kento nanami had always been a man of routine.
his alarm chimed at the same time every morning, the first note barely fading before the second followed, pushing himself upright.
for a moment, he made no move to silence it.
the alarm continued chiming beside you.
only then did he reach for his phone, silencing the buzz with a quick tap before placing it back on the nightstand.
his gaze lingered on you for a moment before he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against your hair.
a quiet, sleep-roughened “good morning” disappeared into your strands as his arm drew you an inch closer, your warmth settling against him.
he stayed there for another heartbeat, then another, until habit quietly urged him back into motion.
only then did his hand reach for his watch, resting exactly where he’d left it the night before.
it sat on the nightstand in the exact same spot it had been for years, fastening the strap around his wrist without so much as a glance, a kind of muscle memory that came from doing it a thousand times before.
next came his collar, fingers slipping beneath the stiff fabric, smoothing it flat before a single tug drew his tie into place.
his sleeves were rolled exactly twice, before the fabric sat taut against his forearms.
you’ve watched his jaw tighten whenever a sleeve refused to sit quite right, watched him tug at the cuff again, and again until it finally met his standards.
by the time his coffee had brewed, exactly four minutes later, steam curled lazily from the rim of the mug as he lifted it to his lips.
only for his reflection to stare back at him in the dark liquid below.
the faint shadow along his jaw stood out immediately.
it had barely grown in, little more than a week’s worth, yet it was enough.
every time he caught his reflection in a window or the faint shadow darkening his upper lip, his jaw tightened with quiet irritation.
he ran a hand over the roughness, his lips pressing into a thin line.
he’d shave it the moment he got home.
so what was a little stubble to him?
but when he did finally step through the door—tired, rumpled, tie loosened and eyes heavy—your gaze met his, and the corners of your mouth lifted without thought.
“ken,” you breathed, and there was something in your voice that made him pause.
you were already crossing the room, and before he could apologize for his appearance or mumble something about needing a shave, your hand came up to cup his jaw.
your thumb brushed across the stubble—soft, a little scratchy, real—and your smile went all soft and fond.
“whoa, you look.. different. grew a little mustache,” you mused, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you reached up to brush your thumb over it.
nanami blinked. “i.. haven't had time to—”
he stared at you. “you.. sorry?”
“i love it,” you repeated, and you said it with such certainty that he felt at a loss for a response. your fingers traced the line of his jaw, pausing over the the faint shadow along his jaw beneath your fingertips.
“you look so handsome. a little tired, yeah, but.. still handsome.”
“it's just stubble,” he said quietly, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“it's your stubble,” you corrected, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, then another to the corner of his lips, letting the scratchy texture tickle your skin. “i like it. you're keeping it for a little while, right?”
nanami let out a low, warm laugh—the first one in days. he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours.
"if it makes you happy," he murmured, "i suppose i can endure a few more days of looking disheveled."
"endure," you repeated, giggling. "you're so dramatic. it's a good look, nanamin."
"i think.. you should keep it," you said, half-teasing, half-hopeful.
nanami sighed, long and suffering, but there was a fondness in his eyes that gave him away completely. "that sounds unbecoming of a sorcerer, my dear. "
you snorted. “unbecoming? oh my gosh ken, you literally spend your days fighting curses. i think a little stubble is hardly the worst thing you’ve got going on..”
he had no rebuttal for that. none at all.
so instead, he kissed you again—scratchy chin and all—and pretended not to notice the way you smiled, glancing at you for a moment before looking away as though he hadn’t noticed a thing.
thank you for reading, please like and reblog (๑>◡<๑)ྀིྀི.
