Kento took a step forward when he notices that his blonde hair is slowly getting to a pale silver. The roots shining as he intently stares at the first few streaks in the mirror. A slight frown of surprise crosses his face as he runs his fingers through it, almost trying to see if they are real, contemplating the significance of this unexpected change.
“Remember we’ve got 2 potential homebuyers coming today after 3. Did you want to move anything around before then?” You spoke gently as you walked towards the bathroom noticing Kento look at himself. “Ken?”
His strict and rigid lifestyle had shaped his existence for years, but this moment marked a stark contrast to the strict regimen he's lived by. It's as if his hair was reflecting the toll of the pressure and stress he's endured.
It's a jarring sight, a symbol of the transformation he's undergoing.
“Did you notice these? The grays?”
You reached up, catching the close shave of his undercut and smile at his reflection. “We’re on each other practically every 2 seconds. Of course I noticed.”
“And you said nothing?” Eyebrow raised, Kento turned to you and kissed your palm. “Big fan of old man Kento?”
“Pffft, please.” The chuckle you let out was a slice of life to him. “I thought you were hot when you were 26 and I still think you’re hot at 44. You’re becoming a silver fox.”
He laughed but he was completely preoccupied by this new found piece of himself.
He was aging.
“Stop thinking, baby.”
“I’m not, honey.”
You squint. “Let me reiterate. Stop overthinking.”
You wrapped your arms around his waist from the side, resting your head on his chest. “When did we get to this point? I qualify for silver fox status after what feels like we just finished school.”
You bring your fingers up the back of his head and gently graze his scalp. “Years of wisdom and achievement via your roots. I have a few of my own sprouting at the center of my head. You’ve conquered a lot in life. I think it looks great on you.”
These hints of aging didn’t represent a loss of youth, but rather a testament to the years of life he'd lived and survived. Evidence of a journey filled with memories and growth. He starts to see the gray hair not as a symbol of decline, but as a badge of honor, a mark of the wisdom and resilience he's gained along the way. He kissed your cheek and lifted you up.
“A house, putting a kid through college, buying property on the beach,” He helped you onto the bathroom counter and smiled. “The grays are like a trophy.”
“A trophy, exactly, Mr. Nanami. Though I feel like we are missing a big key factor here.”
“Hm? What’s that?”
You leaned in, gently kissing his jawline. “You’re totally a DILF now. I have the hottest dad in this city.”
Nanami sat at a quiet corner table in a small cafe, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup that had long since cooled. His gaze drifted out the window, taking in the sights of the street but focusing on none of them.
The hum of the cafe, the muted conversations and clinking cups, was soothing. A moment of quiet felt surreal as he waited for you to meet him.
“Excuse me?”
Nanami looked down to see a small girl, maybe six or seven years old, standing by his table. Her eyes were round and curious, and she was staring at the healed web like burn scars on his face and the scars that peeked out from under the cuff of his shirt.
He felt a pang of self-consciousness and was about to glance away, but the girl tilted her head, undeterred.
“What happened to your face?” she asked, her tone as innocent as her question.
Nanami blinked. He wasn’t used to such direct curiosity. Most people (adults) either looked away out of politeness or offered a sympathetic smile that he never quite knew how to respond to. But this child simply waited, eyes bright and expectant.
He took a steadying breath. “I got hurt while I was working,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I’m alright now.”
“Oh,” she replied, digesting this. She looked at his hand, tracing her gaze over the marks on his fingers and wrists. “Does it still hurt?”
“Not anymore.” He found himself softening a bit, his usual reserve giving way to something gentler in the face of her openness.
She nodded, apparently satisfied with this answer, and then broke into a grin. “I think it looks cool. It’s like super hero scars. You must be one!”
Nanami couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’m not a superhero.”
The girl crossed her arms, as if deep in thought. “My dad says superheroes don’t always wear capes. He says sometimes they’re just regular people who help.”
Nanami felt something twist in his chest at that. “Your dad sounds like a smart man.”
“Sometimes,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But he doesn’t like coffee or chocolate. He says it tastes like dirt.”
Nanami let out a quiet chuckle. “It does, a little bit. But I like it anyway. And chocolate? That sounds criminal.”
The girl laughed with him “That’s what I think! Chocolate is yummy. He’s nuts.” For a moment, it felt like the weight of everything he’d been carrying was a little lighter.
“My name is Emi.”
“I’m Nanami. It’s nice to meet you Emi. Where are your parents?”
“Behind the counter. They own the cafe.” She smiled as she waved at her dad who gave an apologetic look towards Nanami.
“Do you come here a lot?” she asked, swinging her arms a bit as she looked around the cafe.
“Sometimes. Me and my wife like the pastries here. Or I come here to think.”
She seemed to consider this, then pulled a bright red crayon from the front pocket of her Bluey bag and placed it carefully on the table. “Here. In case you need to write something while you think. Or your wife!” she offered earnestly.
Nanami took the crayon, holding it between his fingers as if it were made of glass. “Thank you,” he said, voice soft. “That’s very kind of you.”
The gentle wind from the door opening brought Nanami’s eyes up and to you as you walked over. “Hi darling.”
You bent to kiss his cheek and smiled before looking over at the little girl. “Well hello! Do we have a new friend?”
“I’m Emi! Is Mr. Nanami your husband?”
You nodded sitting down at the table but still keep contact with the girl.” “Uh huh. He is.”
“Thats so cool. You’re married to a super hero! Did you know that?”
You looked up to Nanami, confused as he chuckled and traced his thumb over the crayons paper wrapping. “It’s.. we’ll get to that in a second.”
A series dedicated to healing and letting yourself have a second chance in this lifetime.
Inspired by this song that brings me to tears every single time.
content warning: shibuya arc, mentions of death, mental health awareness, angst(eventual comfort), burn victim so expect some detailed imagery.
wc: 4.9k
an: thank you for reading. I love you lots.
I.
Time seemed to trickle as Nanami waited for his physical therapist to arrive.
First at home session since being discharged.
4 days a week, 30 minutes a day.
“Individualized exercise program including rigorous activities as you progress to help you regain your independence.. Sure.” Nanami read from the pamphlet out loud and sighed as he looked over the stack of literature he left the rehab facility with.
He was thankful that he was deemed fit enough to continue his healing at home after 11 weeks in the best facility Gojo could find. While it accommodated every possible concern one could have, he was certain he wouldn’t feel confident in being self sufficient until he was able to put all he had learned into practice at home.
So there he was, sifting through paperwork and sipping his coffee as he awaited his new physical therapist and as Ino finished cleaning his kitchen.
“I think thats it! Lunch is in the black container on the top shelf in the fridge and I’ve prepped dinner for when Gojo comes to cook. Anything else before I’m off?” Takuma grabbed his keys, the jangle bringing Kento out of his reading trance as he looked up.
“Yes, that should be fine. I appreciate you coming over every morning Takuma. But it’s not necessary.”
Takuma scoffed, almost offended at the idea. “Nonsense. Its just a little breakfast and lunch. Its on my way to the school anyway. Consider it a small help.”
He could protest but Takuma would simply find another way to make himself useful. Whether it be taking him to his appointments or coming to slather his injuries: he was going to find a way to be of help.
As he adjusted his cast as best he could, a text popped up from an unsaved number.
>Hello, Mr. Nanami! Currently heading to you. ETA is ten minutes.
Signed with your name, Nanami simply reads the text and reacted to the message with thumbs up.
“Thank you, Takuma. Truly. But I think thats everything. My physical therapist is on their way so I’ll just hang out til then.”
“Alrighty! I’ll be working mostly on campus so just shoot me a text if you need me. Take it easy, Nanami.” with that, Ino grabbed his jacket and proceeded out the front door.
Nanami exhaled and got up to sit at the window. The mid morning sun was gentle but insistent, that soft golden hue brightening everything it touched.
It wasn’t harsh, just warm enough to remind Nanami of the outside world, a quiet promise that time was still moving. The warmth on his right side almost felt foreign as the dust mites danced lazily in the light. He closed his eyes, taking in the fragile sense of something stirring inside of him— reposeful comfort in the way the sun didn’t have a sudden, overwhelming wave of joy but a soft declaration that he was still here.
Nanami hadn’t had many moments to really think about just how life changing the incident had been. Half of his body littered in 3rd degree burns, a third of that, 4th degree. Loss of hair on one side, an eye patch over his eye and a lack of feeling down his left arm.
He’d looked at himself in the mirror exactly once since the incident and didn’t do it again until he acquired his face prosthetic recently.
It was bulky and itchy, but it alleviated the deformities and more importantly, kept him from being too hard on his own appearance.
The moment felt necessary. Reminding him that the sun remained a constant while other things changed.
“I’ll need to see if I can sit outdoors for a few minutes a day. Would be good for me.” he noted outwardly before a light tapping at the front door had him shuffling towards the foyer.
One moment, please.” he paused a few paces before he reached the door to look down, remembering his shirt had a hole near the hem of it. He didn’t have time to change but only hoped the therapist wouldn’t see him as some undetermined slob with no real concern on how he looked.
He took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Mr. Nanami?”
“That would be me.”
“Perfect! Hello! I was sent by the health and wellness agency as part of your transitioning to home health care. We have an appointment. May I come in?”
No scrubs, no accessories to signify you were a medical professional. Just a badge clip holding your ID with “HHA” boldly sitting under your name.
“Sure. Come on in.” He led you into the house, slowly walking into the living room and nodding towards the couch as you stood next to him.
You grin and sat on the far end of the couch, near the window, “Thank you.” you sat your tote littered in small pins on the coffee table and pulled out a somewhat thick file.
