as if it were our last (nanami kento x reader)
Summary: Both of you were regular customers at the bakery, him a quiet figure so close yet so far. That is until both of your fate is tied by the last piece of pastry available.
Word count: 5,607 CW: Fluff, slight angst, ties to the actual story (you know how he ended up)
***
The first time you saw him, you thought it was a coincidence.
The second time onward, you believe it was fate.
But every single time, you can’t take your eyes off him.
Maybe it was the fact that he would always show up in the same attire; a cream-coloured suit thrown over a perfectly-starched dark blue shirt, his leopard print tie loosened as you wonder how many of those suits he actually owns. Every day, without fail, he would pick up bread at the bakery you frequent. From his attire alone, you can guess that he’s involved with a corporate job, but it’s not like you could ask him casually what his occupation is despite being the only customers in the bakery, the soft music accompanying your baked goods picked for today.
It’s always like this. You and him, the music in the background playing as you browse through the selection, your eyes ever-so-subtly alternating between the shelves and his figure. Funny thing is, both of you would come to the bakery at the same time every day, whether it’s on purpose or not, and there would never be another customer present.
As if the time is specially reserved for both of you.
You chuckle at yourself, amusing yourself with the thought of having your own imagination being too idealistic while the man is probably only thinking about how he’d go home to eat whatever he bought fresh. You slightly shake your head, hand automatically reaching out for the last piece of cream-filled pastry but your hand stops short when another hovers near yours.
Of course, right. The only time I wasn’t checking him out was exactly the time he would magically transport himself next to me.
And of course, we’re going to get the same pastry but it’s the last piece.
What a great story, next.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
You freeze at the simple sentence because one, you realize that this is the first time you’ve actually heard his voice clearly and two- it sounds so nice. Like the warm feeling you finally get after being in the cold for so long, the first spark you see as you sigh when you feel the warmth gradually return.
You must’ve been frozen for so long that he must’ve thought you didn’t hear him, so he clears his throat subtly before trying again, but this time around his head is peeking through the corner of your eyes.
He has beautiful eyes, despite his darkened eyebags that make you think what in the world had treated him harshly.
You want to reply, but you end up waving your hand, somehow ashamed to even look at him when you’ve been basking in his attractiveness every single day without any regrets. Somehow, the thought of him striking a conversation with you, albeit because of the last piece of pastry never occurred to you. Your image of him is just this suited up attractive guy who enjoys bread as much as you do, bringing around a mysterious aura but would never spare you a look in the eye.
You hope your attempt at a flimsy wave would bring across the message to him that he can have the pastry before you clutch the tray closer to you as if it would repel him from continuing to talk to you. Well obviously, much to your dismay, it doesn’t work as he speaks up again.
“You can have it. I always see you buy it every day; you must like it a lot.” There’s a pause, as if he’s contemplating on whether he should be saying the next sentence. “I was curious about what it’d taste like but it’s too bad there’s only one left today.”
Again, he makes you speechless and you can’t seem to tell whether it’s a good or bad thing. Whatever he said just sounds the same as you confessing that you’ve been watching him ever since the first time you saw him.
Silence hangs in the air before he clears his throat again. “I did not mean to sound creepy.”
This time around you laugh lightly, because it wasn’t him that you thought was creepy. It just seemed like you’ve come to the realization that whatever you did this whole time must be borderline creepy yet you couldn’t help yourself when your time and his always seem to align perfectly.
“It’s delicious.” You reply simply, but it takes a moment for you to realize that this conversation is one of the most awkward you’ve ever had and yet you don’t want it to end.
He chuckles. “I couldn’t have guessed.”
You can’t help but smile as you notice that he’s been trying to quietly place the bread on your tray, but seems to hesitate as you’re hugging the tray a little bit too close to your body. Subconsciously, you extend your tray towards him, too late to not appear as if you’re really desperate for that last piece.
He places it down on your tray carefully before he shrugs, a little bit of the corners of his mouth lifting up as he says, “Maybe I’ll have better luck tomorrow.” He bows his head before turning on his heels, and you realize there and then.
