husband!nanami kento is the sweetest husband ever °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
your husband loved you devotedly.
you were fully aware of it. he made sure you knew it. it was visible through his gestures, through his eyes and through his words. he, despite you being together for so long, loved and desired you with all of his heart even after all those years. he was eager for any part of you.
he was known as a composed man. well spoken. calm in his sternness. capable of existing and as perfect as a freshly crafted structure.
of course, you agreed. you nodded upon every title that had been thrown at him. although there was just one single title that was given to him by only you:
cute.
something no one else would ever dare to call him. something you loved calling him.
nanami kento was a cute man. cute enough to blush every time you called him that while shaking his head with an amused expression. the same calm smile sitting on his face faintly softer and eyes gazing you fondly.
and he had undeniable habits of clinginess.
he was also devoted in his affection. his moves were devoid of uncertainty and colored with boldness. he loved displaying proudly how much he cherished his wife. embracing you with his warm body, kissing your temple before starting his sentences, caressing your sides and hips with a knowing smile, so calm, so gentlemanly and so sinister.
you thought he was being too much while he considered getting your name tattooed on his skin with elegant letters, his love etched on him for everyone to see. for him to feel.
he had many accomplishments. a grand name was what he carried. yet he thought you were the most admirable thing he had within his existence. the one with the most importance. what he was most proud of. it wasn’t just a ring he wore, it was a reminder of his success in life, it was a silent vow to be better.
you were a necessity for him. he made that shown. you thought he was built for romance, for love. he simply thought he was built for you. made solely for you. completed with you.
the well worn faces he bore occasionally were placed with such warmth and fondness whenever you were present, your name rolled off his tongue with the sweetest tone. he sought your body eagerly, to embrace you in front of —anyone, really, he didn’t even mind. you just whispered “shameless,” while giggling with delight. he smiled by knowing he made you happy.
he wore the name with acceptance. shameless he was. and any shape he would be molded into solely to please you.
and every time he was asked why he behaved in such way, his answer always stayed the same: he was just a man in love.
I saw him. He saw me. What a hunk. What a dream. I rustled my bum over to him like a sneaky snake. He was holding a marshmallow, the kind you get cheap in the meat aisle. Not even a Peep, what a cheap bastard. But I didn’t care. I just wanted his balls.
It was Karl Koch, Weezer’s in-house magician, punk-rock stereotype, and all-around hunk boat toot toot. I wanted to smell him, but also his balls. He was busy playing hockey in the street with the other IT guys, Frarp and Carcunk. Frarp has a sketchy past with a hint of wow deodorant and Carcunk pees the bed. He drinks too much Mountain Dew when Coke’s not available, which is always.
I could tell that he wanted me, because he yelled it at me through a telescope. “Where’d you find that telescope,” I whimpered darkly, thinking of his balls.
“Voldemort?!” He spouted excitedly about how much I reminded him of a bag of salt and vinegar chips (with a side of balls I hope).
“No,” I shrieked, “it’s just me. Girl part 2, you know who.” I’m a famous rap artist in this town, much like an older, fartier Igor Azalea. My fans are called Boner Killers for undisclosed reasons.
“I hate your stuff,” he shouted. What a liar. I had sent him an autographed copy of my latest EP, which included two songs, fifteen seconds each. The first one is called, “Jar of Mayonnaise With a Side of This Clit” and the second is entitled, “Home for the Holidays.” It sold out in 12 years, with a grand total of 15 copies sold, including the one I bought for him.
He shoved me out of the way with his hockey stick, but I immediately ate the stick before it could touch my eyes. “Way to go, bro,” I said while humping the ground. “Could you pour me a glass of those balls?”
“You know it, girlfrannn,” Karl squirted. Picking up a squirrel and licking its butthole, he suggested that I go shuck some nuts. I knew he meant his balls and I felt content.
“Suck some nuts, you say? Don’t mind if I blue.” What a poised gentleman. Six feet fourteen inches high, with calves the size of I don’t know ‘cause he was wearing jeans (dark wash), Karl was the man for me. He didn’t think so just yet. With hair below his balls, and also under his armpits, covering his legs, arms, face, eyebrow bone, and top of the head, he melted in the breeze like a jar of mayonnaise with a side of… you know the rest. He was cool as a cum-cumber.