“Would you like anything to drink? Water, coffee?”
Shaking your head, you tapped the top of your bag. “No thank you. I have my tumbler. But I appreciate it!”
Nanami slightly bowed his head and sat in the solo chair next to the couch. “Alright so, how do we start this? I was told I’d see you four days a week with one more day possibly if I need to.”
You pursed your lips, looking down at your paperwork before looking back up to meet his neutral gaze.
“I believe that’s your physical therapist that you will be seeing four days out of the week.”
“Then pardon me for being so… impolite. But who are you exactly?”
The laugh that left your lips was a soft one but enough for Kento to lift his lips into a slight smile.
“I realize your discharge team didn’t give you names, faces, or titles. My apologies.”
“It happens.”
You continued. “I’m your Home Health Care Provider. While you were still in recovery, you met with your primary care provider and you spoke of your in home care, correct?”
Nanami nodded. “Yes.”
“Going over the team you’d have for your in housee rehabilitation, you were assigned a home health aide 5 days a week.”
His brow furrowed. “So you are that, I assume?”
“Yes. I will also be the one looking over the full team that provides you with your in-home care.”
“This feels very unnecessary.” The tone in his response was sharp. “I have people who come to help me with my daily needs. Having an entire team sounds like an exhausting back and forth to have coming to my house. A waste of resources.”
Your demeanor remained soft and understanding as you listened to his concerns. “Mr. Nanami. I understand that it sounds overwhelming. If I had to be in the predicament of needing a care team after an incident, I too would be a bit apprehensive.”
“But you aren’t. I am.”
The immediate smile that grew on your face wasn’t one that came from kindness. It was your defense, albeit an understandable one. “You are correct. I’m not. But I implore to at least hear me out on why its important to have us.”
A rush of emotions filled Kento’s chest. He wanted to pull his hair out from sheer frustration. But he remained calm.
His discomfort was obvious to you and you wanted to remedy the ache somehow.
“I want you to have an idea of what this could look like as you approach the first steps of gaining a sense of normalcy. Would you be willing to let me give you an example of what a week may look like for you? And if you don’t like it, we can adjust to a schedule that fits better for you.”
“Let’s hear it, then.”
“Splendid.” You reached into your file and pulled out a thoroughly detailed schedule and turned it for Nanami to look along with you.
“So, this schedule is based loosely on the day to day you had while in the rehab facility. No matter who, anything involving someone from your team wouldn’t be arriving until 10am. This is unless you decide to utilize me. Then I would be here at 7 every morning to aide you with your morning routine.”
“What if I don’t want extensive help?”
“I would respect the boundary.”
Nanami took a closer look at the schedule, seeing the words ‘kitchen prep healing exercise’ highlighted for every Tuesday and Thursday. “What does this entail? Kitchen prep healing.”
“Your passions shouldn’t suffer because of changes. So I created a regimen that would help us get in the kitchen and get busy while making sure we help maintain your range of motion and fine motor skills.”
Nanami looked up at you for a moment, trying to assess just how serious you were about changing what he was uncomfortable with.
“So if I only need you for meal prep and assisting with chores around my house.”
“Then I will only help you with meal prep and assisting with your chores around the house.”
He handed the schedule back to you. “And if it isn’t something that I’ve mentioned?”
Trying to test you. Cute. “If you mention to me that would like me to assist you in going to the grocery store, fixing your bed, helping you get ready for your appointments, then I will. Because my goal is having you confident in yourself and your abilities.”
That nagging feeling of what if filled his chest and mind. Nanami knows he can’t do it alone. But to be a burden is the last thing he wants to ever become.
“I don’t want to become too dependent on you and your teams’ services.” He sat up as best he could, stretching out his legs and wincing at the unexpected intensity of his blood flowing through his left leg.”
Not wanting to lose the momentum, you sat on the edge of the couch alert of and aware of the pain he showed. “Your independence will not falter. We are merely an extension. We are the claw arm that’s in your reach if the jar of pickles are too high up, if you will.”
Nanami tried to stop the half smile on his face but faltered. “I understand.”
“Do you have any questions for me?” You smiled politely.
“A few,” Nanami cleared his throat. “When it comes to changing my dressings..”
“I will be the only one who sees them completely outside of your primary physician.” You answered, as if you were waiting for that specific question.
“Second question: can you properly fold a fitted sheet?”
You laughed, nodding. “The trick is in how you hold the corners. Line up the creases and you’ll always have a perfect fold.”
Nanami nodded. “Interesting.” The intense blood flow in his legs ceased and his body noticeably relaxed. He sat forward. “Final question, if you were to start tomorrow, could we have your start time for 8am? I like having the first hour of the day to myself.”
“If you want me here at 8 am, I will be at the door by 7:55 to knock at 7:59.”
The moment of silence was filled with hope as you realized you got to him. You let him see genuine concern and thats all he wanted. But this was only the beginning. And you were willing to be his guide to a sense of independence all the way through.
___________________________________________
The silence of the early morning was heavier than usual— a quit hum of of the refrigerator reached his room as he slept with his bedroom door open now, a new practice he’s since learned is a response to his trauma.
He sat on the side of his bed, staring down at his slippers that warmly held his feet as the barely visible morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and unrelenting.
“I embrace healing.” He spoke out loud, his voice still low, sleep riddened, as he slowly rose from the bed and grabbed his cane.
“We aren’t going to be hard on ourselves because this is still new to you, Kento. Its okay to not know what to do.”
Mornings were more of a drag than he would like for them to be.
His body was more stiff. More rigid. He needed 30 minutes minimum to sit on the side of the bed and stretch just to muster up enough internal energy to get up and grab his cane.
He sounded off, flipping the bathroom light on and adjusting the sink to run warm water. “Today will be a great day.” He washed his hands, meticulously washing between his fingers and flicking the excess off his fingers before he dried them, reaching for a clean towel and letting it soak under the faucet.
“You will be more than okay.” this time, he spoke as if someone would overhear him talking to his self.
Nanami shook his head, lowly chuckling at what he found himself doing.
Yuji began to send him various videos that initiated ‘positive self talk’ and ‘daily affirmations for healing the body.’ Yuji hoped to try and help expedite a process that Megumi told him more than fives times, would take awhile.
Slowly pulled away the dressing on his cheek, Nanami watched small bits of dead tissue peel away from his healing skin. He threw it in the trash hamper, then pumped a small dot of antimicrobial soap on the wet towel he’d soaked and gently began to wash his face.
He looked closely, inspecting every patch he wiped over to take notice of any changes in how his skin looked. He tried very, very hard to not look into his own eyes.
Rinsing and patting to dry, he washed his hands again then reached for the jar of salve, precisely swiping a thin layer over his left cheek and forehead before he placed his transparent face mask on.
Finishing up his morning bathroom routine went without a rush. Going to throw on yet another loose fitting t-shirt and casual pants before sliding his slippers back on.
Slow and steady. Nice and easy.
“I am going to have a great day today.” the rubber end of his walker softly thudded against the wooden floors as he made his was down the hall. “It is a new day. New chances.”
He wasn’t going to confirm or deny if these affirming exercises were doing anything. But he’d admit that saying them aloud was probably the silliest he’d felt ever doing anything.
The living room held a welcoming warmth as he drew the blinds open that faced the street.
The third floor apartment view was always the one thing that made the asking price of his condo worth it to him.
The patchwork of traditional rooftops and modern buildings met the edge of the cities outskirts. Bare branches stood against the pale early morning winter sky, hints of early plum blossoms added a hint of a spring that would soon come and wipe away the muted landscape.
Kento sat on the window seal, taking in the low mountains in the distance. That thin veil of mist hiding the peaks that were still dusted in snow. With a deep inhale, he looked down at the street to see a bundled up pedestrian loading his car with boxes as another, that looked only slightly familiar, was exiting their car in a slow jog to the front steps of his building.
He glanced over at the clock on the wall.
7:55 am.
“Timely.”
slowly, he went to open the rest of the blinds around the living room, a slow tango that made him a feel like he still had just enough control, timing the last curtain opening perfectly as your soft knock filled the foyer yet again.
He stood there for a moment, his hand resting on the frame, before opening the door and stepping aside in a half step to let you in. His expression was neutral — not unkind, but carefully composed, as if he were still deciding how much space to give you in his life.
“Good morning,” you spoke softly, offering a polite smile.
“Morning,” Nanami replied, his voice low and steady. “I was about to make myself a simple breakfast. Coffee too.”
It wasn’t quite an invitation, but it wasn’t a dismissal either. It was just a statement — a line drawn firmly down the middle.
You nodded. “That sounds good.”
You sat your bag down on the ottoman against the wall and followed his lead. The condo was quiet — too quiet, the kind that felt deliberate. Like he'd stripped the space of anything deemed unnecessary. A few trinkets here and there, clean lines, muted colors.. But the kitchen felt like the homeliest part of the space.
Black stainless steel appliances, cold press juicer and blender sitting on the counter. A top of the line built-in double electric convection wall oven, a display of every herb and spice on a dark mahogany shelf sitting high on the wall.
“You have a very beautiful kitchen.” Your eyes grazed over the quartz cabinets, taking in the light blue finishes until you landed on what you knew to be as the best stand mixer that only experts chefs and bakers would have.
“You have a Bosch… Its even more beautiful in person.” You inspected it as if it were a lost artifact seeing the light for the first time in 500 years.
Nanami cocked his head for a moment. “Are you that taken by a stand mixer?”
“Mr. Nanami, I’d have to work 3 weeks nonstop to not only get the mixer but to financially recover from it.”