You want to talk to him more. So you say, one of the boldest but probably dumbest things you can manage to a stranger.
“We can share.”
There, you said it. And so, he stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. For a moment, you can see his decisions flashing right in front of his eyes and they all end with a no, no, no thank you, that’s a weird thing to say to a stranger, I’m going to call the police on you.
But much to your surprise, and well, it does take a lot to surprise you- he turns around before nodding almost nonchalantly. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”
You’re hoping it’s an exaggerated description when your jaw hits the floor at his easy agreement, but it does feel so until you didn’t even realize that he has taken the tray off your hands. Before you can register what’s happening, the total is already displayed on the screen but it’s not you who’s searching for money.
You steal a glance from the corner of your eyes as he insists on paying everything you bought, highly embarrassed that the total you bought exceeded his.
You’re even thinking of snatching some of the items off the tray but the cashier is quick in putting everything in a bag while pointing out that it’s the first time she’s seen the two of you striking up a conversation. You only sheepishly nod, mind already reeling on what would happen next when you actually have to share the pastry with him.
Sure, you can break the pastry in half then give it to him.
But still. Still. Sitting together with the man you’ve always found attractive, sharing pastry? The furthest you’ve gone with a boy is him rejecting you in front of the whole school while his friends laugh in your face for ‘not knowing your position’ and since then, you’ve vowed to never make the first move again.
Yet today, you asked someone to share pastry with you? Even you find this whole development kind of funny and you might even start to laugh. You’ll just wait until this man, whom you don’t even know the name of, decides that sitting down with you is not something he would like.
Maybe, he’s only trying to be polite and tried not to reject you-
Your brain stops making up scenarios of him leaving you behind when you hear him asking what you’d like to drink.
“Huh?” you manage, unaware of what the simple question means.
He smiles while gesturing towards the dining tables outside of the bakery then to the menu board. “Since we’re eating here, I thought you’d like something to drink.” He leans forward. “Just one cup of black tea for me, please.”
Your eyes dart around, looking at the menu feeling flustered and not registering any of the words. Instead, you order your go-to drink and you internally cringe when you see him paying for your drinks too. You wanted to pay instead but when you’re fumbling around for cash, he has already pocketed the change.
He tilts his head, inviting you towards the patio so you can enjoy the scenery as you think that oh, what have I gotten myself into?
He walks towards a chair and you think that he’d plop himself onto the chair first, but you forgot that this man is not like ‘other men you’ve met’ because he pulls out the chair for you to sit.
“Ah,” you exclaim before hurriedly rushing over to sit, as if scared that if he’d have to wait a second longer he’d change his mind and leave. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he replies, and you think no, you have no idea how it’s truly, truly my pleasure.
You can’t help but even admire the way he sits, so poised that you’re convinced he’s taken special lessons on chivalry and proper etiquette.
Your mind is reeling on what you should do next, on whether you’re supposed to take out the pastry now, or wait until your drinks arrive before having to suffer the consequences of your impulsive action.
“I’m Nanami Kento,” he pauses, “by the way.”
Ah right. You didn’t even know his name. “Y/N,” you reply almost hurriedly, hoping that the drinks would come faster to save you from this heat.
The drinks did come, but it doesn’t solve the heat you’re experiencing because you’re still thinking on how you’d do what you actually came here to do.
You watch as he stands up, washes his hands before reaching out for the pastry in the bag. You don’t remember the last time you were this nervous.
There’s nothing to be nervous about, right? Of course there isn’t. At least that’s what you’re trying to convince yourself, but it doesn’t help as you see him tear the pastry in half (which somehow, he could do perfectly without having the cream drop to the table) and hand it over to you.
It doesn’t feel fair to you as everything he does seems to be perfect. Here you thought that sitting down with him would crush the image you have of him and you’ll finally stop daydreaming about him.
“Hmm,” he hums as he takes the first bite slowly, eyes immediately finding yours. “You’re right, it’s delicious.”
You only smile as you quietly munch on your own portion; you were never much of a talker. Confessing to the boy you liked in school before getting rejected was probably one of the reasons you thought it’s better to stay quiet most of the time.