Then in a flash of my thighs, Pat came from behind a tree and said, “Hey guys, what’s up?” and repeated that process for six minutes, coming from behind tree after tree. I was frozen in the moment and could not speak for it was the man of my dreams accompanied by sweet, sweet pitty-Pat, whom I had engaged in sexual escapades for a few weeks many moons ago. Now thinking back, Karl had been there filming the entire time.
“Threesome, anybody,” Karl asked the two nuns walking across the street. Shaking their heads, they climbed onto broomsticks and rushed off. In that moment, I thought I could never compete with such witchy beauty. Feeling brave, I spoke up about what was on my mind.
“Kim Kardashian is a reckless monster, right?” Wrong. She is the most wonderful scientist alive. Karl and Pat gave me nasty looks, like I was a fresh turd, but not the cool kind, and I returned their gazes with bedroom eyes. I would like to give them my bedroom thighs, but they began sipping beers and reminiscing about Janet Jackson’s nip slip.
After six to eleven beers, Karl finally succumbed to my advances. I seduced him by wiggling my two front teeth back and forth. It was exhausting. Pat took all his clothes off and laid them on the ground and Karl did the same, handing me his camera. They were about five feet apart on separate pallets. “We want to be models, not rock gods!” Pat was silly and is and also continues to be.
I told them I could take them home, but Karl spoke up, pooping as he did. “Can you leave now? I’m tired and need my baba.” I reached into his camera bag and handed him some hot, hot milk in his new bottle. Then, I carried Pat and Karl piggy-bag style, Pat on top thirty miles to east L.A. I laid them down in my bed, which was covered in moth balls and Fisher-Price toys.
Giving them a blanky to share, each of my wittle boys snuggled in for a bedtime story. I turned my back for fourteen seconds and one of the witch-nuns had flown in through the window. She began raw dogging my beautiful baby boys. I was knocked out by her broom, which smelled of Brian Bell’s hair and sexy dreams. My puss puss got super swoll. To my surprise, I awoke belly-down on a kitchen counter with an apple in my mouth. It was a Father’s Day gathering for my ex-gym coach’s dog.
Oh what night, I sang to myself while the guests patted my tush and roasted me over an open fire.
daydreams of the romance — ryomen sukuna and his clumsy attempts to ask the cute girl on a date!
| part one |
he had never desired to entirely disappear as much as he did in these days. excluding the time when he’d told you his name wrong, of course.
he verbally didn’t declare his little crush, as expected, but after the one text he’d sent to the group chat, they knew. ryomen sukuna, the asshole of the century, was burning with jealousy. over the slightest of interactions. without committing murder.
a sight to see, it really was and he knew from the moment he’d sent the text, they were not going to let him live it down. well, although it was not that easy to tease a guy like him since they never knew when they’d be meeting with his frightening rage, their expressions gave away anything they wished to say.
and really, the blush splayed out in his cheeks whenever they talked about you was not helping his errand, even though he was yelling while doing so.
from what they’ve gathered over the few days of sukuna utterly losing his mind, the guy you were talking to was actually not someone who you were close to but instead he was simply a lab partner. which, was something made sukuna think, the absolute ignorant dick he is, that it was rather justified to just go on and punch the guy across the face now, since you didn’t like him or anything.
what a way of thinking, really. he was a guy of rational thoughts.
thankfully his friends compelled him to think that if he were to do that, you would be quite upset. he didn’t get the reason behind it but the clumsy man in love he was, he believed them on instant. he was merely satisfying himself with grunting whenever he saw him or cursing under his breath with clenched fists.
he, learned how to hold himself back for the first time ever, despite the fact he was burning with rage inside.
really, he was doing so good. he didn’t even know where the black eye on the guy’s face came from and even wished a fast recovery on him. what a good man he was.
you were rather surprised with his personality (a personality he built up from scratch only for you) since he was known as a quite intimidating person based on his reputation, some even called him a beast which was actually really fitting for a guy like him.
but he was gentle with you, cute and awkward even. you liked his company, he didn’t talk much but he knew how to listen was what you thought.
in reality, he was just having a genuine crisis inside his mind. a chorus of chaos. his google searches were a mess.
