sex with your husband has always been mind-blowing.
but was it still mind-blowing when there was now a purpose behind the action? a purpose that was drenched in hope and excitement during the first years.
each time you whispered promises to yourself—maybe this time. but this hope eroded, piece by piece, with every cruel, familiar outcome.
your panties full of blood.
was it still mind-blowing when you couldn't even give kento the one thing he wanted as much as you did? was it still mind-blowing when the only thing you wished with your whole heart—the dream of founding a family—remained nothing more than a dream?
was it still mind-blowing when your desire withered under the weight of failure, until you found yourself avoiding intimacy altogether?
kento has never once blamed you. not once.
he never asked if your period came, never let disappointment darken his eyes. he was there—always. and when, after years of trying, you finally did see those two pink lines, only to lose them in the silence of your bathroom floor, kento held you closely to his chest whispering reassurance words.
and kento has never ever complained about the distance you created about sex. he understood. he stayed. he loved.
but was it okay, really, for you to be sobbing on the bathroom floor of your best friend's house?
because now, everyone else's lives seemed to be moving forward without you—marriages, houses, children. and when the gojo family invited you for their fourth baby shower, you couldn't stop the sting in your chest, the tears gathering in your eyes.
you were hopelessly, unconditionally drawn to your husband. to the way his voice softened as he spoke with the little gojo girl. to the way he let the older boys test their strength against his arm, laughing with them, patient and warm.
the hallow ache inside your chest deepened, pulling you under until your stomach twisted and your vision blurred.
you didn’t know how long you’d been hiding here. how long the excuse—i just need something refreshing—would hold before it became too suspicious. you were slumped over, hiccuping, your nose raw from wiping, your cheeks sticky with tears and snot.
and just as you braced yourself to stand—to rinse your face, to pretend—you startled at the sound of three slow knocks.
and shortly after the deep voice of your dear husband came. “...it's me,” there's pause for you to answer, but your throat tightens and the tears threaten to fall again.
“can I enter?” his tone was careful. “satoru mentioned you hadn't come back to the patio. I was… worried.”
the door clicked softly, opening, and his wide frame filled the doorway. he stepped inside inside without a word, not noticing you at first. his voice carried on, steady as always. “i brought a bottle of water if—”
nanami stopped.
his eyes found your bloodshot one, your mascara streaking.
the lines of worry etched deeper across his face. “…you should have called for me.” he murmured, his voice way much quieter now, breaking in its gentleness.
that was all it took.
your tears burst free again and he immediately crouches down before you. your hands clutch at his shirt, collapsing against the solidity of his chest. nanami is fast to warp his arms around you, one hand combing through your hair, the other pulling you closer, steadying your shaking body.
he whispered, so low and so close it's the only thing you can hear. he talks as if he's holding the pieces of you together. “shhh.. it's alright. i've got you. i've got you.”
“i am—” you sniffle, your words muffled against his shirt, just like you did months ago when you lost your baby. a baby that should have been living now. “i am… so—so sorry, kento.”
nanami's heart shattered. he feels not strong enough. not useful enough. the woman he loved more than anything was breaking apart in his arms, and there was no enemy to cut down, no curse to exorcise, no battle he could fight to spare you this pain. only the cruel, unchangeable truth of your grief.
his hold on you tightened, almost—almost—desperate. his cheek pressed against the top of your head. “why are you apologizing for, my love?” his voice was steady.
steady enough for anyone else.
but not for you. you knew him too well.
and oh, nanami wished you didn’t. not now. not in this moment.
because knowing him meant you caught it—the faint tremor beneath his words, the storm he was trying to keep hidden. it meant you pulled back too suddenly, and his eyes, already glistening, gave him away.
“i'm not a—” your words were torn and uneven. “a good wife.” you choked out, confession ragging with despair. “i swear ken. i want a baby just as much as you. i swear i—” the sentence broke completely, dissolving into sobs that burned your throat. your shaking hands rose to cup his face.
“you are my wife,” his thumbs come to wipe off all the tears that fall down. “my partner. my home. there's nothing—nothing—you have to prove to me. not with a child. not with anything.”
nanami doesn't want to see a single tear anymore on your beautiful face. on something you can't even control. but does he know he's crying too? and that your thumbs are doing the exact same thing on his face.
nanami was never the same after shibuya. it wasn’t just the loss of his physical appearance that changed him. it was the complete loss of autonomy, survivors guilt and how pathetically dependant he became.
it hurt to hear his muffled sobs stirring behind closed doors, only for him to emerge stern-faced. every night.
when, you placed a gentle hand upon his marbled one in assurance, it did not melt into yours. not like it used to. your husband from a year ago, would've interlaced fingers with a sickening endearment, soft kisses peppering among each bump of your caressed knuckle.
