no.1 will solace simp @soldmysoulto - Tumblr Blog

Jun 28

music and feelings. crush! nanami kento x fem! reader

synopsis: the romance between Nanami, the quiet blond boy in your class, and you.

content: The story takes place in the 2000s, Reader and Nanami are shy, Nanami has an emo aesthetic, and is way too cute

a/n: I’ve never written so much without smut. I hope you enjoy it! Nanami and the reader are so cute! I love innocent romances like this.

words: 9.3k

You have a stupid crush on Nanami.

The quiet blond, the one who always wears headphones around his neck even in class, who dresses in black and grey as if the world were too bright for him.

Nanami, the one who listens to Tokio Hotel on repeat, his head resting against the bus window, his gaze lost somewhere outside.

You don't even know why you like him so much. You've barely ever spoken to him, just a few polite words when you cross paths in the hallway or at the library.

And yet… it's there. That stupid thing that makes your heart beat faster the moment you catch a glimpse of him.

Was it love at first sight? You're not sure. Love at first sight is supposed to be violent, immediate, like an explosion. This is softer. Slower. As if you'd been struck by something silent and deep.

You saw him one morning, sitting alone at the back of the room, the grey light from the window falling on his slightly-too-long blond hair, and something simply clicked.

Since then, you notice him everywhere. The way he walks slowly, hands in the pockets of his oversized hoodie. The way he lightly bites his lower lip when he's concentrating on his notes. That small crease between his brows when he takes out an earbud to answer a teacher.

You don't understand what draws you to him so much. He's handsome, yes, but not in a flashy way. It's a quiet beauty, almost melancholic. As if he carried an invisible weight on his shoulders, and it made him even more magnetic.

You picture him in the evenings, in his room, dim light, listening to Tokio Hotel or Deftones on repeat, eyes closed, completely elsewhere. And you catch yourself wanting to be in that elsewhere with him.

You don't dare talk to him properly. Every time you tell yourself today I'm going to say something to him, you lose your nerve at the last second. You settle for smiling at him shyly when your eyes meet, and he returns your smile.

Just a small movement of the lips, quiet, almost timid, as if he wasn't used to being noticed. And that simple gesture is enough to make you melt for the rest of the day.

Sometimes you wonder what he's thinking. Has he noticed you too? Does he listen to his music to escape because the world is too loud, or because he feels lonely?

You want to ask him all these questions, but you stay there, watching him from afar, with this stupid crush that grows a little more each day.

And the worst part? You don't even know if you want it to stop. Because even silent, even distant, Nanami makes your days a little less ordinary.

One day, you decide it can't go on like this. This stupid crush has been eating away at your mind for too long. So you take the plunge. No established plan, just a small, timid attempt to get closer.

It's at the end of class, in the hallway leading to the exit. Nanami is there, leaning against the wall near the lockers, one earbud in his ear, the other hanging over his shoulder.

He's looking at his iPod, his thumb sliding slowly over the silver click wheel, probably choosing the next Tokio Hotel song. His blond hair falls slightly in front of his eyes, and he pushes it back with a distracted gesture.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You take a deep breath, grip your bag strap a little too tightly, and approach.

"Hey… Nanami?" Your voice comes out smaller than expected, almost swallowed by the noise of the other students.

He slowly raises his head. His eyes, a light brown almost golden in the fluorescent light, settle on you. No exaggerated surprise, just that calm, slightly neutral expression, with the small crease between his brows that appears when he's focused.

He removes his earbud in a fluid motion and waits for you to continue. You feel your cheeks heat up. Damn, why is this so hard? You carry on anyway, trying to smile: "I… I've seen you a lot with your headphones. What are you listening to right now? Tokio Hotel, right?"

He blinks once, as if he wasn't expecting that question. A second that feels endless. Then he slowly nods.

"Yeah…" he replies simply, his voice low, slightly husky.

Silence falls again. Not awkward for him, evidently. For you, though, it's torture. You shift slightly in place, searching for what to add.

"I like… Monsoon. It's the one I heard once when you'd left your earbud a bit too loud, in philosophy class."

You immediately regret it. Too specific. It says I've been watching him for weeks. But Nanami doesn't seem to find it strange. On the contrary, a very slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Ah… sorry about the volume. I often put it too loud." He glances down at his iPod for a second, then looks back up at you. His gaze is a little softer this time. "What do you listen to?"

The question catches you off guard. You stammer: "Uh… a bit of everything. But not really this style… I've never really tried Tokio Hotel properly. Maybe I should."

Nanami looks at you for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then he slowly reaches for his second earbud, detaches it, and holds it out to you, palm open.

"Here. Listen to this one."

You freeze for a second, your heart doing a somersault. His fingers barely graze yours as you take the earbud. The contact is so brief, yet it passes right through you.

He presses play. The intro guitar of Durch den Monsun begins softly, then Bill Kaulitz's voice fills your ear. Nanami watches you while you listen, saying nothing, just present.

When the chorus arrives, you dare to look up at him. His expression is more open than before. Less closed off.

"It's… beautiful," you say softly, handing his earbud back. "A little sad, but beautiful."

"Yeah," he replies simply. "It often is."

He takes the earbud back, puts it around his neck. For a second, you both stand there in the emptying hallway. You feel this is the moment to say something more, or to leave before you ruin everything.

So you go for it, voice a little shaky: "If someday… you want to make me listen to more songs, I'm up for it."

