffers from wouldn’t be nearly as popular if people actually understood why she follows Roy and it isn’t just love and loyalty.
One of the main reasons she stays by his side is because she sees herself as the guardian of flame alchemy. She’s trying to make sure of two things: 1. no one ever gets their hands on it again. and 2. the only person who can use it never misuses it again. That’s why she follows him. She has to. She’s watching the weapon she helped create.
And she has to keep him alive not only because he’s the one with the political power (meaning he’s her only real way to make sure the trials happen), but because he has to live long enough to atone for what he did with flame alchemy. The power SHE gave him.
From Riza’s point of view, every crime Mustang commits is hers too. Every time flame alchemy is used to kill that blood is on her hands too. Every person he killed is someone she killed by proxy.
She’s not just guarding him. She’s sharing his guilt. It’s like she’s trying to atone for her own sins, but he has to atone too so she can atone through him.
I think this Hannibal quote fits them really well: “You and I have begun to blur. Every crime of yours feels like one I’m guilty of.” Like yeah she obviously loves him. But reducing their relationship to just that completely flattens what’s actually going on.
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