Your half suppressed laugh had Kento smiling. “Understandable. It is a big purchase. I use to bake fresh bread for my weekly use.”
“You’ll have to give me a demonstration one day! Would love to see the Bosch in action.”
Nanami raised his brows. “You think I can get back to that one day?”
The small flick of something resembling hope flecked in the richest parts of his brown eyes.
“We can get you back to that. I’m sure of it.”
He nodded, a silent acceptance of an unspoken challenge. He opened the refrigerator, bearing his weight on the cane as he used his dominant hand to grab the butter, holding it out.
“Do you mind taking things as I pass them to you?”
You reached out, taking the butter and placing it on the counter. “Don’t mind at all.”
A pack of bacon, a jar of jam and an orange followed after and you awaited his next instruction.
“I’m going need your help with peeling orange. I believe I can manage the rest.”
With quiet acknowledgment, you grabbed the orange and began to peel as he placed 2 pieces of bacon in the skillet.
It took less than 10 minutes and Nanami moved to the dining table, a slice of toast placed next to his bacon on a plate and setting out a small dish of fruit with the addition of an apple now. You brought out 2 mugs of coffee, placing his in front of him and sitting across from him with yours.
A butter knife rested awkwardly beside the jar of jam he chose. It was clear he had intended to do more, but something had stopped him.
You didn’t move or say anything, you sipped your coffee and watched as he reached for the jar. His right hand gripped the jar while his left hovered over the lid. His fingers trembled — just slightly — but enough that the lid refused to budge.
You didn’t move at first. You’d quickly learned that Nanami wasn’t the type to appreciate overstepping, even if it came from a place of concern. So you waited, giving him the space to either push through the task or acknowledge the struggle.
After a long moment, his jaw tightened. The jar didn’t budge.
You opened your mouth — not to offer help, but simply to ask if he wanted you to hold the base of the jar steady when his voice cut through the silence.
“Can you…” He paused, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. “Can you open this for me?”
It wasn’t a whisper, nor was it loud. Just a calm, measured request, but you could hear the effort behind it — the weight of a man who wasn’t used to asking for assistance.
You stood and went to his side of the table and gently placed your hand on the lid. “Turn when you’re ready.”
His hand dropped away, switching his left hand out for the right gripping the glass part and his left fingers curling into a loose fist at his side. The lid gave way with a soft pop, and you set it down in front of him without a word.
He didn’t thank you, but there was a small nod — barely noticeable, but it was there.
“Would you like me to slice the apple for you?” you asked, careful not to overstep.
Nanami shook his head. “No. I can manage.”
You sat back down, sipping your coffee as he asked you more questions about your fascination with his Bosch.
_______________________________________
The morning moved quickly. Breakfast cleanup was a breeze as Nanami continued his light reading and non rigorous solo exercises.
During breakfast, you’d been given what you called the key to the cupboard by Nanami. He uttered, with few words, that he didn’t want to prevent you from doing your job. While he limited what that might be, he was quick to say how appreciative he’d be if his bed could be made up, his laundry started and lunch done. He’d have a friend come by to do the rest.
You happily complied and began working on laundry the moment he sat down post breakfast. And by noon, his physical therapist had arrived to continue his exercise routine and mobility work.
Despite the pain he would occasionally feel from the intense stretches he felt near his ankles, this was Nanami’s favorite part of his rehabilitation. Feeling the tightness dissipate as he stretched his neck and chest together. He closed his eyes, allowing the PT to guide his body on top of the exercise ball.
“Now a slow exhale as you reach your arms over your head. Nice and easy.”
The short man moved the ball under Nanami and he grunted.
“Sorry Mr. Nanami, too much?”
Nanami wheezed a chuckle out, “Not enough. Can we do this one more often?”
The therapist exhaled and smiled. “We can. Your body is reacting as it needs to and it seems to be the best exercise to get a reaction out of you. Does it feel like your body is loosening up?”
He nodded, slowly sitting up with assistance. “Definitely. My skin feels less taut at my hips and chest when I open up my arms like that. It feels.. good.”
“That’s what I like to hear. We’re going to finish off with some hands exercises then your aide will be tagged back in to finish the day off with you.”
His session proceeded and came to an end before he knew it. He walked with a bit more confidence as he escorted his therapist to the door and went to find you in the kitchen finishing lunch.
Nanami watched you sliced the cucumber. He nodded at the precision of the knife movements, impressed with how perfect each little sliced green disc was as you added it to the salad bowl. He waited to speak once you sat the knife down.
“You have some really great knife skills.”
You looked up and smiled, wiping your hand on the dish towel nearby. “4 years of cooking for a group of broke college students as a college student. 2 of those years were spent dating a sous chef who taught me some of what I know.”
“I’m sure this sous chef would be happy to know you use these techniques so well.”
“We could only hope,” Expertly, you avoided giving that a full response that would push the topic of your ex. “Where did you learn to cook, Mr. Nanami? I’m sure you are amazing with a Bosch in your kitchen.”
Nanami walked behind you, reaching for two bowls out of the cabinets and placed them next to you. “My grandfather wanted me to be self sufficient once I moved out on my own.” He slowly opened the silverware drawer, pulling out a pair of forks and knives. “And cooking in itself is its own therapy for me.”
You finished placing the grilled chicken in the salad bowl and handed over the tongs to Nanami. “How does cooking make you feel?”
He looked down at the tongs, his heart fluttering with an anxiety he couldn’t place. His eyes found you. “Do you think I can?”
“I’m right here,” you slid one of the eating bowls directly next to him and smiled. “What does cooking do for you?”
Nanami put his eyes back onto the salad and took a deep breath. He grabbed the tongs, gripping them, feeling the cold stainless steel rest in the part of his palm that still had feeling. “Cooking requires me to pay attention. Smell, sounds, how my food is looking.”
He widened the tongs, lowering them into the salad and tossing it lightly, as if he’d harm the lettuce if he placed any pressure.
“What do you usually cook with?” You noticed his hesitance in squeezing the tong tips together, his grip faltering as he exhaled from frustration. “I’m going to hover my hand below yours. Claw extension. Only if you need it.”
Nanami closed his eyes, slowly breathing out as he tried to not lose his momentum. “Garlic. Fresh minced garlic.” He tried again, slowly working his hands closed until he had salad gripped between the flat tips. He carefully moved it over to the dish, hand shaking but making it with no spillage. “I prefer to mince it and store it in water. Taste great every time.”
You smiled as he looked at you for a hint of validation and gave a nod of acknowledgment.
He moved the tongs back to the serving bowl with a glimmer of determination in the way he rolled his shoulders back. He grabbed more and placed it into the bowl, releasing a with a bit of force before sitting the tongs down. “I think I want a bit more tomato.”
Fork in hand, trying to pin down a slice of tomato so he could cut it. His right hand hovered awkwardly, meant to steady the cutting board, but his left — the one gripping the fork — trembled just enough to betray him.
The fork slipped.
The tomato skidded to the side, smearing juice across the surface. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
You didn’t speak either. You knew better than to rush in with help he hadn’t asked for yet.
He reset the slice, pressing the fork down again. His grip was too tight — his knuckles pale from the strain — but the tremor in his fingers wouldn’t let up. The fork scraped against the board, missing the tomato entirely this time.
A sharp pain ran through his forefinger and he dropped the fork, cursing under his breath as he massaged his purlicue.
His gaze stayed locked on the tomato, his shoulders tense.
“You did good. You and the tongs are quite the dynamic duo.”
Nanami felt a heated tear well in his eye before he sucked it back in. “This. Its all so hard sometimes. A fork? I can’t hold a damn fork and its been months.”
He needed to let the frustrations out. It was going to be the only way he could get over those hurdles to feeling whole again.
You stood in silence for a moment, giving him space to process and feel. “Don’t give yourself a timeline but do give yourself grace.”
“Is this all worth it?” You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself until he took a few steps back and leaned against the counter looking at you. “Will I be the same person I was before all this? Because I feel like even when I’m giving 200%, I’m failing with no progress.”
“This feels like it’s never going to get better,” Nanami said, his voice low — almost too calm, but there was an edge to it. A rare crack in the carefully composed man standing next to you.
The words hung between you both, heavier than the silence.
You gave him a moment before you spoke. “It’s frustrating,” you said softly. “I know.”
Nanami’s jaw shifted, his lips pressing into a firm line. He didn’t respond right away, as if letting the admission sit out in the open was already more than he was prepared for.
His hand flexed at his side — open, then closed — before, at last, he exhaled through his nose. “Can you help me?”
The question was quiet, but it felt like a victory in its own right.
You nodded, letting him take a few steps forward before stepping in slowly so he had the chance to pull back if he wanted. When he didn’t, you picked up the fork, steadying the tomato with your other hand. The prongs sank into the skin with a soft pop — a simple act, but weighted with everything unspoken.
Nanami’s hand hovered near yours for a moment, then dropped back to his side.
He didn’t thank you, but the small, almost imperceptible nod he gave was enough.
You didn’t push for more words. Instead, you handed him the knife, stepping back just far enough to let him reclaim some of the space —he had let you stand just a little closer, and it was a sign that he was willing to let you in to help.
"Bite me Garrus. Better yet, bite her. Probably how she likes it."
You were expecting the star front restaurant, maybe a small lounge on the Citadel with just enough noise to make it seem like a casual date..
What you weren’t expecting was for Garrus to be waiting outside a set of guest quarters with his arms crossed, mandibles twitching just enough to betray his nerves. The grip he had on a single delphinium flower was almost vice like.
“Alright,” he said as you approached, straightening up, “I cashed in a favor to make this happen. You’re about to see the most romantic evening a turian has ever planned for a human… probably.”