Nanami looks at you for a long time. He seems to think it over, or maybe he's just savoring the moment. Then he nods, very slowly. "Okay."

That's all. A simple okay. But in his mouth, it sounds like a quiet promise. Not much, but to you, it's huge.

He puts his earbud back in his ear, gives you a small nod of his head, and starts to walk away down the hallway. Before turning the corner, he looks back one last time.

And this time, his smile is a little more visible.

Two days later.

You're sitting on the small wooden bench near the school exit, the one half-hidden by the big oak tree. It's a little cold, the sky is pale grey, typical of those autumn days when everything seems to slow down. In your bag, you've slipped your old pink iPod after spending hours in front of your slow computer adding songs.

You don't even know if Nanami will come this way today. You only exchanged a glance yesterday in maths class, and a small smile from him that had made you miss an entire line of equations.

But today, you've mustered up your courage. On your iPod, you've created a small playlist transferred from your slow PC with Tokio Hotel songs and softer music.

You see him coming from far away.

Nanami walks slowly, as always, hands in the pockets of his black oversized hoodie. One white earbud is already in his right ear, the cable hanging down to the iPod clipped to the waistband of his baggy jeans. He looks at the ground, lost in his thoughts, until his eyes land on you.

He stops for a second. Then he slightly changes direction and comes toward you.

"Hey," he says as he reaches you.

"Hey…" You shift over a little on the bench. "Do you… want to sit down?"

He hesitates half a second, then sits down beside you, leaving a small space between you. Not too close. Not too far.

You break the ice before you lose all your courage: "I listened to the song you made me discover the other day again. I liked it. Really. So I made a little playlist… if you want to listen."

You take out your pink iPod and your earbuds. Nanami turns his head toward you, his gaze curious for the first time.

"Let me hear it," he murmurs. You hold out one earbud. He takes it, a warm and brief contact that makes you shiver, then puts it in his ear. You put in an earbud too and start the playlist.

Monsoon begins. The soft guitars, then the voice. Nanami closes his eyes for a second. You watch him from the corner of your eye: his jaw slightly relaxed, his blond lashes contrasting with his pale skin, the way he tilts his head slightly to one side.

When the chorus arrives, he opens his eyes and looks at you. "You put that one first." You smile shyly. "Yeah… it's the one that left the biggest impression on me."

He nods slowly. Silence falls again, filled only by the music. Then, against all odds, he speaks a little more: "I often listen to this song when it rains. It makes everything… more bearable."

His voice is calm, almost confidential. You feel your heart tighten. You want to ask him why things need to be more bearable, but you hold back. Not now.

The playlist continues. You added lighter tracks afterward: a few Linkin Park songs you had on a CD, a Simple Plan track, and even an acoustic version of Durch den Monsun found on a forum and transferred the night before.

With each new song, Nanami reacts in his own way: a small nod, an eyebrow that rises slightly, or a glance toward you when a passage catches his ear.

At one point, he takes out the earbud and holds it out to you. "That one… it's good. The acoustic version. Less loud, but more… intimate." You take the earbud back, cheeks a little warm. "I thought you might like it."

He stays silent for a moment. Something softer in his expression, as if the quiet barrier he usually keeps had slightly cracked.

"Thank you," he finally says. "It's rare for someone to make me listen to things. Most of the time… I'm alone with my music."

A small warmth spreads through your chest. You dare a little more: "If you want… we can do it again. Another day. Or even after school, if you have time."

Nanami looks at you for a long time. He runs a hand through his hair, pushes it back. Then he nods, very slowly. "Yeah. That works for me."

He stands up, puts his bag back on his shoulder. Before leaving, he turns around one last time. "Tomorrow then? Same time, same bench?"

You nod, unable to hold back the smile rising to your lips. "Tomorrow."

He gives you that small nod of his head, almost shy, and walks off down the path. You watch him leave, heart light, your iPod still warm in your hand.

The next day, you arrive at the bench a little early. Each minute feels long. You wonder if he'll really come, if he hasn't changed his mind, if your crush hasn't made you imagine the whole conversation.

Then you see him.

Nanami walks down the path, always at the same slow pace, black oversized hoodie, blond hair falling slightly in front of his eyes. This time, he only has one earbud in his ear. When he sees you, he doesn't change direction. He comes straight toward you.

He stops in front of the bench, looks at you for a second, then sits down in the same spot as the day before.

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hey," you reply with a smile. You decide not to wait: "I brought more tracks… if you want. I added some things I like."

He nods without a word, takes out his earbud and holds out his hand. Your fingers brush, and that small contact is enough to make you blush. You start the playlist.

This time, you began with something calmer, copied from a CD the night before. Nanami closes his eyes, his head slightly tilted. You watch him: his regular breathing, the way his fingers tap very lightly on his knee to the beat of the music.

After two songs, he opens his eyes. "That's not bad," he says. "Calmer than what I usually listen to."

You smile, relieved. Then, for the first time, he speaks at greater length: "When I listen to music… it's as if everything else moves further away. Classes, people who talk too loudly, teachers who ask questions… all of it disappears."

His voice is low, almost intimate. He looks straight ahead, toward the trees lining the path. Then he turns his head toward you. "What about you? Why do you listen?"

You think for a second. "To… feel less alone, I think. Or sometimes just to dream of something else."

Nanami slowly nods. His gaze stays on you a little longer than usual. The silence returns, filled only by the music.

When a Tokio Hotel song comes on, the one he'd made you listen to the very first time, a very slight smile stretches his lips.