The same seems to ring true for him as he quietly finishes his portion. Sure, it’s quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. You like his presence; he seems to be a man of few words yet you feel comfortable. You can live with this. Definitely.
As time passes and both of your drinks are long drained, you’re able to discern two major points about his job; it’s something that he can’t say outright about what it is, but it’s definitely not a shady job (in which he seems to try really hard to convince you that he’s not someone dangerous) and that he has a senior at work named Gojo that he absolutely cannot stand yet somehow has to.
He indeed didn’t come across as much of a talker, but every time he does open his mouth, you find yourself absorbed in whatever he’s talking about. You enjoy his company up to the point that you forget about the nerves you initially felt, the time passing by much faster until it’s past the time you would usually spend at the bakery.
You notice that he would occasionally clasp his hands and cross his legs as he drinks his black tea (elegantly, if you may add). It made you conscious about your choice of clothes that you thought maybe you should’ve dressed more neatly if you know you’d run into him at the bakery anyway. To the passers-by, you must’ve looked like the employee who’s about to be fired by their boss over a cup of tea, especially with how much you were fiddling with your fingers and the obvious attempt of not looking at him directly.
Of course the only time you didn’t want to look at him is the time you actually had the opportunity to do so.
“What about you?” he asks, and you blink, taking too long to process what he’s asking about. It seems that your thoughts take longer to process whenever he’s near. “Of course only if you’re comfortable.” He shrugs, “It seems that I’ve been talking too much.”
You finally register what he’s alluding at. “I’m a writer,” you say simply, a bit ashamed to say that even your ‘bestseller’ sold less than 10 copies at the local bookstore. Even then, most of them were bought by family members and friends who wanted to support your debut work. “Well,” you chuckle, more of you trying to brush away the embarrassment, “trying to be one.”
“That’s amazing,” he utters.
You can’t help but smile, fighting the urge to joke that there’s simply nothing amazing about your work- just a product of your imagination running wild. Imagination that fell flat and forced you to accept reality. Truthfully, you barely remember the plot of your own story after it failed to sell well. Now you’re just barely going through life as you think about how you’re going to survive another month without a stable paycheck.
You didn’t realize time has passed in his presence that you flinch when you notice the time, realizing that you still need to buy groceries before going back home. You hastily apologize as you tell him that you need to go and catch the bus. When he offers to accompany you to the bus stop you politely decline, already thinking that the walk to the bus stop would be twice as longer than normal if you’re with him.
He lets you go with a ‘be careful’ and a ‘see you tomorrow’. As you scurry out of the bakery you finally acknowledge the heat in your cheeks, grounding you to the fact that you just had tea with the man you wouldn’t dream of striking a conversation with, all thanks to the last piece of your favourite pastry.
Throughout your journey in the bus and to the grocery store, you can’t stop thinking about him, even more severe than the days before now that you’ve heard his voice and seen his face up close. At the same time you’re debating with yourself, asking whether he’s only being polite and that someone like him should’ve already had a special someone.
Right, it’s good to not get ahead of yourself. Come on, you barely know him and it was only a one-time thing. Simply him being polite over a cup of tea.
Well that’s one thing- you convinced yourself too much about that until it started to manifest itself.
After that day, you do come across him as usual like other days, but your meeting with him is only a polite nod and brief greeting from him before he goes to the counter to pay and disappears. You're only left speechless and begrudgingly disappointed as you realize that indeed, you were getting ahead of yourself. It's not that he ignored you, but you wished that maybe after that day, something would be different.
You try to think of whether you did something that made him uncomfortable, but the only time you were actually in close proximity was that day. You can't think of any other days that you could've made him not want to have anything to do with you anymore.
Oh, you think to yourself. Stupidly thinking that the conversation was something.
The only consolation you had for yourself is that at least he didn't entirely avoid you by not visiting the same bakery, at the same time. At least.
It's that particular day when he looks especially restless, face tense more than usual. You decide that you need to stop worrying about him and focus on yourself instead, now that the month is ending and the balance in your bank account doesn't look too promising.