The door slid open, and you stepped inside to immediately be hit by a swirl of scents and colors. The lighting was low, the overheads dimmed in favor of a cluster of softly glowing blue lanterns strung from the ceiling. A scattering of flowers that were not the delicate, sweet-smelling kind you were used to, but broad-petaled alien blooms in vivid cobalt and rust, decorated the room. They smelled faintly metallic, like someone had spritzed the air with a can of wd40 and new paint.
“You… decorated?” you asked, glancing over at him.
Garrus stepped inside with you, the doors closing behind as his left hand sat at your lower back. “Did a little research. According to numerous sources, including human courting traditions, humans like flowers, low lighting… an ambiance that makes it obvious of my intentions with you.”
Garrus held out the bright blue flower and nodded.
You accepted, taking in the soft almost powder like scent from the vibrant flower as he led you further into the room “I also took the liberty to throw in a few turian touches. Keeps it authentic.”
The “turian touches” became more obvious the further you looked: the furniture had been shifted into a semi-circle around a low table, the floor covered with a woven mat patterned in sharp, geometric designs. In the corner, a speaker was humming softly with what you realized was a rhythmic, almost chant-like melody.
You tilted your head. “…Is that music?”
“Turian courtship chant,” he said proudly, moving to pull out your chair. “Very popular in certain colonies. Sets the mood. …You don’t like it?”
You smiled, trying not to laugh. “It’s different, but I can get with it.”
He settled across from you with the kind of practiced casualness that still looked a little stiff on him. “Different is memorable.”
Garrus cleared his throat before he reached over the table and uncovering the plates.
He’d carefully arranged plates he pre-ordered from a catering service. Most of it was clearly meant for him, rich in dextro-proteins, but he did his best in making sure there was “something for you” too.
You ended up with a small platter of human-friendly dishes, each one clearly chosen with more enthusiasm than actual knowledge. The salad was half-wilted, but the bread was warm, and the rotini in a questionable sauce seemed suitable. The attempt alone was enough to make you grin.
As you ate, Garrus leaned forward on his elbows, telling you little stories — some from his time in C-Sec, others from missions that had clearly been edited for “date-friendly” conversation. Every now and then, he’d try to drop a human idiom, and every now and then, it came out wrong.
“You know,” he said, mandibles flexing slightly in what you were learning was his version of a smirk, “you really knocked and took the wind away from me.”
“I-,” You raised an eyebrow. “Close. You mean ‘took your breath away,’ I hope.”
“Right. Still works, though. Either way, I’m knocked.”
The soft laugh that escaped your lips made Garrus smile. Damn near blushing.
At one point, when you reached for your drink, his hands brushed your fingers — just briefly, enough to make you glance up and find his gaze already on you. He didn’t pull away quickly, but he did shift as if realizing he’d lingered a second too long.
Not too much later, the date was over. Perhaps even world record for fastest date you’d ever been on.
As you stood to leave, you felt his hand at the small of your back. guiding, steady, not pressing, but enough that you could feel the quiet protectiveness behind it.
“I appreciate you taking me up on this offer.. though I feel I could do better..”
“Is this your way of asking for a second date, Mr. Vakarian?”
Garrus leaned in, his left mandible brushed against your cheek as he spoke into your ear. “If you’ll allow it. But think on it first.” His eyes met yours and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d seen his eyes light up. “No rush, petal.”
The night hadn’t gone “perfectly” by most definitions. But as you walked the corridor together, trading quiet laughs over the chant-like music and the paint-scented flowers, you couldn’t help thinking it had gone exactly the way it needed to.
________
Your comm crackled to life just as you were settling into your work for the morning with a cup of coffee.
“Alright,” Garrus’s voice came through, mock-serious, “I’ve been reviewing the data from last night’s… experiment.”
“Experiment?” you echoed, already smiling.
“Trial run,” he amended. “And I’ve identified a few, uh… areas for improvement. Turns out humans don’t appreciate metallic floral scents as much as turians do.”
“Or combat chants,” you added.
There was a low chuckle. “Duly noted. Which is why I’m proposing a second date with improved conditions, better food, less chance of accidental poisoning.”
You sipped your coffee. “And why exactly should I give you another shot?”
“Because,” he drawled, “I am nothing if not persistent. And maybe because you like watching me try very hard not to screw up in front of you.”
“That’s a lot of confidence for someone who just admitted to almost poisoning me.”
“Almost is doing a lot of heavy lifting there.” His tone softened, only slightly. “Besides, you laughed. That means it wasn’t a total failure.”
“You’re lucky I find your version of ‘romantic’ entertaining, Mr. Vakarian.” You sat up in the chair, leaning forward onto your desk, flicking your screen on. You know I’m not easy to please.”
“Oh, I’m counting on that.” There was a brief pause, then: “So, same time tomorrow? I promise, no paint-thinner flowers. Unless, of course, you’ve developed a taste for them.”
You bit back a grin. “I guess you’ll just have to convince me.”
“I plan to,” he was confident now, and you didn’t need to see him to know that smug little head tilt was there: the one that promised that the second chance was surely going to blow your socks off.
_______
As you walked out of your own quarters, the smell hit you instantly. It was faint but spiced. Like a warm apple crisp and vanilla.
“Did Alenko succeed in getting the kitchen to make his apple pie?”
You walked down the hall, passing Alenko’s, realizing he wasnt there, and stopped in front of Garrus’ that was only a few more feet away.
Door open, low, soft music playing, and the vanilla scent just a bit stronger. You looked around the room, mostly in shock. Definitely impressed.
“Ah!” the sound of glass clanking stopped as Garrus sat the cups down and walked over to you. Light on his feet and unusually peppy. “I meant to tell you we’d be dining in my personal quarters tonight, if thats okay of course.”
The lighting was softer, low enough to make the shadows stretch in comfortable ways, with a few candles flickering on the low table. His gaze swept over you, and you could swear the corners of his mouth tilted upward before his mandibles twitched just slightly as he rested his clawed right hand on your hip.
“No chanting?” you asked, making note of the bouquet of delphiniums near the window as you stepped in.
“No chanting,” he confirmed, his tone warm. “No nausea inducing flowers, either. Everything here is completely human-approved… probably.”
You glanced past him and toward the spread on the table — fresh human dishes, still steaming, set beside the richer dextro plates for him. The contrast was oddly charming, like you’d both brought pieces of yourselves to the table and set them side by side.
He led you inside, hand still on your waist, and offered the seat closest to the couch.
You sat down and smiled as he pushed your chair in.
“Learning from your mistakes? Look at you.” you teased, settling in.
“Not mistakes,” he replied as he joined you. “Just… field data. I adapt fast.”
“And your end goal?”
His eyes caught the candlelight as he leaned forward slightly. “You.”
The word landed with a simple, unshaken certainty that made your stomach flip in the best way.
Dinner unfolded easily after that. He didn’t rush, didn’t fill the space with unnecessary chatter. It was all natural, letting the conversation wind through stories, questions, and the occasional sly comment that made you laugh hard enough to lean into him without realizing. Once, you caught his gaze dip toward your lips, but he didn’t push it. He just met your eyes again like nothing had happened, though the look lingered.
When the plates were nearly empty, he shifted closer. His hand, cool, plated, & steady, found yours, curling around it with deliberate care. The smooth ridges of his fingers fit against your skin in a way that was so unfamiliar yet so grounding. One claw traced a slow line along your knuckles, the touch so light it almost tickled, then followed the curve to the base of your thumb.
“You look…” His voice had softened, dipping lower in a way that felt private. “…incredible.”
It wasn’t just a compliment. He said it like he meant you, not just how you looked tonight.
You squeezed his hand back, feeling the faint shift of his plates under your palm. “And you’re getting dangerously good at this.”
“I would hope so.” His gaze didn’t waver, the candlelight catching in his eyes. “Early days or not, I know a good thing when I see it. You’re the prize darling.”
Your smile felt impossible to hide. “Then I guess you’d better keep up the momentum.”
“I intend to,” he said, that quiet smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m a man who doesn’t stop until I get it right, you know.”
___
The walk to your quarters was short being just a few doors down. But Garrus, being the gentleman he was, still fell into step beside you like it was a mission. The corridor was quiet at this hour, the low hum of the ship the only background noise beside faint steps from the connecting hallway.
You could still feel the cool weight of his hand from earlier, the way his claws had traced your skin like he was mapping it to memory. Every few steps, your arms brushed, and each time, neither of you moved away.
When you reached your door, you half-turned toward the panel to open it. You saw one of his hands brace against the wall just beside you, plating glinting faintly under the corridor lights.
You turned back to him.
“Before you disappear on me…” His voice had that low, deliberate edge that made you warm. “…I should tell you, tonight was—”
You didn’t let him finish. Maybe it was the way his eyes narrowed slightly, or the faint tilt of his head, or maybe it was just that you’d been thinking about it all night. You reached up, fingers brushing the side of his jaw, tips running across his scarring. His skin was ridged, unfamiliar in a way you’d already grown to like.
He leaned in without hesitation, his brow plates brushing yours in a brief, deliberate contact that felt like a question and an answer all at once.
Then his mouth was on yours. Precise and firm, the edges of his mandibles flexing subtly as he angled himself to close the gap between you.
Turian kisses weren’t like human ones. His mouth was cooler, the touch of his plates at the corners a faint, textured pressure. When he deepened it, the movement was deliberate. He drug his claws from your back to where they were now grazing your hip as if to anchor you closer. One mandible brushed along your cheek, a strange but not unpleasant sensation that made your stomach twist. You tilted your head, and he followed, careful with his teeth but not shy about pulling you into the space between him and the wall as he heard your soft whimper of a sigh.