you were the first to adapt to his injuries. faster than him, dolefully. for example, standing on his right when speaking to him as he was hard of hearing on the left. scuffing slippers intentionally when approaching to not startle his rattled nervous system. replacing his shirts with a rich cotton-bamboo blend for his sensitive flushed skin. taking over cooking duties, restricting the amount of culinary freedom he had in the kitchen if he tried to help, you knew better than to let his hardened fingers tangle with a knife.
your husband desperately clung to every tradition he had before his injury, hoping to keep himself anchored to who he once was. one of which, refusing to look unkempt. every passing of a reflective surface led to a pathetic churn from the bottom of his heart, like he was no longer worthy of the rich relationship that thrived so effortlessly with his old face. he figured the least he could do to compensate for his ugly disfigurement was be presentable at all times for you.
so, when you found him wrestling with the ivory buttons of his shirt. you executed the usual routine in commiserate heartache.
you intentionally dragged the sole of your foot, allowing the scuff to announce your presence before appearing in his blind spot.
his fingers only fumbled faster in a one-sided race to finish before you reached him. by no surprise, you beat him.
“you don’t need to rush, ken.” you murmured gently tending to his embarrassment.
his hands dropped in surrendering defeat allowing you to take the wheel. in a swift, almost insulting motion, you had buttoned the rest of his shirt leaving his collar comfortably loose.
“thank you, sweetheart...” his lone eye stayed glued to his tainted reflection, meeting yours in the glass for a fraction of a second.
instinctively, his gaze dropped to the floor pathetically. completely retreating from yours. he was terrified of what you might find if you lingered on his eye a second too long.
maybe you would mourn his old face.
you gently caught his chin, thumb brushing the glassy texture as you coaxed his head upright until he was forced to look at you.
“of course... you look great.”
oh how those sacred words unravelled his coarse mind time and time again, slicing mercilessly through that self-loathing armour of his.
he found something terrifyingly beautiful in your undying devotion to him. nanami had never once questioned your loyalty. he knew you meant what you said.
yet, acknowledging how your wedding vows still laced your every word. every action. every thought. it was a sobering frightening realisation of how lucky he was to have you. a terrifying miracle.
you pressed a long adoring kiss against his lips. equal pressure on his good and scarred side. a warm exhale left his nose, pillowing against your face.
you had adjusted yourself to the front of his torso, aware of how difficult it was for him to simply lean left or right.
per usual, he melted into your grounding routine.
only one arm tightened at his will. your right hand laid softly against the chest of his crisp cotton shirt, while your left hand caressed the smooth curve of his good ear.
this was another adaptation you picked up on. even in the heat of the moment, you would never dare to hurt him. every movement you took during intimacy was carefully curated for his comfort. you never leaned your full weight on the ruined left-side of his body. you never ripped his clothes off in arrogant lust. your husband took notice of these habits you succumbed to, never verbalising his gratitude out of the shame, he was the reason you had to change.
and of course, the sudden shift of your natural embrace had stung his heart far more deeply than his body ever could. a horrible cue to mourn the carefree wife you once allowed yourself to be.
god... how he wanted to pull you flush against him. to wrap his arms round your waist tightly. both arms. to lift you off your feet, twirl you around until that familiar bubble of laughter seethed into his ears like music.
yet he knew in a bitter uncertainty that those moments were permanently bound to the man a year ago.
instead, he simply collapsed into the reality of what he could do.
he attempted to bury his face into the crook of your neck. the elasticity of his skin was completely rid. it was not a graceful movement, it was stiff. but he made it work.
a cultivated sway caught momentum in the embrace.
“my love...” he spoke rasping into your hair. “what you have done for me this past year. i...i don’t know if i can ever repay it.”
“oh darling..." you leaned your head back just enough to face his sorry gaze. "there is no debt to repay."
his eye, a dull ember, stayed low with the familiar dishonour seeping into that troubled head of his.
"when i married you, i promised in sickness and health. my love for you has not faltered since. it never will, kento." you hushed, searching his lone hazel eye. "i know you’d do the same for me.”
it was only when your hand lifted to rest against the left side of his face in reminder that your words applied to every part of him, did he drag to meet those earnest, doting orbs of yours.
the surface of his skin felt artifical under your fingers. the overlapping folds of shiny, glassy ridges swirling like a rosy marble. it did not bother you. this ‘imperfection’ is what brought your husband back home to you after all. and you did your utmost best to remind him daily.
a strained unnatural tug formed at his lips, a lop-siding grin growing from the toughened skin around his mouth.
“what are you smiling at?” you mirrored his smile with a questioning laugh.
“just...” he let out a gravelly huff. “how couples often call eachother their ‘better half’. i always thought it was something of sentimental nonsense. now look at me...
a man stripped of his literal physical half.”
his eye met yours, significantly glossier than before.
“and now i am sure i can conform to those sentiments my dear. you are my better half. i mean it in the most literal sense sweetheart. i see how you naturally step to my blind spot when we walk on the streets so i'm not spooked by fast walkers. how when i’m too exhausted to execute simple mundane tasks. you step in before i can feel useless. and... your little slipper thing. you make up for the half of my body i lost.”
he let out a grounding uneven breath, his right hand sliding up the cradle of your head before continuing.