"Y/N."
Just as you're about to walk to the counter to pay, you hear his familiar voice calling out your name, and it takes your slightly petty self a little bit of will to not ignore him. You turn around to see him standing with a tight look on his face, barely smiling and his fingers clutching the tray tightly, his knuckles turning white. You frown when you notice that he looks… sad.
As if he was longing for something that never came.
Oh, sounds very familiar.
"Nanami," you utter, drawing the line where you know that his last name is only what you'll be able to address him as. "Is something wrong?"
"I was wondering if…" He presses his lips together, forming a thin line. You see something flash in his eyes, but he looks away almost instinctively that you wonder whether he did it on purpose so you wouldn't be able to read him.
Not that you're a good mind reader anyway.
"...if you're free tomorrow."
"For-" You stop talking as you see him relax, before he gives a nervous chuckle.
"I'm asking you out on a date. That is, considering that you don’t have someone.”
You ball your fist and press it against your mouth, too shocked to function. This development of going from barely acknowledging each other to going out on a date seems like a major leap, but you find yourself nodding almost immediately.
"I'm free." You don’t reply to the latter part of his sentence as you believe agreeing to go on a date with him means that your lovelife is as dry as a barren desert.
Just as you see him smile his phone rings and he grumbles when he notices that Gojo is calling him. He excuses himself for a moment as he answers the call, leaving you to process what he just asked you and how quick you were to agree on going out on a date with him.
Nanami massages his temple all the way through the call, but you can’t make out the details of his phone conversation. What you notice is him punching the end button in a hurry, letting out a big sigh as he pockets back his phone. He turns to you again, a subtle smile dancing on his lips as both of you agree on a set time and place for the date.
Just like that, he leaves you with his phone number and a promise to meet at the designated place.
In the eagerness you agreed to go out with him tomorrow, you realize you absolutely have no idea on what you should wear. You decide that you would wear something that’s in your comfort zone, figuring out that maybe Nanami isn’t the type of guy who would question your choice of clothes.
You can’t sleep that night. It’s a mixture of you being nervous and excited, but to be honest you don’t have any idea what to expect. Nanami to you is still quite a mystery, but it’s the expression he had on yesterday that made you wonder whether this date is just something he would want to get out of the way.
You can’t help but think of his sudden decision to ask you out on a date, but you bring yourself out of your bed, slightly shocked at your face staring back in the mirror. So, not sleeping the day before your first date is an absolute big no. Too late to turn back time, you get ready as best as you can and step out of your house with enough time to meet him at your promised place.
It strikes you that you’ve never actually seen him in clothes other than his usual attire, so when you notice him leaning against the wall wearing a light blue sweatshirt paired with tight-fitting pants you just- gulp.
He pushes himself off against the wall when he sees you approaching, a smile bigger than any one you’ve seen on him, but it’s still there- the distinct sadness in his eyes.
You want to ask, but you don’t want to ruin the day, and not to mention that this is your first date in a while (read: your whole life). So you only stand next to him, and it startles you when he asks, albeit shyly, whether he can hold your hand.
He keeps insisting that you’re free to rip your hand away from his if you ever feel uncomfortable, but all you want to tell him is that you’ve never felt a grip as safe as his, the scars on the palm of his hand giving you a sense of security that tells you he’ll protect you when he needs to. At first he seems awkward as he holds your hand, but further into the day, you notice that he gradually interlaces his fingers with yours, subconsciously rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand.
You’ve no idea what a first date is supposed to be like, but with Nanami, you’re convinced that you won’t ever have any other date as perfect as this. Both of you visit museums, walk through parks, share stories over food- though one thing you realize is that it seems the more you share with each other, the more you don’t know about Nanami.
It feels like he’s trying to go everywhere a day would allow, not giving a single chance for you to waste any time.
At the end of the day, as both of you stand on the bridge overlooking the river and breathing in the air, he loosens his grip around your hand before leaning against the railing, hands clasped in front. The two of you remain silent, but even with the animated conversations you shared today, there is still a lot you want to ask him.