You lost track of how long it went on. just the faint scrape of plating, the cool warmth of him, and the steady press of his palm at the small of your back as you allowed him to close in on you all the way.
“Uh—”
You broke apart at the voice, both turning to see Kaidan a few steps down the hall, clearly frozen mid-step. His brows shot up. “I, uh… was just… my room….” He gestured vaguely behind him, already starting to retreat. “You two… look good..”
You pressed a hand over your face, feeling heat creep up your neck. Garrus’ mandibles flared slightly as he waited for Alenko’s door to close. Not embarrassed, but amused.
“Guess that’s one way to make the rumor mill spin,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for his voice to stay between you. “But for the record…” His claws brushed your hand, a light, grounding touch. “…I really appreciate you giving me another chance. More than you know.”
The corner of your mouth curved despite yourself. “And what exactly are you planning to do with it?”
He simpered, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. “You’ll see.”
Garrus pressed the button on the panel and the door slid open next to you. He stepped back, giving you space to step to the side.
Before stepping inside, you glanced back at him. The look in his eyes told you he had all the patience in the world for you and only you.
“Have a goodnight. I’ll have coffee for you in the morning.”
The bathroom was warm with post shower steam, that faint scent of shower gel and shaving cream hung in the air as you swirled the brush in the tin of shaving cream.
Toji sat on the closed toilet lid, shirtless, boxers stuck to his thighs that spread in that lazy way of his, one arm draped over the sink next to him . His hair’s still damp from the shower, black strands falling messily into his eyes, and there's a flicker of amusement in his gaze as he watched you gather a bit of the shaving foam on the brush.
"You sure you know what you're doin', sweetheart?" he drawled, voice a gravelly hum that settles deep in your chest.
"I've watched you enough times, haven’t I?" you retort, tapping off the excess cream. "Besides, you promised I could because you wouldn’t let me hold it while you pee. If I nick you, that's on you."
He chuckled softly, a rare sound that always filled your heart, and tilted his head back just a little, offering the strong line of his jaw shadowed with rough stubble. “Mkay. Apply a nice even layer to cover all the stubble. Circular motions.”
And you did. You guided the brush, the lather spreading over the dark stubble dusting his jaw. Soft circles that had Toji’s eyes slipping half closed.
You swept a few more gentle circles near his Adam’s apple before sitting the brush down.
You looked over at the straight razor then let your eyes move over to Toji.
“You really trust me with a blade to your throat?” You murmured, voice losing its bravado as he picked the blade up.
Toji's lips curved at the corners. "Trust you more than I trust myself."
The weight of those words hangs between you for a beat too long before you clear your throat and nod. “Okay.”
“Alright.” Toji flipped the razor open. “You’re going to hold the razor with your first finger on the shoulder of the razor and your thumb just outside the heel. Make sure the first three fingers rest on the tang.” He gently took hold of your dominant hand and placed your fingers appropriately.
“Keep the handle pointed up and place your little finger between the tail and the handle just like this. Feel good.”
You loosely gripped the razor before adjusting it for your comfort, feeling the cool steel on your finger joints. “Mhm.”
“Perfect. Now. Come closer so we can begin.”
“Toji, if I fuck your face up-“
He chuckled pulling you closer by your waist, the pads of his calloused fingers rubbing at your plush hips. “Then I’ll be glad it was you who did it. Breathe, peach. I’m guidin’ you.”
With a deep, albeit shaky breath, you smiled and took a step closer as he tilted his head up again.
“Now softly pull my skin upward on the cheek you want to start with,” he murmurs, voice a low rumble, chin up to expose the sharp angle of his jaw.
Your thumb lightly pulled up, creating a smooth shaving surface. “K. Skin pulled.”
“Now don't press too hard — let the weight of the razor do the work. Shave with the grain.”
Easy enough.
You held the razor at a thirty degree angle. Your other hand steadied his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone, and you felt the slight shift of his jaw as he smirked.
Hands stayed steady, drawing the blade slowly along his jawline, the quiet scrape of the razor filling the space between you.
Toji reached up, running his fingers over the smooth surface and raised his brows. “You got that really close on a first go.”
Squinting, you raised your own, “That’s good, right?”
“Very good. Now, keep going. You’ll be done in no time.”
His stubble fell away in neat lines, revealing the smooth skin beneath, and you caught yourself lingering — fingertips grazing his cheek, tracing the corner of his mouth after you wiped his face clean.
He reached and ran the cold water, rinsing his face, splashing small amounts until it was free of shaving foam and was soaked.
Toji's eyes fluttered shut for a moment at your touch as you patted his face dry.
Lips parting just a little, the soft look so tender it could knock the breath right out of you.
“You're good at this,” he says softly, almost like it's a confession.
“You're just saying that so I finish the job.”
He chuckles, the sound reverberating through the small space, but there's a weight to the way he's watching you — like this simple act, the trust it requires, means more than either of you can put into words.
“Nah,” Toji finally says, voice rough. “Just like having your hands on me.”
Your heart stumbled over itself, and for a moment, the razor in your hand felt like the most delicate thing in the world — second only to the man in front of you.
“Now. Let’s do skin care. Your face is gonna feel amazing with a little snail mucin.”
The celebration of a high ranking admiral was something that required all the hubbub. A ceremony to honor their contributions to the Systems Alliance Navy, ensuring their work was remembered for decades to come as the Citadel continued to run as the central hub of galactic society.
But most importantly, they were inducted into the Great Hall of Service Members-- an honor reserved for those who’d survived long enough to retire with distinction rather than fall in combat.
You’d usually be incredibly last minute with all you needed to get done before that week of celebrations-- If the retiree wasn’t your mother.
Your mother. The indomitable Admirable Shepard.
Fifty years in uniform and she finally decided to retire. “Need enough days to enjoy the warmth back on Earth.” It had taken convincing, a small fortune, and the persuasion of half her colleagues, but she’d finally agreed.
Your on-desk communicator beeped rapidly, and her name lit up the screen. Taking a deep breath, you answered the call.
“Mom.”
“Commander,” Her tone was the same precisely warm one you’d grown to familiarize yourself with. The same clipped delivery that would have you sitting up straight as a kid. “I hope you remembered to arrange a shuttle. I’d prefer to disembark at Dock Six. Less traffic.”
“Handled that two weeks ago,” you nodded, though you hadn’t double checked.
“Good. I’ll also want to ensure my suits are pressed and ready for the induction dinner. And your blues need to be done as well. You’ll be attending, of course.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mom. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
Your mannerisms were being mirrored. She nodded approvingly through the flickering hologram. “You always knew how to polish up for these types of events. With you going off to save the galaxy and all every two weeks, it’s crucial you’re there. Every admiral will be there. The council, too. I’d like for them all to see the example I raised.”
“Right.” You replied quietly.
She noticed your gaze drifting past the hologram and her own gaze softened just a fraction.
“Get some rest. And don’t work yourself too hard. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”
The transmission blinked off.
You sat there for a moment staring a the empty air where her face had been, before groaning and leaning back into your chair forgetting your ever so perfect posture as you slouched down. “Why does it always feel like a performance review when we talk still?”
“Because it always is with parents who leave big shoes to fill.” A familiar voice came from behind you and you swung you desk chair around slowly.
Garrus leaned against the doorway, one hip propped against the frame, plates gleaming under the high beam lights in your office. The little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth told you he caught more of the call than you’d liked.
“Don’t start,” you warned playfully as he made his way to your desk.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he replied smoothly, mandibles twitching in amusement while he sat on the edge of your desk. “But if I were, I’d say you sounded like a cadet being evaluated for shore leave.”
That made you sigh with a smile. “Not far off” You sat up, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turned your chair to face Garrus. “She means well. She also expects perfection.”
‘Well, she is an admiral, dear. Kind of comes with the rank.” He tried to reason with you in a tender, almost apologetic tone. “Still-- if you need a distraction from all this prep, I’m happy to provide target practice.”
You gave him a look. “You are the target practice.”
“Semantics,” his gravelly chuckle made your heart do a little flip as he leaned in to straighten out your sleeve.
You laughed softly, leaning into his touch, knowing the gentle touch was his way of providing comfort on the clock within the rules of your relationship. “Thank you. I’ll end up taking you up on that offer after the ceremony.”
“Just make sure you don’t forget to breathe until then,” he murmured, letting his hand brush against your cheek for half a second before bringing it back to his side. “I’ll see you this evening for dinner.”
watching him leave was more of a disappointment than you wanted to admit. He was the grounding presence you needed for that moment. Always reassuring and warm, ironically.
Closing your eyes for a moment, you sighed once more before turning back to your tablet and finishing up your reports for the day.
______________
The day of the ceremony came far quicker than you liked.
By the time the shuttle docked at the Citadel, the plaza was already alive with chatter and more than buzzy energy. Liaisons in navy blue uniforms stood neatly in formation, datapads in hand, while Council representatives hovered nearby, all stiff smiles and polite half nods as citizens and officers alike got into view of the promenade.
You adjusted your cuffs for the 6th time in nine minutes, scanning the shuttle bay for any sign that your mother was making her way onto the walkway.
Finally, with the loud announcement that docking had begun at Dock Six, you straightened the hem of your collar and looked over at Garrus and Kaidan who were speaking in low tones, Garrus making quick eye contact with you and giving an affirming nod before straightening up.
“Admiral,” the liaisons voices echoed as the promenade went quiet. She stepped out into everyone's sights with her crew.