“how you drag those feet to not startle me. god, you notice everything my love... i could go on forever listing everything you’ve changed for me. i want you to know i notice it all. my dear, i notice it all." there was no shame behind the sudden longing in his eye, he needed you to know that all the shame, disgust and contempt in the world could not compete with the expression of love for his wife.
the burning heat that welled in your eyes finally broke like a dam. streams trickled down your cheeks. his good hand traced your hair, long fingers untangling strands. bringing a sliver toward his face. he shut his eyes in bliss, burying his nose against your crown as he breathed you in, like you were a lifeline he clung so shamelessly to.
your tears began to spot his white shirt, black smudges spreading by the second. “stop... my mascara... kento, stop.” you mutter against his hard thumping chest in between a sob and laugh.
but your husband did not let you pull away. instead, he lowered his head to yours, hovering before his seared left cheek rested upon your crown, letting his two worlds merge.
“it is just a shirt.” a low retort grumbled from him. “it can be washed. i care entirely about the woman who is ruining it.”
the loving sway found its way back to your intertwined bodies. “let it smudge...”
his eye closed in beautitude. an unknowing tear squeezed out as he did, it trickled pensively down the healthy undereye, heaving over his prominent nosebridge, easing onto the bordered terrain of his burn, it zig-zagged between the salmon pathways of the uneven texture before dripping down to your scalp in finality. coincidentally, it was a beautiful analogy of those strained emotions passed through all parts of him in longed recognition. how it passed through his good half, bad half.
apologizing 101 with husband!kento nanami | lesson: getting on the knees ⭑.ᐟ
nanami had always been gentle with you.
he had treated you with such tenderness at all times. he was warm without fierceness, he was a calming embrace through harsh storms and pressure. he was steady when you wavered, he was there to press soft kisses against your swollen eyes, he was there to hold you through the night and whisper sweet words upon your temple.
you knew for certain that he loved you endlessly. he made sure you did.
but sometimes, love wasn’t enough as its own. not quite. and sometimes love didn’t carry gentleness within its entrance, sometimes it emerged with worry in the face of rage.
you should’ve known it.
it started rather ordinary, but you felt that beneath his calm words, there was a fury he wished to avoid. he was furious about you overworking yourself, an argument almost every household have held. thoughtful and loving in its own, its core being worry. although it was generous coming from him.
as gentle as fierce flares could be, he kept on talking when you stood silent.
but soon after his demeanor flared up to harsh sentences, intentions full of cruelty, he spat the brutal words against your face with a stoic expression. he furrowed his brows and with the dim lightning ceasing on his face, creating bold shadows, he looked rather, intimidating to you. a face he had never wore before, not to you, maybe someone else, yes, someone on the street who bumped into him, someone from work who messed his work up, someone random through his day, maybe, but not to you. never to you.
yet now, it laid before you. that figure you weren’t familiar with. that man with a ruthless face you didn’t recognize.
“and you tire yourself so carelessly like a clumsy toddler, not eating-“ you paused where you stood, now almost identifying the pattern of his words which contained his own routines. you thought to yourself again, but not once you’ve mentioned not eating nor not taking a break, instead, those were things you confronted him with before. although you did it with rather kind words. not making him feel small and incapable.
you tensed your shoulders. he lashed out with stormy accusations, and even though those were the things he reckoned you committed solely because of his own record, you knew that, the things that he were projecting onto you, the actual things that were troubling him about himself, but it still burned where it landed.
his distasteful words framed you.
and he kept on going. nonstop.
your eyes started burning with an undying sensation and you could feel the wetness building up on the corners of your eyes.
he sighed out another thing he so graciously forgot to mention. you couldn’t hold the tears back anymore.
tears collided in your face, rolling after each other, your face swollen and flushed with frustration. along with every word of his, another tear slid through from your eyes. you tried holding them back, hell, you’ve been trying since he started talking, but he did not give you the time to breathe, to collect yourself and for hurt to fade away from your heart.
he didn’t realize at first.
your tears fell from your face, right before his feet, the rug darkening with wetness. your vision blurred once more tears came in and you lowered your gaze so that he wouldn’t notice your wet face glistening under the lightning.
you did it out of defense, not out of shame.
he was the one to feel the shame.
he saw how your shoulders trembled first, and how you couldn’t look him in the eye. his mind was clouded with his own resentment against himself. once he saw your wavering figure, he paused, his mind suddenly clear, and eyes widening with fright.
he raised his hands to seize your shoulders, then stopped midway and spotted the wet spots on the rug, so vividly visible and dark beneath the flares shadowing them from the fireplace.
his manner’s weight suddenly crushed down on him, and his shoulders shivered.