You figure out it’s better to take it slow. After all, there’s plenty of time, right?
Nanami looks down at the river long enough until he feels like he could face you, before turning around to hesitantly place his palm on your head. He smiles, but there it is again. The smile that makes you think he has something heavy he needs to verbalize but can’t.
He does say it anyway.
“I wish we had more time. I wish I mustered up the courage to ask you out earlier.”
From the tone of his voice, you know that him saying more time is not referring to today.
“Are you going somewhere far?” you ask. “Is that why you suddenly asked me out on a date?”
“It depends, but most likely. Somewhere far away so I can’t see you again no matter how much I want to.”
You want him to explain more. You want him to give context, but all you feel is that you’re not in the place to ask. It’s that feeling you have ever since the first time you saw him- that both of you exist in different worlds. That there’s something about him that you simply can’t understand.
So you do the thing you do best. You keep quiet.
You don’t blame him, but you can still feel your heart breaking into pieces. Is that why he looked so sad? Being able to occupy his mind up to the point his mood was affected feels like a foreign idea to you, so you brush that thought away.
He grabs both of your hands, holding them tightly as if he’s refusing to let go. Slowly, he lowers his head and presses a kiss on your forehead. He apologizes but you don’t know what for, until you feel his lips pressing against yours briefly, like a butterfly fluttering its wings as it takes flight. He rests his forehead against yours, and you know that you want more but the feeling at the pit of your stomach overpowers it.
You pull him into a hug, and his body shrinks into yours, as if the hug is what he’s been desperately needing his whole life. You can’t pull away, you don’t want to pull away and he shares the same sentiment as he links his hands behind you. All the warmth, the loneliness, the unsaid pain linger in the hug, and you stay that way until you’re aware of his breath hitching against your bare neck.
You free yourself from the embrace but he holds onto your hand, trying his best to smile. You walk along the bridge, hands interlocked, thinking that oh, why is everything moving so fast?
For crying out loud, it’s your first date with him yet you’re left feeling empty by the end of the day. A bottomless pit that you can’t fill, a mystery you can’t unravel before the time’s up.
You want to know more about him but-
This is as far as we can go.
He accompanies you all the way to your house, insisting on seeing you off until your doorstep. When you face each other at the doorway, you want to invite him into your house. You don’t want to let him out of your sight. You want to feel more of him, more of his warmth.
But you know that’s where he draws the line.
After all, it’s only your first date, right? Too bad that it seems to be the last one as well.
He finally lets go of your hands, the sudden empty feeling for not having his hands wrapped around yours jerking your heart suddenly. He looks down at the floor, uttering words that only sound superficial to you.
“I hope you had fun today.” He only smiles like he was forced to before turning around, leaving you clenching your fists in slight irritation. As if he didn’t kiss you on the lips and tried to pretend it didn’t happen.
“Did you not?” you ask his back, resisting the urge to make him turn back to look at you.
“I’m not-“ He turns around to face you again, and you see that he’s no longer smiling, his lips pressed into thin lines. “-someone who deserves to feel that way. I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, but that’s not what you need right now. All you want is an explanation. “I shouldn’t have roped you into this. You could’ve gotten hurt by getting involved with me.”
You’re frustrated, but you let out a small laugh out of incredulity. “You said you’re not a dangerous person.”
He doesn’t falter. “I’m not, but my job is.”
“Well maybe I’m already hurt,” you say through gritted teeth. You press the back of your palms against your eyes, looking away. “It was the happiest I’ve felt in a while today.” You look down, the tears slowly dripping down your cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Y/N,” he insists.
“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’ll have to take a shower and sleep, I’m so exhausted.” You try to play it off but in reality you want him to stay.
He doesn’t. Instead he grabs your hand to plaster kisses on your knuckles and pats your head for one last time, sighing, before turning around to leave. Soon he’s just a small figure in the distance until you can’t see him anymore.
And you never do see him again.