Admiral Shepard didn’t walk so much as command the space around her. The years had only refined who she was. Silver hair pulled back into a perfect knot, sharp eyes taking in every detail, posture straight enough to shame a parade line. She was never to be seen as anything but the best example of an exemplary soldier, even on her day of retirement.
They greeted first, one by one, formal and respectful. She returned their gestures with a gracious nod, her composure was unshaken by the fuss being made. Only after the last handshake did her gaze land on you.
“Commander Shepard.” She said with a faint smile, holding her right hand out.
“Admiral Shepard.” You met her hand, shaking it firmly before softening your tone. “Hi Mom.”
The corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly. “Come here, sweetheart.”
You stepped forward, and she hugged you. Not the half hug you were use to but like the ones she’d give you when you were seeing her off on a mission. The watching eyes were the last of her concern. “Its good to see you, sunshine. You wear the Commander gold well.”
Warm, Comforting. More than enough.
As she pulled away, the group began to flash photos as the rest of her team began to shake hands and speak. The entourage escorted you all through the docks and the upper wards. For a moment, you watched her in her element-- polite words with the dignitaries who she’d known for decades, nodding at salutes, pausing to ask an incredibly pointed question about recent security protocol or trades.
You couldn’t help but smile. On the edge of retirement and still working.
As the groups began to thin out, you made way towards the mid-wards.
“I trust the arrangements are as I requested?” she asked as you two began walking through the concourse, her escorts trailing behind at a respectful distance.
“Everything’s in order. Prime Minister Hackett ensured that the hall is ready for tomorrow’s induction dinner and that the press list has been screened thoroughly. And your security team’s already begun coordinating with the C-Sec.”
Her approving nod was it’s own kind of medal. “Excellent. You’ve always been my dependable girl.”
That childlike rush of pride surfaced in your smile. Thought I’d show that I took after you.”
“Always did.”
Stepping into the elevator, you remained quiet, blissfully tuning out the escort's conversation until you arrived at Zakera’s Cafe.
You chose your usual private table that overlooked the Presidium, letting your mother sit first before you sat across from her. The pungent smell of strong coffee and something that was heavily spiced with ginger.
The table was quiet until your mother began her polite catch up that danced around deeper topics. Her health being the spearhead in the conversation before it slowly moved into how the Earths reconstruction was incredibly promising.
“I trust you’ve been taking proper care of yourself. She gave a kind thank you to Zavria, your server, and took a sip of her tea.
“I manage.”
“Mm.” She sat her cup down, watching the steam curl up toward her face. “Managing is not the same as thriving. You’ve done well, I know, but you should consider what's next. A legacy. A homeworld connection. Something lasting.”
The urge to groan was on the tip of your tongue but you resisted. “Mother, can we not talk about legacies before I have lunch?”
Her eyes twinkled, amused by your attempts to deflect. “Fine, for now.”
Before you could steer the conversation anywhere safer, a familiar voice came from behind you
“Admiral Shepard. Commander Shepard.”
Tall, angular and unmistakable.
Garrus’ formal armor was less bulky and form fitting. The golden and blue trim along the collar of his suit complimented the markings on the left side of his face. His eyes seemed to shine a bit brighter as he approached the table...a-lining directly to the side your mother was sitting on.
When your mother turned to see who you were smiling at, her brow lifted in mild surprise.
“Vakarian?” she spoke as she stood up to meet him.
Garrus inclined his head respectfully. “Admiral Shepard. It’s an honor to see you again.”
“Again?” you were more than confused as to what you intended to think was now said aloud.
She blinked once, then smiled again. “Garrus worked with his father in the C-Sec while I was still active and out on missions. Years before I was assigned to the Council oversight committee. A rule breaker who always had results, I remember you.”
“He still complains about the paperwork he would end up doing to save my hide.”
You watched your mom laugh a genuine laugh. A small, but real one. “You’ve made quite then name for yourself since. I read the reports after the Reaper War. Incredibly impressive work.”
Garrus’ mandibles went inward then twitched in modest amusement, and your confusion was now astonishment. This man was bashful.
“I couldn’t have done it without a good commander. Your daughter’s kept me busy.”
you nearly choked on your coffee, heart racing as your mother looked as you. “Hotter than I expected it to be.” terrible liar.
“Yes. Commander Shepard has a talent for surrounding herself with capable people. I’m glad you’re one of them.”
“that she does and im thankful to be one of them, also.” His tone was even, professional, but you caught the faint glint of humor in his eyes. He was enjoying this.
The sound of your pulse thudded in your ears as your mind raced through every possible disaster scenario. All he had to do was slip up and say something affectionate by accident, you’d have to find an escape pod and never return to the citadel if your mother caught onto some nuance in his tone. Anything.
Before the tension could thicken any further, one of the liaisons appeared at the edge of the table. “Excuse me, sir. You’re needed at the Hall for preliminary security sweep.”
He nodded, “Excuse me, Admiral, Commander Shepard. I’ll see you this evening.”
Oh hell.
Somehow, you’d managed to not melt under your mother's watchful gaze until he was out of sight. Only then did you exhale slowly.
Your mother lifted a brow. “He seems very… competent.”
“He’s the best there is.” You took a sip of coffee to hide your growing smile.
“I’m sure he is, Commander.” She sipped her tea, eyes searching for any tell.
___________
The day with your mother has been a marathon to say the least. She wasted no time getting right into action.
After lunch at Zakera, she insisted on touring the gardens to see how much they’d changed since the reconstruction though you were sure she was checking for every security flaw along the way. There was an obligatory stop at the Hall of Service rehearsal, three surprise introductions to people who haven’t seen you since you were in diapers and at least two thinly veiled remarks about your “long-term goals” that you chose to politely sidestep.
By the time you made it back to your quarters, you were too tired to even think about dinner. The ache in your shoulders rivaled anything a close-combat firefight had ever given you.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and there he was-- Garrus, already waiting.
He was sitting on the couch, feet propped on the table reading something on his datapad. The light from it splashed a faint glow across the sharp edges of his plates, and when he looked up, that warmth that he loved about you softened his eyes.
“There’s my partner,” he sat up, sitting his feet on the floor and leaning forward. “You survived."
“Barely.: you muttered in defeat, tossing your jacket onto the chair near the wall and going to collapse next to him.
He chuckled, shifting enough to sit back and let you curl up against his side. The weight of his arm came around you, his talons traced small circles against your shoulder as he leaned over to nuzzle against the top of your head. The steady thrum of his subharmonics rumbled gently in his chest. A sound you’ve found comfort in, like a heartbeat under armor.
“How was the reunion?”
You groaned so softly, resting your head fully against his shoulder. “Imagine a family dinner that turns into a council briefing that becomes a PR event all within a matter of moments.”
“Ouch.”
“She was good, though. Proud. Happy. Still thinking I should’ve gotten into politics.”
Garrus gave a low laugh. “Ah yes. Commander Shepard was escorted out of the council meeting after throwing her boot at Advisor M’tai. That would end well.”
“Right? I’d last an hour before someone gets thrown out of an airlock.”
You both chuckled and he could feel the vibration of it through his chest. For a few minutes it was quiet enough to begin to relax. The hum of the citadel beyond your window and the faint rasp of his talons brushing your arm kept your senses going.
Just as you closed your eyes, he spoke softly.
“How’d she take the news about us?”
your stomach sank.
Your tried for nonchalance, though the heat that crept up your neck was giving all the anxiety. “She didn’t.”
There was a pause. His thumb stilled on your shoulder.
“Didn’t?” he echoed.
You sat up a little, sighing as you rubbed the back of your neck. “It’s not like I’m trying to hide it. It’s just that every time I tried to bring it up, something else came up. She was surrounded by people, or asking about my career, reminding me about legacy and—”
Garrus made a low sound that was very clearly a disappointed yet understanding one. “She doesn’t know we’ve been together since after the war?”
“Not exactly..”
“She doesn’t even suspect?:”
You offered a weak smile. “I think she suspects I’m very bad at dating.”
That earned a small. Reluctant, chuckle. He shifted, tilting his head so the soft light caught the faint scratches along his mandibles. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”
Your eyes widened. “Garrus—”
He lifted a hand before you could protest, palm out. “I’m kidding.” Then softer. “Mostly.”
You sighed and leaned forward. Its not that. You know its not that. She’s.. old-fashioned. The kind who believes in family names and human legacies and rebuilding the earth the way it was before.”
He nodded slowly. “And dating a turian doesn’t fit into that legacy.
“not the way she wants,” you admitted, then looked up at him. “But you do...just not in a way that she’d understand.”
He stared at you for a moment, then exhaled a soft, almost relieved laugh. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”
“I try,” you smiled faintly as he pulled you closer to him, nestling back into the couch.
He leaned in then, brushing his forehead against yours — a gesture that had become second nature between you. His voice dropped lower, a rumble meant just for you to hear. Next time, if you feel ready, we will tell her. Even if she doesn’t like it.”
You closed your eyes, letting your heart settle back down. “Yeah. Next time.”
For a while, neither of you spoke. You just sat there, wrapped in the quiet hum of the Citadel, his arm around you, your fingers tracing idle lines along the ridges of his plating. Eventually, he tilted your chin up, and you caught that faint smirk of his.
“You know,” he murmured, “I think you owe me hazard pay for surviving that conversation.”
You smiled against his mouth before kissing him. Soft to start, then deeper, the tension of the day melting into something far more familiar and fitting to end. “Triple the pay. With benefits.”
_____
The day of the ceremony came at lightning speed. Your mother’s retirement was being treated like the end of an era. The Alliance had sent representatives from all branches of service, the Council itself made time to attend, and you. her only child and now a decorated Spectre, were standing in the same crisp uniform she once wore. The symbolism wasn’t lost on anyone. It made the evening's honor much more special.