"You know this one by heart, don't you?" you ask softly.

"Yeah… I've listened to it hundreds of times." He takes out the earbud for a second, spins it between his fingers, then puts it back in.

"Thanks for putting it in."

Your heart leaps. You dare a little more: "If you want… I can burn you a CD with all of this. So you can listen to it at home."

Nanami looks at you for a long time. He runs a hand through his hair. "I'd like that," he replies simply.

Time passes too quickly. When the playlist reaches the end, he stands up slowly, puts his bag back on his shoulder.

Before leaving, he turns toward you.

"Tomorrow? Same time?"

You nod, smile impossible to hold back.

"Tomorrow."

You've now fallen into a habit, without ever really saying it out loud, of seeing each other every end of afternoon after school. You meet at the same bench near the big oak tree.

Sometimes he arrives first, sometimes it's you. You don't talk much at the beginning: just a murmured "hey," then a shared earbud. The music does the rest.

But little by little, the silences fill up.

Today, the sky is clearer, almost pale blue. You arrive and Nanami is already there, sitting, legs slightly apart, his bag at his feet. He has both earbuds in, but when he sees you approaching, he immediately takes one out.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

You sit down beside him, a little closer than the first time. The space between the two of you has shrunk over the days, without either of you really noticing. You take out your earbuds. He holds out his hand without a word.

You start a new playlist: more Tokio Hotel, mixed with other artists like The Used, My Chemical Romance, and some songs found on a second-hand CD.

After two tracks, Nanami speaks without looking at you right away: "You put in darker stuff this time."

"Yeah… I figured you might like it." He nods slowly.

"I do. Thanks."

It's simple, but coming from him, it sounds like a real compliment. Later in the playlist, a slow song arrives. The guitar is soft, the voice almost broken. Nanami tilts his head to the side, as if letting the music wash over him completely.

At the chorus, he murmurs, almost to himself: "I love when it's like that… when the song says what I can't manage to say."

You dare to answer softly: "Me too. Sometimes I feel like the lyrics understand better than the people around me."

He turns his head toward you. His eyes look at you properly, without looking away. "Yeah… People talk too much. You, you talk just the right amount."

Your cheeks heat up. You don't know what to say, so you smile, a little embarrassed but happy. Toward the end of the playlist, Nanami takes out his earbud and stays sitting, his hands resting on his knees. He says, after a moment: "It feels good. Coming here. With you."

It's the first time he's admitted it clearly. You feel a wave of warmth in your chest. "For me too. I was a little worried at first that you'd find it weird."

He lets out a very slight laugh, almost silent, just a breath. "At first, a little. But now… no."

He runs a hand through his hair. The light breeze moves a few strands. He looks at you again, longer this time. "Do you want to go somewhere different one day? Not always here. Maybe… after school, we could walk a bit. Or go to the old basketball court behind the school. There are fewer people."

Your heart does a somersault. It's the first time he's suggested something that feels like a real moment together, outside of the bench. "Yes," you say without hesitating. "I'd really like that."

He nods, satisfied, and stands up. Before leaving, he looks at you one last time. "Tomorrow, then."

"See you tomorrow!" You watch him walk away, a smile glued to your lips.

The next day, you're now walking side by side along the path that borders the old basketball court. The place is quiet, almost deserted.

Only a few birds and the distant sound of cars disturb the silence. Nanami has his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, his bag softly bumping against his hip with each step.

At first, you say nothing. It's become your rhythm: silence first, then music, then sometimes words. But today, something is different. The air feels heavier, as if all those small shared moments had built up a sweet and invisible tension.

"Do you come here often?" you ask to break the ice.

"Yeah. When I want some peace. The others go to the shopping centre or McDonald's. Me… I prefer it here. Less noise." He continues, after a small pause: "Before, I used to come alone. I'd shoot hoops by myself, it cleared my head."

You picture the scene: Nanami, blond hair in the wind, under the rusty hoop, his playlist blasting in his ears.

"And now?" you dare to ask.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye. A smile passes over his lips, almost shy.

"Now… I come with you. It's better."

You look down at your shoes to hide your smile. The path turns, and you arrive near the court. Nanami pulls an old slightly deflated basketball from behind a stone bench. He bounces it, the dull sound echoing in the cool air.

"Do you know how to play?" asks Nanami, looking at you.

"Not really. I even miss the simplest shots." you say, laughing, your face slightly flushed with embarrassment.

"I'll help you."

He stands behind you, not too close, just enough to guide you. His hands barely graze your shoulders to show you the right position.

"Knees bent… look at the hoop… and release." You throw the ball, it hits the backboard and bounces far away. Nanami runs to get it without a word, throws it back to you.

His patience is endless, he never mocks you, just gives small calm pointers: a little higher, breathe before.

After about ten shots, the ball passes through the net with a small perfect swish. You jump up and down with a big smile, looking at Nanami. "I did it! Did you see!?"

Nanami looks at you, and this time his smile is more visible, more real. He claps slowly. "Yes I saw. Not bad."

You play a little longer, then sit down on the stone bench, side by side, closer than ever. Nanami takes his earbuds out of his pocket. This time, he doesn't wait for you to suggest it. He holds one out to you directly.

The CD you'd burned for him has been playing in his head for several days, he told you with a smile. Durch den Monsun begins, then a slower song by The Used. He closes his eyes, his head leaned back against the bench. You do the same, letting the music wrap around you both.