After that date, you go to the bakery as usual, hoping to catch glimpses of him again and it was only the two of you acting out a play, belting out dramatic lines. You call his number a few times, drawing the limit where you wouldn’t be considered as pushy. In fact, you would even take it if he pretends to not recognize you anymore. You just want to see him again.
Days go by and the routine of the both of you going to the bakery at the same time every day gradually fades, and it takes you a desperate flip through your phone album to realize that you don’t even have a single picture of him.
You have absolutely no idea that somewhere in an underground subway station, Nanami is desperately fighting for his life.
Nanami could feel his body weakening, and he knows that he’s reached his limits. Half of his face and body are burnt off, and through his limited eyesight that he’s slowly losing, he sees the aftermath of the battle he lost. Even though his hand is tightly gripping his weapon, he has no energy to use it anymore. He’s done here. He has no regrets.
Maybe some.
He wanted to visit Malaysia. That would be nice.
Ah, I wish I could see your face for one last time.
Possibly his biggest regret.
You’re his biggest regret.
Regret that the circumstances of your fateful meeting turn out to be so cruel.
He kneels on the ground and drops his weapon. He closes his eyes; let me just rest for a while. When he sees his dear friend whom he lost in high school smiling at him from a distance , he knows that he can no longer see you, the worlds between the two of you completely breaking apart.
The days are getting colder. You let out a large breath as you push open the door to the local bookstore, the bell chiming. It’s a habit for you to visit the store, considering how you’d always browse through the books even though you don’t have the luxury to buy them. Besides, although you don’t want to admit it, you want to check out whether the sales counter for your published book would increase even just by one.
“Y/N, good to see you here,” the shopkeeper and owner greets you. “Now that you're here, I’ve something to give you.”
Confused, you walk over to the counter as she beckons you over. She fishes something out from under the counter and slides it over to you.
You look at the book. “It’s my book,” you utter, not bothered to hide your confusion.
“Ah, silly me.” She slaps her palm to her forehead. “So this gentleman came into the shop and asked me whether I have your book in stock. I said of course! He said he wanted to buy one, but the weird thing is, he read through your book for hours here, without even moving. He finished reading, handed it over to me before saying that he’ll take it back after this date." She points to a circled date on the calendar. "But-“ she breathes in, “he told me that if he failed to show up after that date, I should give the book to you. I think he wrote something in there.”
“When was this?”
“Around two weeks ago, I think?”
So it was sometime before our date. But is it even him?
“Let’s see…” she exclaims, “Ah, here it is. Attractive gentleman named Nanami Kento. Super polite too. Who is he?” She grins. “Your boyfriend? Both of you passing letters through your book?”
“Just someone I know,” you reply, hands reaching out to take the book. “I’ll be taking this,” you say hurriedly before dashing out of the store.
Is it just you, or the temperature has gotten colder than before you entered the bookstore?
You find a place to sit on the bench at the park, already out of breath as you impatiently flip through the pages. What is he trying to tell you? You thumb your way through, half expecting to find a full-page written letter but you only come across a small note slipped at the end of the book.
Thank you, I enjoyed the story a lot. Though I wished we would never turn out the same way.
You don’t understand what he’s trying to tell you.
But the storyline of your own book comes back to you bit by bit, until you feel your tears pooling in your eyes. You remember making up the main plot of the story about a couple who couldn’t be together because they were from different worlds. In the end one of them died, their feelings unable to be conveyed. You thought it was a good story that could sell well, but guess it’s too clichéd judging from the sales anyway.
None of that matters right now.
Your eyes fall to a part of your story where Nanami had pointed out.
I’ll be waiting for you, always. I’ll be waiting for you so that the first thing I’m going to say when we meet again is ‘I love you’. In this life or another, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I don’t want them to be my last words to you, but I couldn’t bring myself to say those words to you in the first place.
You flip to the last page of the book because you suddenly remember a line that was your absolute favourite when you were writing it. Whether it’s a coincidence or fate, you see a small note attached near the line, with Nanami’s handwriting saying how much he loved that line.
Your eyes skim over the line.
I want to forget about you so that I can fall in love with you all over again.