The ceremony itself passed in a blur of commendations and protocol in the Citadel tower. You watched her stand before the gathered crowd after many of her former cohorts sang her praises, her voice steady as she thanked her colleagues, her commanding officers, the citizens she’d served.
There was a flicker of pride in her expression when she glanced toward you in the audience. an unspoken look that said you’ve carried the torch well as she closed her sentiments with a signal of hope and prosperity for the current and incoming personnel.
When it was over, the formal applause gave way to the soft hum of the reception. The Presidium courtyard had transformed, gleaming brighter than usual, polished for the post-ceremonial cocktail hour, when the public could come and celebrate Admiral Shepard. They reserved the upper galleries overlooking the Citadel’s gardens for all high-ranking officers and the guest of honor. Light music, polished glasses, gentle laughter. To your mothers liking, everything was perfectly measured.
You’d spent most of the first hour doing what you were supposed to do: greeting dignitaries, shaking hands, letting the liaisons handle the more political pleasantries. You were halfway through a glass of something too expensive to have flavor when Garrus arrived.
Polished carapace catching the light just enough to make your pulse stutter. He had that easy stance that made him look like he belonged anywhere and everywhere; his formal suit made it hard to notice any one else in the room. His eyes found you the second he walked in, and that subtle tilt of his mouth was just for you.
He didn’t approach immediately. He knew how these events worked. You gave him a faint nod of acknowledgment, and he moved toward the food tables, chatting with a few familiar faces — including your mother.
At first, you were relieved. She’d always liked him from his C-Sec days, when she’d worked alongside his father a handful of times. It made sense they’d have a word. But as the minutes stretched and you saw the faint, almost maternal smile fade from her face, a cold twinge of anxiety hit your chest.
By the time you made your way through the small crowd to check on her, she was standing by one of the glass railings, hands clasped neatly behind her back as she looked out to the large group of people in the courtyard.
“Everything all right?” It was beginning to feel like that time you snuck out of the freighter as a teen.
Her expression was calm, but her eyes betrayed the mood she was showing. “I just had a rather... enlightening conversation with your friend,” she began softly. “I take it you didn’t think to mention this to me yourself?”
The air thinned. You blinked once. “Wait. He told you?”
She gave a small, disbelieving huff. Not angry or irritated. just disappointed. “He seemed very proud of the two of you. I suppose he thought he was doing something kind. But I have to admit, hearing it from him instead of my own child was... unexpected.”
You opened your mouth. Wondering what you could even say to defend yourself, to apologize, to explain that you meant to do this with him.
Instead, she waved a hand gently, cutting you off.
“I’m not angry,” she emphasized after a moment. “Just surprised. You’ve been through a war, rebuilt half a galaxy, and you’re afraid of telling your mother who you love?”
That one hit its mark.
“I’ll give you both credit,” she added with an almost tired sigh. “You could have done worse.”
She excused herself to greet another officer before you could reply, leaving you standing there with the taste of sour wine and regret.
When Garrus finally found you, his mandibles flexed in a pleased grin. “I talked to your mother,” he exclaimed proudly. It was like he thought it was a gesture of goodwill. “She seemed surprised, but... I think it went well.”
You could only stare at him. The heat in your stomach only grew and your silence went long enough that his smile faltered.
“She knows,” you muttered quietly.
His plates shifted in confusion. “I know. That’s what I was saying. She—”
“No, Garrus,” you interrupted, voice barely above a whisper, the hurt threading through your tone. “You told her. I didn’t. We didn’t.”
He blinked once, realization dawning like a cold sunrise. “I thought, I thought it’d help. She’s your mother, I figured if the man who is courting you told her like a man, it would be better.”
“That I needed you to do it for me?”
He flinched slightly, mandibles pulling tight. “No. I just... wanted to take some pressure off. I thought she’d be proud. Of you. Of us.”
You exhaled as the weight of the day was now catching up to you all at once and at the worst time. “But it wasn’t yours to give.”
There was a long silence. Neither of you spoke, the hum of the reception filled the gap.
Finally, he nodded once, quietly. His voice softened. “I’m sorry.”
You gave a small shake of your head, swallowing down the rest of what you wanted to sa before taking the last sip of your wine and placing the glass on the nearby table. “We’ll talk about it later,” you murmured. “Let’s just get through tonight.”
He didn’t argue. He just stood beside you for the rest of the evening with enough space between you to respect your wishes.
______________
The suite was quiet when you returned from the reception. You’d escorted your mother back to her quarters and felt no need to return to the ongoing party after she’d retired for the evening. The hum of the Citadel filtered softly through the wide windows as your began to undress and keep your under slipdress on. The muted air traffic, the pulse of lights across the Presidium muted as you closed the window shade before sinking into the couch.
You could still hear the echo of your mother’s voice: “You’ve been through a war, rebuilt half a galaxy, and you’re afraid of telling your mother who you love?” — it made your chest ache.
You sat in the dim room with your thoughts only racing through your mind. You wanted to have that moment together. To feel that pride of love together. And the chance was now gone.
Time passed until the sound of approaching steps and the number pad outside your door beeped just as the door slid open. Garrus walked in, letting out a deep sigh as the door closed behind him.
He removed his jacket, hanging it on the hook before going to click the light on. He froze, standing near the threshold, hands clasped awkwardly in front of him once he realized you were sitting in the living area.
His greyish blue skin etched with deep scars seemed to look duller than usual. The blue streaks running down his abdomen more prominent with the reflective light of the room.
“I’m not great at knowing when to shut up,” he admitted finally, voice low. “You’d think I’d have learned by now.”
You snorted a quiet laugh. “It’s not that simple.”
He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “It should’ve been. I overstepped.”
You stood up, walking over and grabbing his arm to bring him to the love seat.. He looked smaller than usual in the way a child would when they knew they’d done something unfavorable. “She wasn’t mad,” you admitted softly. “She was disappointed about the messenger not being me. Mother wanted to hear it from me.”
His mandibles flexed as he turned his body toward you.. “I thought I was helping. I wanted to show her that,” He hesitated, searching for words before admitting his feelings. “I needed her to see that I’m good enough for you.”
The sharpness of your earlier frustration dissolving in an instant at his admission. “You think that’s what this was about?”
“I know it’s stupid,” the sheer vulnerability in his voice made your heart warm and he looked away with a faint twitch of embarrassment. “She’s an Alliance legend, you’re a Spectre, I’m an old C-Sec marksman who got lucky in a multitude of ways. I wanted her to see I wasn’t wasting your time.”
You brushed your fingers across the ridges of his chin, leaning in to press your lips to his cheek so there was no space between you both. “Garrus,” soft and certain, you reaffirmed him, “you fought the Reapers. You rebuilt Palaven’s defense grid. You saved entire colonies. You survived a damn rocket to the face.You mourned me when they thought I was dead. There’s nothing about you that isn’t good enough so lets nip that right now.”
The sound a mix of gratitude and disbelief filled his laugh when he squeezed your thigh. “You always know what to say.”
You smiled faintly, fingers brushing along the edge of his plating once more. “Only when it’s true.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet hung between you in the most comfortable of ways. Then he leaned forward going to sit on his knees in front of you.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured.
“You already are. We will go and talk to my mother tomorrow. Together.”
His hands came up and settled at your waist for a moment. The tension that had followed you all day began to unravel with his talons lightly scratching your skin. You leaned into him, feeling the familiar cool texture of his armor beneath your palms, the faint vibration of his chest as he exhaled.
He relaxed his mandibles and came up to kiss you. His lip pressed against yours and he grew weak as your tongue swept across his bottom plate. The feel of his left hand traveling up your back sent a spark of electricity through your body.
“You’re still in trouble,” you teased softly between kisses.
“I’d be worried if I wasn’t,” he replied, mandibles twitching into a grin. “Guess I’ll have to find a way to earn forgiveness.” his lips moved down to your neck, ever so slightly shifting your body to where he hovered over you.
“You can start by telling me what this is.”
“This?” he murmured, voice low and amused as his hand went to squeeze your ass, “This is us doing the horizontal tango in our very lovely love nest.”
He could never tire of your giggle as he leaned back to take in your body. That effervescent, weightless sound that only ever belonged to him filled his chest with a heat he never wanted to fade.
The warmth radiating from his cheeks made you instinctively run your hand over his cheek, running your fingertips over his scarring before speaking. “Is this your way of telling me you are ready to do the Vakarian Tango? Its been-”
“Too long. 2 years of thinking about our first time on the Normandy in that God awful room.”
A half chuckle left your lips, dragging them up to his left mandible. “Perhaps we need to recreate?”
The beauty of turian anatomy was the “element of surprise” according to Garrus. Your goading was an automatic turn on. An obvious one as you watched him expertly wriggle his pants down over his protruding hips, his cock everted, emerging from its sheath. The ridged shaft glistened as his precum ran mercilessly out of the tip.
Garrus grunted, gripping your waist with more force than he wanted when you reached down between you both, stroking his ridged member and bringing it right between your thighs. “Recreate? Oh, darling, this is a more improved Vakarian Tango. Smooth torque. Pleasurable speeds.” He grinned as his mandibles tightened closer to his face, sharp teeth now on display for you. “I need to showcase the upgrades.”
Covering his hand with yours, he moved his flared cock head up and down your wet slit, watching your skin cover in goosebumps the moment the head sat perfectly at your entrance.
You lifted your legs and like clockwork, he hooked them over his hip spurs to ensure there was no space between you both. The heat seeped from you, stoking the growing ache between your legs.