After a few tracks, he speaks, his voice almost covered by the music: "I told you I listened to this so everything would feel further away… But since we've been doing this together… it's different. It's as if the world is still far away, but you are closer."

You open your eyes and turn your head toward him. He still has his eyes closed, as if he were afraid to look at you while saying that.

"Nanami…" you murmur. He finally opens his eyes. His light brown irises are soft, almost vulnerable in the grey afternoon light.

"I don't really know how to say things… I don't talk much, you've seen that. But… I like it when you're here. I like your voice when you talk to me about songs. I like that you don't try to make me talk more than I want to."

He pauses, runs a hand through his windswept hair.

"Before, I was fine alone with my music. Now… I'm better with you. I feel better."

The words hang suspended between you. You gently rest your hand on the bench, right next to his. Your fingers slowly, shyly intertwine. His hand is warm, a little rough from the basketball.

"Me too," you finally say. "I love these moments when we listen together, without pressure."

Nanami squeezes your hand a little tighter. Not hard, just enough to say 'I'm here'. The wind sends a few leaves swirling around you. The music continues in your ears.

You stay like that for a long time, hand in hand. Nanami's silence is no longer empty: it is filled with everything he can't quite yet say, but that you're beginning to understand.

When the sun begins to set, he stands up slowly, without letting go of your hand right away. "Tomorrow… do we come back here? Or go somewhere else? Whatever you want."

You smile, your heart full. "Yes! It's nice here."

The days that followed slipped by in a sweet and silent routine. Every end of afternoon, you would meet either on the bench or on the old court. Sometimes you walked, sometimes you played basketball. You were slowly improving, thanks to his patience.

The silences grew longer but words came more easily. Your hands found each other more often, without it ever feeling forced.

Then came Halloween week.

The school was buzzing: orange and black decorations in the hallways, paper pumpkins on the windows, everyone was talking about parties and costumes.

You'd been thinking about it for several days. The idea of spending Halloween with Nanami, even simply, made you smile to yourself.

That day, you're sitting on the stone bench at the court. The wind is cold, leaves crunch under your feet. You've just finished listening to a playlist he'd prepared. You take a deep breath. "In two days it's Halloween. Are you doing anything?"

He turns his head toward you, an eyebrow slightly raised, and takes out his earbud. "Not really. I usually stay home. Why?"

You smile, a little nervous, playing with your hoodie sleeve. "I was thinking… what if we dressed up? Nothing big, right. Just something simple. We could meet here or at mine, listen to music, maybe watch a horror film… That'd be nice, wouldn't it?"

Nanami stays silent. He looks at the rusty basketball hoop, then at the ground. "I don't know… Costumes… they're not really my thing. I feel a bit stupid in them. And I'm not very comfortable with parties either."

Your smile fades slightly. You try to keep your tone light: "Oh… okay. It was just an idea. We can do the usual, no problem."

But inside, you feel silly. You're angry at yourself for suggesting it, for maybe having been too enthusiastic. The rest of the evening passes in a slightly heavier silence. When he walks you to the exit, you give him a small forced smile.

"See you tomorrow," you say simply.

"Yeah… see you tomorrow."

That evening, at home, you feel a little disappointed. Nanami is like that: quiet, he doesn't like things like Halloween. You should have known.

The next day, you arrive at the court with a little apprehension. But Nanami is already there, sitting on the bench. He watches you approach and, for once, he speaks first.

"Hey."

"Hey…"

You sit down beside him. The silence lasts a few seconds. Then he takes out his earbuds, but doesn't put them in. He spins them between his fingers.

"About yesterday…" he begins softly. "I thought more about your suggestion." Your heart gives a small jump.

"Oh?"

He runs a hand through his hair, looking a little awkward, which is rare for him. "I'm not super into costumes… They make me uncomfortable. But… I don't want you to be disappointed. If it's important to you, we can do something simple. Not a full costume, just… a small detail. A mask or a hoodie with a skull on it, something like that. And we stay here or at yours, just the two of us." He looks up at you, his gaze softer than usual. "If you still want to… I'm in."

The disappointment from the day before vanishes in an instant. You smile, sincerely this time, and place your hand on his. "Really? Are you sure? I don't want to force you…"

"You're not forcing me," he replies calmly. "I just thought about it. I'd rather be with you, even if it's a little strange for me, than see you disappointed. And besides… Halloween with music and a horror film could be cool. As long as we stay chilled."

You gently squeeze his hand. "Okay. So we keep it simple: one small detail each. I can wear horns or light makeup, and you… whatever you want. We meet here after school and then go to mine. My parents won't be home."

A very slight smile at the corner of his lips.

"Works for me."

He holds out an earbud. You listen to a calm song, shoulder to shoulder, while the wind sends leaves swirling around the court. For the first time since yesterday, you feel really good.

Halloween was approaching, and even if Nanami wasn't the type to dress up with enthusiasm, he had made an effort. Just for you. And that made this moment even more precious.

Halloween evening finally arrives.

You meet at the court after school. The wind is cold, dead leaves whirl around. You've both kept your word: nothing over the top.

You're wearing a simple headband with small black horns and a smudge of makeup under your eyes. Nanami is wearing a dark grey hoodie with white skulls he drew on the front himself with a marker the night before, clumsily, and that makes you smile.

He's also ruffled his hair a bit so it looks more "tired ghost." It's minimalist, almost timid, but he did it. For you.