“my love,” he whispered out.
he was petrified.
he was petrified with his own behavior. with his own words he uttered to the woman he loved, the tone he wore to her, to the one he promised to cherish.
the fireplace cracked with a fierce sound. its dim lightning fell upon his broad figure, now shaking, trembling beneath regret and fright, his mind cloudy with all the words that came out of his very own mouth. dry as a desert, burned with shame, his mouth, and he pressed his palm against the warm wall for a support.
“please,” he breathed out, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything after.
you raised your hands to wipe the tears away. he stood there in silence.
you sniffed quietly with your swollen and flushed nose. tears slowed down slightly. your gaze stayed on the floor.
then you heard a rustle. a rustle so defeated and painted with sorrow. and a sob, so frail almost absent. shortly after you saw it, without even having to raise your head.
he collapsed onto the floor with his knees supporting him.
the broad man who embraced you through every misfortune, who protected you like an oath, who stood secure for you, now crumbled before you with regret. all vulnerable and bare. his tears glimmered on his face with an orange tone, reflecting the flares still alive in the dim lightning of the room.
a soft rain started outside.
“my love, i’m so, so sorry, i don’t know why did i-“ he sobbed once more, his head between his palms, his knees crushing the soft rug.
you shook your head, not being able to utter anything.
“i’m so sorry, i terribly regret everything i’ve said to you. i projected my own distress for myself, and for a moment, i couldn’t bear the thought of you tiring yourself in such extent as i’ve done before,” his voice trembled, and the rain fastened. “i was frightened with the thought of you, bearing what i had, i got bewitched by my own past when i should’ve been there for your present problems,”
the tears started falling down on your face again, and you just stood there, listening to him opening his worries to you, bare and broad and frail in a sense you’ve never seen in him before.
“i got much too carried away in such expense i couldn’t realize—“ he stopped his sentence midway, to press one of his palms upon his mouth, covering it, tears going over his hand and glistening over the knuckles. you felt a squeeze in your heart at his crumbled state.
“and to your sweet face, i said such horrible things, i’m so, so sorry my dear, my love, and as undeserving as i am for your forgiveness, please, let me make it alright, with time, not suddenly— let me protect what we have with time.” he pleaded and lowered his hands, gripping the rug roughly.
you took a step to his figure and saw it more clearly how his expression was shattered defeatedly.
nanami had always been gentle with you. the man before you, minutes ago, felt as if he was a stranger crawled into his skin, displeasure seeping into his veins. you weren’t sure how to respond to him, to his honesty, for it would mean you acknowledging his behavior.
but you took a deep breath, also burning to talk to him, to make him understand you grander. to get it out of your chest. to not carry it within you for the next morning, and letting him carry it instead.
so you opened your mouth with uncertainty.
“you’ve hurt me,” you breathed out.
“you’ve hurt me, and i see where you’re coming from, truly, i do, but what frightened me is, kento— it’s that you weren’t able to stop. and i shouldn’t be even half as understanding as i am, and i shouldn’t be put in a position where i should force myself to see your perspective because you’ve hurt me unintentionally.”
“but i love you. and i know you. and i also, need time and closure.” you said, your shoulders still tense, body aching.
“i’ll work on myself so that you won’t go through something like this ever again,”
once you were close to him enough for him to see your feet with his gaze lowered, he gently grabbed your ankles, and breathed there for a second, yearning for your permission. for you to not seek his absence, for you to accept him. for you to allow him to repent of his faults.
getting the permission from your silent form, he lowered his head, his dewy lips, all wet from his tears, met with your ankles delicately. he pressed a faint kiss upon your ankle, his touch still fragile where it rested against your warm skin.
he inhaled, with all the weight against him, he seemed so small, the grand man you know, defeated beneath your feet, crying against it. he stayed there for a moment, kissing your ankle, the top of your foot, his tears striding down from your skin.
“kento,” you whispered, and hearing your whisper he pressed one last kiss, his hand leaving you for him to rise on his feet.
his hands instantly found your waist, sitting there and wavering slightly but warm and secure and familiar. you smiled at him, face glistening with tears and heart still broken, but embraced with his presence. not alone. never alone.
“i’m so sorry, so sorry i’ve caused you something i’ve swore to never put you through,” he said, pressing another kiss upon your shoulder, leaving traces of wetness there.
“give me the chance to prove myself, to you, please.”
he traced his hand adoringly through your hair, took one strand and brought it to his nose with shivering hands, inhaling it, the other hand still sitting securely on your waist.
“i could never breathe without you,” he whispered, “i love you, and i could never live without you, nothing would ever mean a thing without you,”
“kento…” he stroked your sides, his warmness tracing your heart, his voice caressing your mind, and you melted with his heat, all the weariness the day has brought you now crushed against him, crawling out of your body into his embrace.
“can i carry you to bed?” he asked for your permission again, still unsure of his movements. you just nodded out of tiredness, still not hugging him or returning his gestures, way too hurt for it.