‘how to ask a girl on a date?’
he had made his mind long ago, back then when you, with your angelic features, blessed him with the cutest smile ever seen. and now, he was a changed man. his heart melted along his grumpy facade. he knew that he was crushing on you, hell, he was in love with you. he wasn’t a coward with useless empty words, he thought, he simply loved you.
he learned all of these from your favorite books. which he, also, have read carefully. he knew what you liked. he memorized it.
the first time he tried to ask you out on a date, he was so silent that you couldn’t even hear him. and when you moved closer for him to repeat his words and your scent surrounded him, he thought he was about to pass out.
and since he believed that he was medically going to pass out, he just murmured something that came out as a cry of pain, and bolted to the exit while pushing and literally knocking people down with his huge figure. he even considered calling an ambulance.
he cussed himself the whole week. printed his face and stuck the photo to his punching bag. scowled anytime he laid his eyes on the printed photo. he thought he was a fucking loser.
when he gathered all his courage for the next attempt, which was not easy with the shame he felt inside, with his favorite tee clinging to his broad arms and showing his perfect figure, he was feeling good. he wore the familiar smirk, lifted his eyebrows, and repeated ‘i don’t look stupid i look damn hot’ three times. everything was perfect. neatly calculated.
but you were also feeling good. i’m going to wear my favorite and cutest tank top and bat my perfect eyelashes at sukuna as an attempt of murder kind of good.
he spilled his drink all over himself.
turns out that his clumsy huge hands, trying to be gentle around you, was not really built for dainty moves. and they also trembled severely around you.
you giggled. he thought he would bathe in chai tea lattes if it meant making you giggle that sweetly. with his black coffee dripping down his body and you giggling up at him and his idiotic self, he assumed heaven would sound exactly like that.
he then understood that he certainly needed to plan this whole ‘asking out on a date for the first time’ thing beforehand. he opened your spotify, spent minutes staring at your profile pic, than searched the playlists throughly.
he knew you loved a certain romcom which included a concert date. well, he had something even better in hand.
there was an upcoming summer festival with your favorite artist performing in it. he stood up and kissed the crumbled selfie on his punching bag. he was damn smart.
he bought the tickets before even asking you. searched good things to eat. checked the weather. found out what your favorite flower was.
he, with already knowing about your routines, went to the cafe at the usual time you did, this time with his nicest hoodie and something comfy, disheveled hair and slightly unfocused eyes. his state was screaming the lack of sleep and indeed, solely out of nervousness, he couldn’t sleep at all. he thought about you and your angelic face, dreamt about what was he going to do if you were to say no.
he, at three a.m, crashed out at the thought while spiraling in the room with the glint of sole madness in his eyes.
all he knew was that he had way too much love to let you go. and a bunch of anxiety, of course.
when you entered from the door with the cutest outfit, your scent lingering in the air, mingled with the thick note of coffee, he already was dizzy. he blinked nervously and gulped loudly, his hands fisted the soft fabric of the hoodie.
you smiled upon seeing him. he considered running away.
when he gathered his courage to sit across you, you just giggled with the angelic voice of yours. he coughed out of stress, and tried to hid his blush with his huge palms. well, it did work quite well too.
he felt like an idiot looking at your face and being unable to utter even one single word, let alone the practiced ones he had spent his days rehearsing. your sweet voice floated out the grand windows which let the warm strands of sun inside the cafe.
he breathed out a frustrated groan. ‘don’t fuck this up.’
he grabbed the sides of the wooden table with his grumpy expression he always wore. you thought he was looking rather troubled, and there came your good nature with pure intentions. a blessing upon him. a devilish little movement.
instead of directly asking, you traced his knuckles with your soft fingertips, a worried look on your face. a loud crack echoed in the air.
he cracked the table.