"You're… cute like that," you say as you come up to him.

He shrugs, a little embarrassed, but the corner of his lips lifts slightly. "You too. The horns suit you."

You walk to your place. The streets are full of kids in costumes, but you stick to the quieter pavements, away from the noise. From time to time, your hands brush.

Once at yours, the house is empty. You turn on a small lamp in the living room and a few orange candles. The atmosphere is cosy, a little spooky without being oppressive. You settle onto the sofa.

"What do you want to watch?" you ask, pulling out a few DVDs. Nanami looks at the cases, then shrugs slightly. "Whichever one you want."

You choose The Ring. You turn off the main light, only the candles and the screen light the room. You sit side by side, a blanket over your legs.

The film starts. At the beginning, you comment a little, mostly you. Nanami listens in silence, with that calm concentration.

But as the film goes on, the scenes become more and more oppressive. When the famous TV scene arrives, you jump violently and instinctively move closer to Nanami.

"God… I'd forgotten how terrifying this was."

Nanami doesn't say anything right away. He feels your movement and, without a word, gently puts his arm around your shoulders slowly, carefully, as if giving you time to pull back. But you don't pull back. You snuggle a little closer against him. His hoodie smells faintly of laundry detergent and that warm scent that is just… him.

"You okay?" he asks in a low voice, close to your ear. You nod, your face half-hidden against his shoulder.

"Yeah… I'm a little scared. It's silly, isn't it? It's just a film."

He tightens his arm slightly, his fingers gently stroking your shoulder in a slow, reassuring movement. "It's not silly. It's Halloween. You're allowed to be scared."

With every tense scene, he draws you imperceptibly closer. He doesn't mock you, he doesn't laugh. He just stays there, calm and protective. At one point, you bury your face against his chest. You feel his heart beat, steady, a little faster than usual.

"Kento…" you murmur.

"I'm here," he replies simply.

The film continues, but you pay less and less attention to the screen. Your awareness is entirely turned toward him: the warmth of his body, the slow rhythm of his breathing, the way his fingers keep tracing small soothing circles on your shoulder.

When the credits begin, neither of you moves. The room is bathed in semi-darkness, lit only by the flickering candles. His arm is still there. You remain nestled against him, the blanket wrapped around you both.

Silence settles in, soft and charged.

You slowly raise your head toward him. Your faces are very close. His light brown eyes look at you, more intense than ever. His blond hair falls slightly over his forehead. There is a new tension in the air, something that makes your heart beat faster than during the film.

Nanami swallows slightly. His free hand rises slowly to your face. His fingers brush your cheek, push back a strand of hair with an endearing clumsiness. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second.

Your breath catches. Your noses almost touch. You half-close your eyes, your heart hammering.

But at the last moment, Nanami stops. He stays there, a few centimetres away, breathing softly against your skin. His voice comes out in a husky murmur, almost inaudible: "I… I don't want to go too fast."

He presses his forehead against yours, eyes closed. You stay like that, foreheads together, breaths mingled, in the trembling glow of the candles. It's almost a kiss. Not quite, but so close that you already feel the echo of what might soon come.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice trembling but happy. "I like it like this… slowly. With you."

He imperceptibly nods, his forehead still against yours. His hand stays on your cheek, warm and reassuring. You stay like that for a long time, nestled under the blanket, the candles going out one by one.

Halloween continues outside, distant laughter, doorbells, but here, in the dark living room, there is only the two of you, this almost-kiss suspended in the air, and this connection that grows gently, day by day.

The evening drifts on slowly, the candles almost all extinguished. Only one small flame still flickers on the coffee table. The credits of The Ring have been finished for a long time, but neither you nor Nanami has moved. You're still nestled together under the blanket, his forehead against yours, your breathing calm and intertwined.

You glance discreetly at the wall clock. Already past midnight. The streets have gone quiet again, the last costumed kids have been home for a while. Nanami lives on the other side of town, a twenty-minute walk away, and the last bus left long ago.

You sit up slightly, without leaving his arms. "Nanami… it's really late. It's dark outside, and I'm a little worried."

He slowly opens his eyes, his irises still a little hazy from the closeness. He looks at you without saying anything, as if weighing your words.

You continue, your voice soft: "My parents aren't back until tomorrow morning. You can… sleep here? On the sofa, or in the guest room. Whatever you want."

A very slight smile stretches the corner of his lips, with that rare small dimple of his. He nods, almost shy. "Yeah… okay. If it doesn't bother you."

"Of course not. I'm happy, even." You give him an old oversized black t-shirt of your father's and a pair of joggers. When he comes back from the bathroom, his hair slightly ruffled and the large t-shirt hanging from his shoulders, he looks even softer, almost vulnerable.

You settle back onto the sofa, side by side, the blanket over your legs. The small flame of the last candle dances between you. Neither of you feels like sleeping. It's as if the night had given you a special permission.

"You know… I've always found it a little mysterious that you listen to Tokio Hotel all the time. What do you like so much about them?"

Nanami looks at the candle for a moment, then speaks, his voice low. "Because… it sounds like what I feel sometimes. Bill sings as if he's screaming things nobody else dares to say. Loneliness, feeling different… even when you're surrounded by people. At home, it's often noisy. My parents talk all the time, they want me to be more sociable, to go out more. But me… I just like being in my room, with my headphones. It calms me down."

He pauses.

"Before I knew you… I thought I was just weird. That nobody understood why I kept to myself. But with you… it's different. You don't ask a thousand questions. You share music without forcing it."