“i’ll give you space tonight, would you want that?” trying not to push too far, he said while his hands moved down, under your knees to lift you.
you nodded once more. you weren’t quite sure if you could handle his presence beside you all through the night, even though you usually adored it, it didn’t feel right, not tonight.
he kissed your temple and whispered a silent ‘of course, my love,’ and going up the stairs, he kept whispering how sorry he was. when you arrived in bedroom, he tucked you in gently. with the same gentleness you knew. then he left silently, with the same calmness he entered with, closing the door with a silent click.
you rolled in the soft bed, and thinking he left, also getting ready for sleep in the guest room, closed your aching eyes, face still swollen from all the crying.
he crouched down behind the door. he knew, from the moment he saw the tears on your face, that he would spend the night behind the door, listening to your breaths.
and he did that.
in the morning after, sun shining throughly, when you woke up with fresh flowers, more colorful than usual, the same morning coffee he brewed for you every morning, today with extra care, your favorite breakfast which he brought to bed, something he was fiercely against, you already knew that, nanami was indeed, a man of his word.
⸝⸝⸝ you just can’t say ‘i love you’ back to 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈, even when it’s really true…
the first time nanami says it, it isn’t casual at all.
it happens at the end of a long evening when neither of you are quite ready to go home yet, standing together in the quiet hallway outside your apartment.
the building is dim, the overhead light humming softly. your boyfriend still has one arm loosely around your shoulders from when you leaned into him in the elevator. it’s a comfortable kind of closeness, the sort you’ve both settled into over the months you’ve been together.
you’re talking about something small about your day at work when the conversation drifts off and the quiet stretches between you.
nanami’s hand moves slightly against your back, fingers spreading a little like he’s grounding himself before he speaks.
when he pulls you into a proper hug in front of your door, it’s firmer than usual.
you wrap your arms around him automatically, yet still a little awkward because that’s just who you are, pressing your face lightly against his chest. his coat smells faintly like clean laundry and the sharp hint of whatever cologne he wears, something subtle and probably expensive.
for a moment you think he’s just holding you goodbye.
then you feel him breathe in slowly.
“i love you,” he murmurs, low and steady above your head.
the words land softly, but they echo in your chest like something much louder.
your brain completely empties.
you don’t pull away from him right away, mostly because you can’t quite move. your arms are still around him, your cheek still resting against his chest, but every thought in your head has gone completely still.
you hadn’t expect it. not like that.
you knew the relationship was serious. you knew he cared about you—nanami wasn’t the kind of person to spends his time carelessly after all. but hearing the words out loud feels like he had just placed something very fragile and important directly in your hands.
and suddenly you’re terrified of dropping it.
you really weren’t prepared to take it in the first place.
you slowly pull back from the hug, looking up at him.
nanami’s expression is calm, but there’s something more vulnerable there than usual. something quiet and sincere that makes your chest tighten.
he’s waiting. not visibly impatient or anxious. just waiting. and the words are sitting right there in your throat.
i love you too.
they’re true. you know they’re true the second you heard what he said. but instead of coming out, they get stuck somewhere behind your ribs.
your mouth opens and nothing happens.
the silence stretches.
the longer it lasts, the harder it becomes to break. heat creeps up your neck as you realize you’ve been staring at him for too long.
so you do the worst possible thing.
you smile.
not even a real smile. it’s one of those small, awkward ones you make when you don’t know what else to do.
something in his eyes changes slightly.
he doesn’t ask why you didn’t say it back or look offended or embarrassed. after a moment he just lifts a hand and brushes his thumb lightly over your cheek.
“get some rest,” he says quietly.
then he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and lets you go.
you stand there for a second after he walks away, staring at the empty hallway and feeling like the worse person on the whole fucking planet.
but the moment passes, and you convince yourself it’s fine.
some people take longer to say things like that. he didn’t seem to mad anyway. nanami was patient.
he’d understand.
but you don’t know if you could’ve say it back, even if you were prepared.
—
weeks pass.
your relationship doesn’t change.
nanami still holds your hand when you walk together. he still makes sure you eat when you’re stressed, still listens with that quiet attentiveness that always makes you feel seen.
but he never says it again.
not once.
and somehow that makes it harder to bring it up yourself. so they stay locked inside your chest.
until the night he says it again.
you’re both already in your bed—he’s staying the night because it was too late for him to go home and you wouldn’t let him. the lights are off and the room is dim except for the faint glow of the streetlights outside the window. nanami is lying on his back beside you, one arm tucked under the pillow while you’re turned toward him, curled against his side.
the conversation has slowed into that sleepy kind of quiet people fall into when they’re about to drift off.
you’re tracing absent circles against the fabric of his shirt, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing.
after a while, nanami shifts slightly and turns his head toward you. his hand finds yours in the dark, fingers threading together loosely.
“are you asleep?” he asks quietly.
“nope.”
there’s a short pause. then he squeezes your hand once.