‘yeah, perfect, you fucking moron. that’s exactly how you ask a girl out.’
he groaned with rage. he was so damn mad at himself. he palmed his face with his rough hands, unable to look at your face.
he didn’t even know what was wrong with him. of course, he understood the math of having a crush for the first time, but hell, he could swear this was nothing near what people had told him. this was dehumanizing. something wicked. soul rotting. beautiful in its misery.
someone whispered ‘damn beast’ from the sides. you had to pull him out of the cafe for him to not throw a punch. he only gave up to not hurt you unintentionally.
but when you showed him how much you worried about him still, insisting on taking him to nursery since his hand bled slightly from a single cut caused by the crack on the table, he could swore he felt his eyes getting teary.
he was a gone man.
he blurted out the words of the festival while you were still insisting with the cutest shimmering eyes that completely bewitched him. you thought he was just having a small talk with you. he was trying eagerly to ask you on a date, as a defeated man. a suit he wore whenever he was with you. a man of defeat. just for a pair of pretty eyes and a lovely smile.
just for you.
you asked him if he liked the artist as well. he whispered ‘hell if i know.’ under his breath, with a crooked smile he practiced for you. he wasn’t known with his huge smiles, and it looked sinister when he tried. but it was the thought that counts, he hoped.
when you mentioned you would check the festival out, since your favorite artist was also having a concert, he almost screamed that he had, actually, two tickets. the blood was still spiraling down from his forearm with a thick crimson color. he didn’t care. his eyes were wavering looking into yours, waiting for your answer.
to be fair, he had never mentioned that he bought two tickets intentionally. but then again, he was so nervous and so in love to do so. he was glad that he could even get the right words out after countless of tries.
you didn’t catch on to the fact that he was asking you out on a date. you thought he bought two tickets by accident. when he stayed awake the whole night to not miss the tickets.
but it was too tempting for you. you, truly, had no choice other than to say yes.
he almost jumped out of joy, and had to bite his tongue to restrict himself from yelling in victory. pure victory. so victory feels like that, he thought. it was mind blowing, how the ryomen sukuna, the guy everyone was frightened by, turned into a hopeless man with a heavy heart whenever you were present.
he asked you out on a date. successfully. and you said yes, not even knowing it was a date. he narrowed his eyes.
did that mean you liked him back?
well, in his defense, no one had told him before he had to clarify the title. to call it a date. how the hell could he even know?
but he was already planning the outfit in his head. the hair. the cologne. he decided to quit smoking days before the date, since he knew you didn’t like the smell. a shoe in your favorite color. would a suit be more charming? he had rewatched your favorite romcoms to find out what kind of outfit you would like on the man for the first date. he wanted to match with you badly, but he slapped himself in shock upon the thought.
he scoffed at you with the slight whisper of ‘brat’ when you, again, smiled seeing the state he was in. you found his madness charming, although he couldn’t even be irritated by it. he just grunted some unclear words. lovingly.
you had a feeling that he might’ve liked you, but you didn’t want to assume anything just because he was being friendly. and in your defense, he genuinely didn’t talk much that you could understand his feelings. you, not knowing his personality, weren’t aware being present was an act affection for him.
when he got home from his first ever successful attempt to win you over, he laughed for a good fifteen minutes like a madman, and truly, with his spiky pink hair, tattoos etched all over his body with a dark ink, a permanent scowl on his face and his buffed figure, he did resemble a good villain. he acted like one as well.
he got your number saying he needed your address to pick you up, another win for him. he stared at your profile picture for hours, also opening it occasionally as a motivation through the day. when you, three days before the date, texted him what you were going to wear, a cute and nice little outfit, he planned his whole outfit from zero just to match with yours. he cleaned his car inside out, threw out all his cigarettes, got a neat haircut and bought a new cologne. it was that serious for him.
and then, the second text came in. a living proof of his desperation. a quiet show of vulnerability.