You rest your head against his shoulder, and he slides his arm around you. The conversation drifts to everything and nothing. You talk about classes, he hates maths but loves philosophy because it makes you think without all the noise. He talks about his vague dreams, his loneliness even when surrounded by people.

Around three in the morning, his voice becomes even lower: "Sometimes… I feel a little alone. Even with my friends. And yes I have friends but they always want to do loud things, parties, mess around. Me, I prefer to stay in my bubble. I've never really had someone to… just be with. Without pressure. You're the first person who makes me want to step out of that bubble a little. Not all the time. Just… sometimes. Like tonight."

You look up at him. His eyes are fixed on the nearly extinguished candle, but there is a new softness on his face. You place your hand on his.

"I'm glad you're telling me that. I'm not super comfortable with big parties either. I love these quiet moments. With you."

He turns his head toward you. Your faces are close again, the tension returning, softer still. He slowly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. "Thank you for suggesting I stay. I wouldn't have wanted to go home. Not tonight."

You keep talking, about everything and nothing. At one point, you both laugh softly when you clumsily act out a scene from the film to make him smile. He really laughs, a rare, low sound that makes you melt.

Around five in the morning, tiredness sets in. You lie down on the sofa, still nestled together, the blanket pulled up to your shoulders. His arm around your waist, his chin resting on top of your head.

"Good night… or good morning," he breathes, with that small quiet smile.

You close your eyes, your heart full.

"Good night, Kento."

The last candle goes out. The house is silent. Halloween was over, but this white night had sealed something deeper between you.

The grey morning light filtered through the living room curtains, soft and a little cold. You open your eyes first. Nanami is still there, his arm around your waist, his face buried in your hair.

His breathing is slow, steady, and you feel the warmth of his body through the old oversized t-shirt he's wearing. For a long minute, you don't move.

You just enjoy this moment: his scent, the light weight of his arm, the way his blond hair falls over his forehead.

He stirs slightly. His lashes flutter, then his light brown eyes open. He looks at you for a moment, as if wondering whether this is a dream.

"…Morning," he murmurs in a husky, sleepy voice.

"Hey," you reply with a gentle smile.

Neither of you moves right away. You stay there, faces close, watching each other in the morning light. He finally slowly withdraws his arm. "I slept well," he admits simply. "Better than usual."

You sit up a little, your hair in a mess, still wrapped in the blanket.

"Me too. Even if the sofa is a little hard."

A very slight smile stretches his lips. He runs a hand through his hair to put it back in order, without success. He looks cute like that, still half asleep, without his usual shell.

You finally get up. The house is quiet, troubled only by the ticking of the clock. It's almost 9:30.

"Are you hungry?" you ask. He nods. "A little."

You go to the kitchen. You take out bread, Nutella, jam, and put the kettle on for tea (you know he doesn't like coffee much). Nanami stays leaning against the worktop for a moment, arms crossed, watching you while you prepare everything. He ends up coming closer to help: he takes out two mugs, finds the sugar without you telling him where it was.

You sit down at the small kitchen table, facing each other. The sun comes in timidly through the window. You spread your toast in silence at first, but it's no longer an awkward silence. It's comfortable.

"Thank you again for last night," he suddenly says, biting into his toast. "For everything. The film… staying over. I didn't want to go home." You smile, cheeks a little warm. "I didn't want you to leave either. It was… good. Really good."

He looks at you for a long time over his cup of tea. His eyes are softer than usual. "Yeah. It was good."

You talk a little more. Nothing too serious: the playlist he wants to make you listen to soon, a teacher who annoys him in biology class, that old basketball that probably needs pumping up again. From time to time, your knees brush under the table and neither of you pulls away.

You're laughing softly at one of his dry remarks about a noisy student when the front door suddenly opens.

"Y/N? We're back!" Your mother's voice echoes in the hallway. You freeze, eyes wide. Nanami immediately straightens up, back upright, expression neutral but ears slightly red.

Your parents appear in the kitchen doorway, travel bags in hand. They stop dead at the sight of Nanami sitting at the table, in joggers and an oversized t-shirt, a cup of tea in his hand.

A three-second silence. Very long.

"Oh…" says your father, raising an eyebrow. Your mother looks at you, then at Nanami, then at you again. An amused smile begins to appear on her face.

"Good morning," says Nanami politely, half-rising from his seat. His voice is calm, but you see his hand grip the edge of the table a little too tightly. "I'm Nanami Kento. Sorry for the… impromptu visit."

You stand up too, red to your ears. "Uh… Nanami slept on the sofa. It was really late after the Halloween film and… there were no more buses."

Your mother sets down her bag and crosses her arms, clearly not angry, more curious. "Ah, so this is the famous Nanami you've been mentioning for a few weeks without ever giving any details?"

"Mom!" you groan, mortified. Your father observes Nanami for a moment. Nanami holds his gaze without looking away, even if he's clearly embarrassed. Finally, your father nods.

"Well then… nice to meet you, Nanami. Would you like another cup of tea? We brought croissants from the station."

Nanami blinks, surprised by the relaxed reaction. He slowly sits back down. "Uh… yes. With pleasure. Thank you."

Your mother throws you a small conspiratorial look as she passes behind you to put the croissants on the table. You sit back down too, your heart pounding. Under the table, you feel Nanami's fingers brush yours for a second, as if to say "it'll be okay."