“i love you.”
the words are softer this time, almost sleepy. but they’re just as clear as they were the first time.
your chest tightens instantly because you know what it feels like when he says it, and the weight of not answering the first time crashes back all at once.
your heart starts beating faster. this is your chance.
say it.
just say it.
i love you too.
the words sit there again, waiting.
nanami is quiet beside you, not moving, not pushing. just waiting. the silence grows.
one second.
two.
three.
you open your mouth in the dark.
and once again nothing comes out. panic rises in your chest, hot and sharp. now the moment feels even bigger than before. if you say it now, will it sound forced? like you’re only answering because he said it first? what if you stumble over the words? what if it comes out wrong?
your throat closes. your mind goes blank.
so instead you squeeze his hand lightly.
a small, helpless gesture that doesn’t actually say anything at all.
after a moment he shifts closer, his arm sliding around your waist and pulling you gently against him.
“goodnight,” he murmurs.
and that’s it.
within minutes his breathing evens out, slow and steady as sleep takes him. you can feel the weight of his arm resting comfortably over you, warm and familiar.
but your own eyes stay wide open in the dark.
your chest feels tight, your stomach twisting with a dull kind of shame that won’t go away.
because you do love him.
you love the quiet steadiness of him, the way he shows up for you without needing to be asked, the way he listens like every word you say matters. the way he truly sees you.
the words sit in your throat now, painfully clear.
i love you.
you only mouth the words soundlessly into the dark, lips barely moving. nanami shifts slightly in his sleep beside you, breathing deep and peaceful.
he’s already asleep.
and you lie there staring at the ceiling for hours, replaying the moment over and over in your mind, wishing you had just said it when it mattered.
my first hurt with no comfort fic, kinda nervy.
sobbed while writing this btw so i have to share the suffering haha… BUT BEFORE YOU ATTACK ME i currently have a longer fic in my drafts titled “3 times you couldn’t say i love you and the 1 time you finally do”!!! so yay!! i swear i’m not this evil
BED time has become a routine your little family adored. dad!kento nanami was in love with what your family has become and his love only grows stronger by the day. he was infatuated with your son. the two of you were the most important things in his life.
“time to wash up before bed!” says kento to your son. though he’s still a blabbing toddler speaking incoherent sentences, he understands fully. your son was just as infatuated with his father was with him.
you carried him for nine months only for him to look exactly like your husband and be in love with him even more. fortunately you wouldn’t have it any other way. they were your two favorite boys. they forever will be.
your son loves bath time. and he loves it even more when kento’s the one bathing him. he would spend hours in the bath if it meant his father would stay in the bathroom with him.
when bath time is over it’s pajamas and lotion time! while bathing your son, kento lets you get unready before tucking your son in bed. but there are some nights where you both feel like being lazy and letting him get some cuddle and screen time with his two favorite people.
you’re in charge on lotion and pj’s while nanami gets himself ready for the night. you read him some silly stories and tickle him in ways that get out his stomach laughter that you love to hear.
once your husband is done getting ready, the three of you snuggle into your bed. and turn the tv on. the second you grow older, the more you shy away from children tv shows but when you become a parent that tv show becomes a statement in your household.
right now the three of you are watching tv and nanami notices that every time he moves his hand or his head away from his son, his little grabby hands move his fathers’ closer to him, eyes still locked on the tv. the two of you notice and laugh together.
this is the perfect little video that you are able to record. your two favorite boys.
you pull your phone out and motion kento to move his head again. your son notices immediately and brings up his arm to gently pull his dad’s head to rest on his shoulder again. kento does it another two times and your son follows directly after.
laughter emerges nanami again and he sprinkles kisses all over his sons face. he has his father wrapped around his little finger. literally.
nanami kento would do anything if it meant his two favorite people in the world were happy and healthy. he loved you both more than words could ever describe.
dad!nanami seeing his son in the suit he bought when he was born
note: people been blowing up my inbox saying this is angst. i think it's fluff. read at your own discretion because i don't know anymore. (it's fluff. don't cry pls)
dad!nanami bought the suit on impulse. and not to your surprise, he was armed and ready with a reply to every argument you made. "he's too young for that!" "it's never too early to be a gentleman." "well... none of the other kids will wear a suit to school." "he's not going to wear it to school, and discipline is important in the early years."
dad!nanami who washed and ironed and kept that suit clean for the next four years of his son's life, always nodding in satisfaction even when the truth was that his son wasn't big enough to fit into it.
dad!nanami who saw it as a rite. to fit into the family's responsibilities, to take care of you when he himself was long gone. to be a man. but his son was only four years old.
dad!nanami who knew four years would have never been enough time for him to dance with fate's cruel hands. being his father, he had countless moments---and yet they could never be enough.
dad!nanami who didn't know the meaning of true love until he met you. and then again, when the little bundle in your hands grew a personality and took on a name and became the light of his life.