“so can i confess on the first date or would that be too soon?”
his undertones always contained respect, especially against his beloved wife. his harsh (as harsh as a gentleman like him could be) words carried the specific warmness you reconned, his stern looks carried a glint of fondness beneath. even when he had been clearly upset with you, he made sure he always carried love and respect within. his soft hands found your waist while he voiced his displeasure, caressing your sides with gentle yet strict words.
he held the doors for you all the time, whether his hands were occupied or not did not matter, it was out of question. he whispered “dear” in your ear right before asking for a favor, nuzzling to you with his soft body, his puffy hair tickling your cheeks, gentle voice tracing your ears and neck with his dewy lips touching you knowingly.
once you claimed to be tired, he was there with fuzzy blankets sliding down from his hands, a hot tea freshly brewed sitting by the couch, perfectly baked cinnamon rolls made their way to you and him, smiling tender, tracing your hair and massaging your scalp with his huge, relaxing hands.
you said the heat was getting to you, he was there to fan you nonstop for two hours, you were getting cold, even his sweater was out. there was only one spot available, he was crouching down beside you.
whenever your jokes went too far (the burdens of being an absolute comedian) he laughed them off while squeezing your tight a little firmer. not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know. he didn’t stop you, he could never have, he loved the creases appeared right besides your eyes whenever you laughed much harder, or the sounds you made, and your warm and comfy body pressing against his; but he warned without making it evident.
even when he kissed you without respect, pressed against the wall and all heated, he traced his hands down your hair with soft touches, untangling it since he knew how much you hated your hair getting tangled.
he had never let you sleep with an unresolved tension after a hurtful argument. he was outside the bedroom door, slouching down the hallway with his head between his hands, providing you the privacy and space of the bedroom while he whispered sweet words against the door with shallow breaths. you could hear the desperation through his voice carried by the muffled words, yearning to understand you, not to be only understood. seeking your feelings instead of pushing his’ upon you.
whenever he saw you getting tired from walking in heels all day, his eagerness to help you unfolded with him carrying you in his secure arms and squeezing you lovingly anytime he wished to press a kiss against your temple, your heels swinging down in his hands and you giggling nonstop into his broad chest. him, with a glowing smile on his face. your glossy eyes watching him tenderly, and his silky shirt caressing your face.
he came with his comfort, his ease, the storms silenced and your heart wavered. it was not the show he put on, it was his existence. it was him and his ways.
he studied your expressions through the day as a habit. he listened to you as an oath. he was present even when he physically was not. he left for work earlier than you did, and whenever you slept in, he prepared you the coffee just as you liked it, your breakfast was ready on the counter with a little note attached to it, your skirt you planned to wear for work freshly ironed and ready in your dressing room.
he carried your bags, pressed a warm kiss on your hand, bought you flowers just because. he showed how much he too enjoyed loving you, how much he adored loving you loudly and devotedly.
he endeared your presence. not what you had to offer.
and he didn’t make you feel less, like you ought to be protected, like you were lesser than a person than he was, like you were there to be kept, like you were powerless beneath his touch. like you needed his presence to be content.
instead, he made you feel equal and cherished, respected as a human, not just as a woman. this was him respecting and adoring you, not smothering you, not exerting his dominance over you inconsiderately. he seized any moment to cherish you. his gestures didn’t stem from your need, it came by his wish to love you better.
to love you grander.
and what made you love him more was that, his respect was not reserved for you only. his love, yes, solely for you, but he respected almost the whole existence because that’s who he was. he held the door for women, gave sweet treats to kids, spoke with gentle words to everyone he came across. he was a sweet man of endearing gestures.
nanami kento, the gentleman he is, made everyday easier for you to fall in love with him over and over again, with his stupid fashion sense and even dumber gentle heart.
apologizing 101 with husband!kento nanami | lesson: getting on the knees ⭑.ᐟ
nanami had always been gentle with you.
he had treated you with such tenderness at all times. he was warm without fierceness, he was a calming embrace through harsh storms and pressure. he was steady when you wavered, he was there to press soft kisses against your swollen eyes, he was there to hold you through the night and whisper sweet words upon your temple.
you knew for certain that he loved you endlessly. he made sure you did.
but sometimes, love wasn’t enough as its own. not quite. and sometimes love didn’t carry gentleness within its entrance, sometimes it emerged with worry in the face of rage.
you should’ve known it.
it started rather ordinary, but you felt that beneath his calm words, there was a fury he wished to avoid. he was furious about you overworking yourself, an argument almost every household have held. thoughtful and loving in its own, its core being worry. although it was generous coming from him.
as gentle as fierce flares could be, he kept on talking when you stood silent.
but soon after his demeanor flared up to harsh sentences, intentions full of cruelty, he spat the brutal words against your face with a stoic expression. he furrowed his brows and with the dim lightning ceasing on his face, creating bold shadows, he looked rather, intimidating to you. a face he had never wore before, not to you, maybe someone else, yes, someone on the street who bumped into him, someone from work who messed his work up, someone random through his day, maybe, but not to you. never to you.
yet now, it laid before you. that figure you weren’t familiar with. that man with a ruthless face you didn’t recognize.