The conversation resumes, a little awkward at first. Your parents ask light questions: what he wants to do with his life, whether he listens to music, whether he likes basketball. He answers calmly, without overdoing it.

At one point, your mother asks you to go and get something from the living room. When you come back, you see Nanami quietly helping your father put the bags away in the hallway. They exchange a few words in low voices. You can't hear them, but Nanami looks a little less tense when he comes back.

Once alone in the kitchen while your parents go upstairs to unpack, Nanami leans slightly toward you. "They're… nice," he murmurs. "I was scared they'd kick me out straight away."

You laugh softly. "Me too, a little. But I think they like you."

He looks at you, a real small smile on his lips this time. "Good. Because I don't want to stop coming here… or seeing you."

You place your hand on his, just for a second, before your mother comes back downstairs.

Breakfast ends in a strangely warm atmosphere. Nanami eventually says he should head home. You walk him to the door.

In the hallway, out of sight, he stops for a second. He looks at you, hesitates, then leans in and places a very light, almost shy kiss on your cheek. Just at the corner of your lips.

"Tomorrow, at the field?" he breathes.

You nod, your face burning after his almost-kiss. "Tomorrow."

He gives you his usual small nod of the head, the one that makes you melt, and sets off down the still-wet street. You close the door, a dopey smile plastered on your face.

The days following Halloween slipped by in an almost unreal sweetness.

You fell back into your usual rhythm: the old basketball court after school, the bench near the oak tree when it rained too hard, sometimes a short silent walk to the bus stop.

The looks lasted longer, the smiles came more easily, and your hands found each other naturally, as if they had always been meant to be there.

Yet nothing went further. Nanami remained true to himself: slow, cautious, almost fearful of going too fast.

A kiss on the cheek from time to time, his forehead against yours when the music was particularly beautiful, an arm around your shoulders when the wind grew cold. Nothing more.

And strangely, this suited you. Each small gesture took on an enormous importance. You loved this slowness. It made every moment precious, like a song you listen to on repeat and never skip.

The weeks passed. The dead leaves gave way to the dry cold of November, then to the first frosts of December. You shared longer and longer playlists, confidences murmured between two songs, silences that no longer weighed anything.

Sometimes, after a particularly tiring day, Nanami would simply rest his head on your shoulder for a few minutes, eyes closed, as if recharging his batteries near you.

Christmas is approaching.

The school decorates itself with slightly tacky fairy lights, the air smells of cinnamon and warm crepes full of Nutella near the exit. Everyone is talking about the holidays, family gatherings, gifts.

You try not to think about it too much, for fear of being disappointed. Nanami isn't the type to do things in a big way, you know that.

One evening in mid-December, the sky is already dark at 5 pm. You're sitting on the stone bench at the court, wrapped up in your hoodies and a thick scarf you lent him the week before.

The day's playlist plays softly in your ears: calmer tracks, almost wintry, with acoustic guitars and hushed voices.

Nanami has been quieter than usual for a while. He's spinning the earbud between his fingers, his gaze lost toward the frost-covered rusty basketball hoop.

You finally ask gently: "Are you okay? You seem… elsewhere."

He turns his head toward you. The distant light of a street lamp makes his light brown eyes shine with an almost golden hue. He hesitates, runs a hand through his blond hair peeking out from his black beanie.

"Yeah… I'm fine." A pause. "Actually… no. Not really. Well yes, but…" He sighs, a small breath visible in the cold air. Then he goes for it, his voice lower than ever: "My parents want us to do a family thing on the 24th in the evening. Like every year. But on the 25th… they're going to my aunt's until the evening. Me I… I didn't want to go."

He looks at you properly, this time. His fingers find yours under the sleeve of your coat. "I was thinking that… maybe… you'd want to come to mine? Just the two of us. No big party. No costume or anything. Just… a tree, some music, and maybe a film. If your parents are okay with it, obviously."

His thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. You can see how nervous he is: the small crease between his brows is there, more pronounced than usual.

"I know it's not much," he goes on. "But I want to spend Christmas with you. Without anyone else around. Just… like we usually do, but at mine. In my room. With my slightly naff posters and my playlists."

He looks down for a second, almost embarrassed at having said so much. "If you don't want to, it's fine. I'd understand."

You squeeze his hand tighter, your heart swelling with a warmth that contrasts with the December cold. A tender smile stretches your lips. "Yes, I'd love to. I want to spend Christmas with you."

On the evening of December 25th, the doorbell rings at your place right on time. You open the door and your heart gives a jolt. Nanami stands on the doorstep, hands in the pockets of his black coat, a grey scarf around his neck and his hair slightly ruffled by the cold wind.

His cheeks are pink from the cold, and he looks at you with that small quiet smile that always makes you melt. "Hey… I came to pick you up," he murmurs simply. His voice is low, a little husky from the cold. "Ready?"

You nod, beaming. Your parents quickly say hello from the living room, and he replies politely, a little shy. A few minutes later, you're walking side by side down the street lit up by the neighbours' fairy lights.

Your hands brush, then naturally intertwine. The silence between you is soft, comfortable.

When you arrive in front of his house, it's even more impressive than you'd imagined: large, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a perfectly manicured garden. Nanami shrugs, almost embarrassed.

"It's… a lot. My parents like luxurious things… they work in finance and architecture but anyway. My room is more normal, you'll see. Come in."

Inside, warmth wraps around you at once. A large understated Christmas tree glows in the living room with warm white lights. Nanami guides you straight to the kitchen.