dad!nanami who awaited that day, that day when he would get to see his son wearing the suit that he bought when he was born, waiting to see his little boy grown up in his arms.
dad!nanami who watched as the boy, now four years old, finally fit into the suit, prancing around the room, arms jutting and legs skidding. the epitome of childhood.
dad!nanami who sat and smiled at the edge of the bed, where you were sitting with your phone out, recording him, tears streaming down your face, one hand half-obscuring your face.
dad!nanami who listened. "baby, you..." "mama? what's wrong?" "you look so handsome." "aww, thank you, mama you look pretty. mama's the prettiest girl in the whole big world!"
dad!nanami who knew at that moment that he raised his son well. you truly were the prettiest girl in the whole big world. the phone slipped from your hands as you crouched back over the box the suit came from, fingers wrapped in the fabric of your dress.
dad!nanami who never got used to the sound of you crying. when he proposed, when he kissed you at the altar, when you held your son for the first time, when he walked and talked and so many firsts.
dad!nanami who watched you get up, rub your red, bleary eyes, and grasp your son's hand. your son beamed back at you, innocent, oblivious. and the thing was, he couldn't even blame his son.
dad!nanami who knew---how was his son supposed to know that the only reason he was finally wearing that suit was for his dad's funeral?
dad!nanami who stood behind you as you stared at yourself in the mirror, fists clenched on the granite counter, the same one you had sat and hummed and shaved his face every morning.
dad!nanami who had no doubt that you were thinking of this as you splashed your face with cold water, eyes dim. he watched you do your makeup---the same way you had since he met you.
dad!nanami who knew this was an intimate moment, even if you didn't know he was there. even if you didn't know he was still watching over you and his son. even if you would never know.
dad!nanami who admired how pretty you looked in that black dress you saved just for special occasions. a shame this was the first time you were going to wear it.
dad!nanami who didn't expect you to start talking. "do you remember? me sitting here and staring while you brushed your teeth? you always thought i was creepy for it."
dad!nanami who recalled that he did say it was creepy. he also wanted nothing more than to scream that just one more moment with your eyes fixed on him would be his salvation.
dad!nanami who kept his eyes on you as you chuckled, tracing a finger along the edge of the granite. "your skin was always so soft after you shaved. i liked kissing your cheek. it wasn't prickly anymore."
dad!nanami who trailed your gaze to the lone razer in the cup. bright pink. his gray one would usually be right next to it, but instead... instead? he stood by while you crumpled to your knees and choked on sobs that couldn't leave your throat and blinked past tears that welled in your eyes and never dripped past your mascara.
dad!nanami who recognized the patter of little feet before a small voice called out through the door. "mama? uncle gojo wanna talk to you. can i open the door?"
dad!nanami who waited as the boy was silent for a few moments, before creaking the door open and peeking his head around the corner. "mama? why are you sad?"
dad!nanami who wanted to take you both into his arms like the world was ending. instead, he let his son take care of that by wrapping his tiny arms around your neck and petting your hair.
dad!nanami who heard his son whispering the same things he'd whisper to you when you were tired and the days were long. "it's okay, mama, breathe, you're okay, i'm right here."
dad!nanami who didn't know how he was blessed with a son who knew words and just how to use them. it always brought tears to his eyes, ones he refused to wipe away.
dad!nanami who didn't know how this worked. his thoughts were always fixated on you, following you into the car and somehow trailing you to the funeral home.
dad!nanami who never quite liked the color black. it brought doom, just like the darkness he saw before the life was blown to bits before his eyes. he thinks the only reason he can do this is because his last thoughts were of you and his son.
dad!nanami who knew that gojo would take over. be the father that his son deserved. and a small, selfish part of him hoped that you would never move on, that you would always be his.
dad!nanami who knew that was a stupid thought. even if he was always going to be yours, you would probably move on. probably find someone else. maybe you would marry gojo and make it---
dad!nanami who felt tiny eyes on him. was he... was his son looking at him? no, children's eyes wander. he was probably staring at--- "papa... you made mama cry. that's not nice."
dad!nanami who blinked, opening his mouth. no sound came out. he couldn't find the words, anyways. "you always make mama so happy... why is she sad? papa?"
dad!nanami whose heart broke once again when you took your son's hand into yours, voice cracking as you gently explained, "we have to say goodbye to papa, remember, baby? that's why we're here."
dad!nanami who caught the tightening of his son's fingers around your hands. "why did he leave us?" "... he was doing a really, really good thing. he was protecting a lot of people."
dad!nanami who wanted to cry and rip his own eyes out at the way his son frowned back at him. "but who will protect us?" it was supposed be him, forever. him dressing his son up in that suit.
instead, his son wore that sacred suit to his funeral.
a/n: i saw a video on tiktok and it was so sad i actually wanted to cry so bad and i just knew that this would break my heart so thanks y'all get to die inside now too.. kinda reflective off how i felt when my uncle died.