The sly attempt at trying to slide further down onto him was met with tisk. “Now isn’t the time to tease, Garrus.. I am a woman in need.”
That low, sassy hum you’d slowly began to find hot rumbled from his chest. “Tease?” he eased another inch into you, watching your eyes as they fluttered, your lips parting to make way for a moan. “I thought you enjoyed the long game, Shepard?”
You bit your lip as he further prodded into your dripping wet cunt, your essence dripping onto the couch. “This is incredibly rude for a man who- fuck.. who says he loves me...Im this wet only because of you. Please.”
One long push and the ridges of his shaft drug against your tightening walls before he slowly pulled out, the smooth bumps near the head of his cock stimulating your clit while he tried his best to not orgasm just from the teasing he brought upon himself.
“Tell me you want this,” he commanded, voice rough with desire. “Tell me you need my cock inside of you. Fucking you.”
Breath caught in your throat, legs trembling in anticipation, you gave in quicker than you wanted. “Please, Garrus, I can’t wait a second longer… fill me, fuck me, show me what I’ve been missing.”
Pulsing with need, he sheathed himself inside of you, inch by inch, growling like a starving wolf until he finally has himself fully submerged into you. The intense sensation of being so utterly filled made you cry our at the sudden sensual burn.
The textured ridge of his cock stimulated every spot inside of you, sending shock waves of pleasure radiating through your body while he staved off the orgasm he was desperate to empty inside of you.
“Look at you. Look at my darling Shepard taking me,” Garrus snarled, one hand gripping your hip, holding you in place while the other slid up to maul your breast, kneading at the soft flesh roughly.
Pleasure was building too quickly, the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core. You were meeting his every thrust, rolling your hips to take him even deeper. Your slick channel was creating the perfect friction. The lewd wetness filled the room in an instant.
His pace was fast and was only growing with each moan and cry that left your glistening lips parted.
“Fuck!” you screamed, wrapping your legs around his slend waist, pulling him down to press your forehead against his. “Harder Garrus, fuck me harder!”
He complied, grunting, slamming into you with enough force to shift the couch. “Just like that, just like that.. grip my arm baby, pull me in. Take my cock.”
“Dont stop, don’t stop,” you chanted, lost in the primal rhythm of your coupling as his strokes began to stutter.
“Come for me,” he bid, voice darkening with a growl. “Come on my cock, let me feel how much you’ve needed me.”
His words combined with his relentless pounding and the rough handling of your breast sent you over the edge. You screamed his name as your orgasm crashed through you, inner muscles clamping down on him and making him immediately fold.
The suddent rhythmic squeezing of your warm, wet slit was too much, he growled, cock pulsing as he pulled out and released, a shaky, huffy moan of completion escaping him as he watched his load cover your swollen clit and thighs. Hips jerking from the intense climax that ripped through him.
He collapsed against you with mindfulness, cradling your head so his collared neck wouldnt push against you. He laid there, chest heaving, warm skin now slightly wet from your sweat, hearts pounding in tandem.
You felt his mandibles drag up and down your collar bone, leaving gentle kiss like nips on your skin as you left small circles against the nape of his neck. Garrus lifted his head to look at you, his blue eyes soft and sated as he spoke. “So, can we add perhaps doing that more than every two years?”
A smile tugged at your lips before you laughed out loud. That would mean living together full time, Mr. Vakarian.”
“We can make something happen, Commander.”
_______________
It had taken a few days for the dust to settle. Aftershock of the ceremony, the quiet tension with your mother, making strides with feelings that were always obvious.
The artificial morning glow swept across the presidium while Zakera’s morning cycle was in full effect. Air sweet with roasted grain and the low murmur of the early morning enjoyers hummed through the space.
Your mother was already there, as expected. Early, as always.
She’d traded her uniform for a sage green, soft ankle length dress and a patterned scarf loosely wrapped around her neck, the first hint that she was really slowing down. Posture still statuesque.
Her gaze was sharp as she looked up to see you and garrus approach. It softened as you slid into the booth with him close behind.
“Commander.” she greeted you with a smile before turning to Garrus. “Officer Vakarian.”
“Admiral,” Garrus replied with a measured head nod, a hint of nerves hidden beneath his tone.
The waitress brought your usual coffee order and you watched the steam curl up as the three of you sat in silence. You half expected your mother to start with a reprimand, a lecture about propriety or discretion. Instead, she sighed softly, sitting down her cup.
“I owe you both an apology,” she began. “My reaction was warranted and in retrospect, Garrus did exactly what I’d hope a potential mate would do for you.” her gaze softened as she looked over at him then you. “You both have been through much together in this galaxy. I realized that I should be happy that you have someone who meets you where you are.”
You blinked, not trusting yourself to speak immediately. Beside you, Garrus’ talons flexed slightly against the table. A small sign of surprise before he gave a respectful nod.
“Er, thank you.. ma’am.” he voiced. “I wasnt exactly trying to cause trouble. I just—” He glanced at you, mandibles twitching in a nervous gesture that would’ve made you laugh if the moment weren’t so tender. “— I wanted you to know I take this seriously. That she means everything to me.”
Your mothers brow lifted, a faint, knowing smirk tugged at her lips. “That’s a very diplomatic answer, Vakarian. But what are your intentions with my daughter?”
If turian physiology allowed blushing, he’d be glowing red. Garrus cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly. “Well, Admiral, Id say my intentions are long term. Permanent, if I have any say on the matter. Not to sound overly Turian but I want to make sure she never forgets what its like to be seen as her. Not her titles. But the beautiful human she is. If she keeps letting me, I want to spend whatever time this galaxy gives us reminding her of that.”
You stifled a laugh as your mother actually laughed. Her eyes crinkled as she looked over at you and seemed surprised.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting poetry from a marksman.”
He tilted his head, mandibles twitching in amusement. “Don’t worry, Admiral. I save the singing and iambic pentameters for private moments only. They told me no singing at your induction ceremony.”
“Mom,” you groaned. “Please don’t encourage him.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely encouraging him,” she was chuckling now. “He’s a charmer. No wonder you kept this quiet. I’d have stolen him for recruitment for Taros III.”
You looked between the two of them, incredulous, and then smiled. the first genuine, relaxed smile you’d worn since the ceremony.
After a while, the conversation turned lighter. Your mother talked of her plans once she made it to Earth, Garrus mentioned his father’s growing hobby of agriculture, and the sudden realization that both of your parents might actually get along.
At some point you found yourself feeling confident to share, “We were talking about eloping. Something small. Maybe Rannoch, or Thessia. Neutral ground, again.”
Your mother’s brows rose. Just a glimmer of something tender behind her eyes. “I think that sounds… perfect.”
When she excused herself a little later, leaving you and Garrus alone at the table, he reached over and laced his talons between your fingers. Always gentle, always careful.
“You know,” he murmured, “if she didn’t hate me before, I think I might’ve just charmed her.”
You smiled. “You did. Which means now I have two people who can guilt me into being responsible.”
Garrus leaned and pressed his mandibles to your temple. “Oh don’t worry. I’ll even find a way for a little Garrus/Shepard baby to keep you in check one of these days also. We must keep you on your toes, Commander.”
There’s was something in the way Ghost looked at you.
It wasn’t hate. It wasn’t even familiarity.
It was fear. Fear that he hasn’t felt in decades. Fear that he faced, conquered and defeated while looking down the barrel of a sig sauer and killing the man who held it to his head.
His gaze pinned you, a quiet violence in the way he looked. But not at what was his, because you were the girl with a book at the bar who’d only given him a flash of a smile out of being courteous. You weren’t his. He gazed at what could never be.
It wasn’t love, not yet. It was the raw edge of longing, the kind that burned more from the fear of never holding you than from the thought of losing you. Like he was fighting a battle that had ended before it ever began.
There was a sharpness to it, a desperation that didn’t beg—it dared. As if, in some corner of his mind, he was already preparing for the fallout, already mourning something he’d never had. His silence was a wound, bleeding all the things he couldn’t say. The want, the ache, the hollow pit of yearning that gnawed at his ribs like a caged animal.
It wasn’t softness. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, brutal—like standing in the aftermath of a war you never fought, surrounded by the ghosts of things that never happened. And still, he looked at you. Like he would rather burn for something he never touched than live without the chance of ever having it.
So when you look up and see his scar-ridden face, speaking to him, offering him a seat.
“Would you like to sit? My friends left but I’ve got a few more chapters and a Long Island I wanna finish.”
He ordered another beer, letting his mind race with how he could show you just how quickly he’d let the world burn just to let you read a little bit longer.
Satoru who not only disregards the 4 pillows you’ve thrown at him to stop him from cuddling you, but starts to fake cry so you can come and check on him, which you do.
“See! It obviously isn’t too hot for you to come and check on me. You do care! You do still love me!”
“Toru, we’re married. And it’s hot as shit. And your child is tearing my insides apart. Please”
“Our child, babydoll. Which again, an honor to have you as my wife and mother of our child.”
“Love of my life. It’s too hot for cuddling right now. Let it cool down a little then we can get cozy.“ you land a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as you sit up on the bed. “I’ll even watch more master chef jr. with you.”
His bright eyes filled with something that resembled glee.
“I’ll take that offer. Plus! You won’t be too hot once I show you what I did to the bathtub.”
You shut your eyes for a moment, taking a solid breath before looking back up. “Satoru Gojo. Did you fill our tub up with ice?”
Scoffing as if you’ve accused him of a heinous crime, he shakes his head. “Baby. That would be stupid. I did something better. I bought a lot of those reusable ice cubes, froze them, and that’s what I have in the tub along with ice chips!”