"My parents left loads of things, but… I want us to cook something together. If you'd like."

You happily agree. You take off your coats and get to work. Nanami takes out simple ingredients: fresh pasta, cream, smoked salmon, spinach and cheese.

You cook side by side, shoulder to shoulder. He shows you how to make the sauce, you give him little hip bumps when he cuts the vegetables too slowly. You laugh softly when he overcooks the pasta the first time.

At one point, he passes behind you to reach something and places his hands on your hips for a second, just long enough to make your heart race.

"Sorry," he says softly near your ear.

"It's nothing, it's nothing!" you reply quickly and try not to blush.

The meal is ready about twenty minutes later. You carry your warm plates upstairs, to his room. It's exactly as you'd imagined: dark grey walls almost black, Tokio Hotel posters, a shelf full of CDs, a guitar in the corner, and a small lamp casting soft golden light.

You settle on the floor on a big cushion, leaning against the bed, plates on your laps. Music plays in the background, a calm playlist he prepared for this evening.

The meal is simple, but delicious. You eat while talking quietly, about everything and nothing. From time to time, your gazes linger on each other longer than usual.

After meal, Nanami gets up and goes to fetch a small bag hidden behind his desk.

"Do we exchange gifts now?" he asks, suddenly more nervous.

"Yes, wait, I'll get my bag." you say, your heart beating with anxiety. Imagine if he doesn't like the gifts you made, you'd be devastated.

He opens the CD you spent hours putting together first. His eyes widen as he discovers the tracklist: rare and old Tokio Hotel versions, demos, forgotten live recordings, B-sides, and little-known solo tracks from Bill, mixed in with other artists he loves. He slowly runs his fingers over the sleeve you decorated by hand.

"…You really did this for me?" he murmurs, his voice moved. "It's the most beautiful gift anyone's ever given me."

Then he discovers the black jumper you personalised. His fingers stroke the embroidery: "Even in silence" on the sleeve and the small drawing of the basketball court and the bench under the oak tree on the chest. He stays silent for a long moment, then immediately pulls it on over his t-shirt. The jumper fits him perfectly.

"It's us…" he breathes, looking at you, his eyes glistening. "It represents us."

His turn, he holds out his gifts to you. You open the fine silver bracelet first. The small music note charm shines softly. Inside, you discover the engraving: "Durch den Monsun". Your eyes begin to sting with emotion.

"So you remember our first real conversation every time you wear it," he says softly.

There's also a soft ultra-cosy grey oversized hoodie with a tiny musical score embroidered near the heart, and a small pink iPod shuffle already loaded with a playlist titled simply "For you."

"Thank you, Kento… thank you." You throw yourself into his arms, moved. He holds you against him, his chin resting on your head.

When you pull apart, the atmosphere has changed. The music still plays softly. The golden light of the lamp caresses his face. Nanami is sitting very close to you, his knees against yours.

He looks at you as if seeing you properly for the first time. His light brown eyes are softer than ever, almost vulnerable. He runs a trembling hand through your hair, brushes a strand behind your ear with infinite tenderness.

Your heart beats so fast you're sure he can hear it. "Can I… kiss you?" he murmurs, his voice husky and hesitant. "Really. Not just on the cheek. I've wanted to for a long time."

You answer in a breath: "Yes… of course!"

Nanami moves closer slowly. His forehead touches yours, as it has so many times before. You stay like that for a moment, breaths mingled, the world reduced to that small space between you two.

Then he gently tilts his head. His lips brush yours with infinite gentleness, almost shyly. The kiss is slow, warm, filled with everything he doesn't always manage to say.

His hand caresses your cheek, his thumb tracing small tender circles on your skin. He kisses you as if you were something fragile and precious, with an emotion that makes you melt completely.

He pulls back just barely, just enough to press his forehead against yours, eyes closed, a small happy smile on his lips. His hand stays on your cheek, as if he never wants to let you go.

"I… I really appreciate you, Y/N. Truly and… I wanted to tell you. I think I'm in love with you. I know it's probably too soon by most people's standards but I mean it sincerely. Will you be my girlfriend?" he says quickly, his cheeks red with shyness, but he looks you straight in the eyes.

"Yes, yes! I want to be your girlfriend!" You throw yourself against him and kiss him again, harder this time, full of a happiness that overflows. He lets out a small sigh of relief against your lips before returning your kiss with the same tender wonder.

"I've been in love with you for a while… that's why I approached you that day in the hallway. I started developing feelings for you even though we didn't know each other well. You made my days more beautiful just by being yourself."

Nanami closes his eyes for a moment, as if engraving your words inside himself. When he opens them, they shine with a new joy. He holds you tighter in his arms, his face buried in your neck.

"I still can't believe it…" he breathes against your skin. "I thought I was the only one with this stupid crush."

You stay in each other's arms for a long time, sitting on the floor against the bed, exchanging soft kisses, shy smiles, and hesitant caresses. The playlist still turns softly, the small Christmas tree fairy lights blink gently in the room.

Later, you slip under the duvet. Nanami holds you against him, your back against his chest, his arm around your waist as if he wants to keep you there forever. He places a last tender kiss in your hair and murmurs close to your ear:

"Good night, Y/N. Merry Christmas."

You smile in the darkness, the bracelet he gave you around your wrist and the warmth of his body against yours.

"Good night, Kento. Merry Christmas and… I love you."

"Me too. I love you."

masterlist

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