one could say that being with nanami was as easy as breathing.
from shared late night kisses to slow walks by the beach — catching the last sun's rays right before it disappears beneath the waves — the faint silhouettes of the two of you, traced onto the soft sand before your feet.
you still remember the rumble of his quiet voice like it was yesterday. the flickers in between memories with his fingers tracing the shell of your ear as he tucks stray strands of your hair behind them, the soft murmurs of "i love you"s and "my love"s.
your life with him was almost straight out of a fairytale.
when you wake up early to go to work, he wakes up even earlier than you. he makes sure that before you even step into the kitchen, there will always be a warm mug of your favourite jasmine tea on the table. always one with two teaspoons of sugar. the way you liked it.
and there he is, his back facing you as he cooks breakfast, his waist tied with a string from the brown apron he always wore since you bought it for him three years ago. he knows you're there before he even turns around. and you don't hesistate to stroll up to him, wrap your arms around his waist and he faintly chuckles.
he was always there for you. it didn't matter whether if you broke down after an argument with your parents or if you were crying over pigeons being outsite on a rainy day, he never made fun of you. instead, he let you shout at him if it made you feel better, then he held you in his arms when you felt too weak to hold up yourself. he offered you quiet and peace when the world was too loud. he stayed when others left.
this, maybe, was the reason why you couldn't find the strength in yourself to move, every time you visited his stone.
You gaze at the ocean stretching to the horizon, immense and calm, reflecting the softest colors of the Malaysian sky. The pink is so gentle it seems almost unreal, like a cotton caress on the horizon, while warm orange blends with the pink, making each wave shimmer with a soothing light.
The sea breathes slowly, its waves gently lapping at the white sand. A cool breeze brushes against your skin, dispelling some of the stifling heat that has clung to you since the beginning of the day. It carries with it the invigorating, salty scent that fills your lungs and makes you feel at home.
Beside you, Nanami is there.
His large hand enfolds yours with that tender firmness that is uniquely his. His fingers are warm, slightly calloused, and his thumb slowly caresses the back of your hand, the way he always does when he wants to tell you without words that he's there. His shoulder brushes against yours.
You feel the warmth of his body through the light fabric of his shirt, that subtle scent of sandalwood and sea clinging to his skin. He doesn't talk much, but his presence is enough. It always has been.
You gaze at the horizon without really looking at it, letting the beauty of the landscape wash over you. You don't want to think about anything. Not the past, not the dangers, not even the strength of your love for him.
Just be here, with him.
Savor this moment stolen from the world. Feel his hand in yours, listen to the sound of the waves, let the wind dry the sweat on your neck. For once, everything seems peaceful. Almost perfect.
Yet, a small crack remains in your chest. A dull, old pain that refuses to completely disappear. Even after all this time.
Why does it still hurt so much? Tears rise gently, without force. They flow down your cheeks, warm, silent, almost natural in this breathtaking setting. You don't wipe them away. Nanami squeezes your hand a little tighter, as if to reassure you.
You slowly turn your head toward him.
He's there, sitting beside you, a calm and elegant figure, his blond hair slightly tousled by the wind. His golden eyes gaze at the same horizon as yours, peaceful. But something changes. The wind picks up. The fine sand at your feet begins to swirl in delicate golden wisps, circling around him like a slow, graceful dance, as fluid as his soul.
You look at him more intently. His outline becomes more blurred. The grains of sand gently pass through his silhouette, as if he were melting into the air. His hand in yours remains warm for a moment longer… then becomes lighter, more transparent.
His soul drifts away with infinite gentleness, carried by the wind, just like the sand that dances and disappears into the distance. He smiles at you one last time, that calm, weary smile you love so much, before the last particles of him fly off to the ocean where he always wanted to be.
And he is no longer there.
The emptiness beside you is suddenly icy.
You remain motionless, the tears flowing more freely now, your throat tight. Three years. Three years you have lived with this tender ghost, fulfilling his dream in his place: this endless beach where the sun seems never to truly set, where the scent of the sea awakens you each morning like a broken promise.
In the distance, the sound of quick footsteps in the sand pulls you from your reverie.
A child runs toward you. He looks so much like Nanami that your heart clenches violently. The same golden blond hair flying in the wind, the same calm, observant eyes, the same serious expression on such a small face. He runs, staring at a spot beside you, where his father was sitting just a few seconds ago.
"Daddy?!" he cries, thinking he's seen him. But there's no one there anymore. Only the wind and the sand, still dancing. The child slows down as he reaches you, a little lost, then stops at your feet. "Mommy?"
You smile at him through your tears, a soft, fragile smile, full of love and sadness. You run a trembling hand through his hair, so like Nanami's, and whisper, your voice broken but tender, to him and Nanami, who's listening from wherever he is:
"Don't worry about me, my love. I love you."
a/n: I was listening White Ferrari by Frank Ocean while crying and I thought of writing this. I'm crying even more now...