“and you tire yourself so carelessly like a clumsy toddler, not eating-“ you paused where you stood, now almost identifying the pattern of his words which contained his own routines. you thought to yourself again, but not once you’ve mentioned not eating nor not taking a break, instead, those were things you confronted him with before. although you did it with rather kind words. not making him feel small and incapable.
you tensed your shoulders. he lashed out with stormy accusations, and even though those were the things he reckoned you committed solely because of his own record, you knew that, the things that he were projecting onto you, the actual things that were troubling him about himself, but it still burned where it landed.
his distasteful words framed you.
and he kept on going. nonstop.
your eyes started burning with an undying sensation and you could feel the wetness building up on the corners of your eyes.
he sighed out another thing he so graciously forgot to mention. you couldn’t hold the tears back anymore.
tears collided in your face, rolling after each other, your face swollen and flushed with frustration. along with every word of his, another tear slid through from your eyes. you tried holding them back, hell, you’ve been trying since he started talking, but he did not give you the time to breathe, to collect yourself and for hurt to fade away from your heart.
he didn’t realize at first.
your tears fell from your face, right before his feet, the rug darkening with wetness. your vision blurred once more tears came in and you lowered your gaze so that he wouldn’t notice your wet face glistening under the lightning.
you did it out of defense, not out of shame.
he was the one to feel the shame.
he saw how your shoulders trembled first, and how you couldn’t look him in the eye. his mind was clouded with his own resentment against himself. once he saw your wavering figure, he paused, his mind suddenly clear, and eyes widening with fright.
he raised his hands to seize your shoulders, then stopped midway and spotted the wet spots on the rug, so vividly visible and dark beneath the flares shadowing them from the fireplace.
his manner’s weight suddenly crushed down on him, and his shoulders shivered.
“my love,” he whispered out.
he was petrified.
he was petrified with his own behavior. with his own words he uttered to the woman he loved, the tone he wore to her, to the one he promised to cherish.
the fireplace cracked with a fierce sound. its dim lightning fell upon his broad figure, now shaking, trembling beneath regret and fright, his mind cloudy with all the words that came out of his very own mouth. dry as a desert, burned with shame, his mouth, and he pressed his palm against the warm wall for a support.
“please,” he breathed out, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything after.
you raised your hands to wipe the tears away. he stood there in silence.
you sniffed quietly with your swollen and flushed nose. tears slowed down slightly. your gaze stayed on the floor.
then you heard a rustle. a rustle so defeated and painted with sorrow. and a sob, so frail almost absent. shortly after you saw it, without even having to raise your head.
he collapsed onto the floor with his knees supporting him.
the broad man who embraced you through every misfortune, who protected you like an oath, who stood secure for you, now crumbled before you with regret. all vulnerable and bare. his tears glimmered on his face with an orange tone, reflecting the flares still alive in the dim lightning of the room.
a soft rain started outside.
“my love, i’m so, so sorry, i don’t know why did i-“ he sobbed once more, his head between his palms, his knees crushing the soft rug.
you shook your head, not being able to utter anything.
“i’m so sorry, i terribly regret everything i’ve said to you. i projected my own distress for myself, and for a moment, i couldn’t bear the thought of you tiring yourself in such extent as i’ve done before,” his voice trembled, and the rain fastened. “i was frightened with the thought of you, bearing what i had, i got bewitched by my own past when i should’ve been there for your present problems,”
the tears started falling down on your face again, and you just stood there, listening to him opening his worries to you, bare and broad and frail in a sense you’ve never seen in him before.
“i got much too carried away in such expense i couldn’t realize—“ he stopped his sentence midway, to press one of his palms upon his mouth, covering it, tears going over his hand and glistening over the knuckles. you felt a squeeze in your heart at his crumbled state.
“and to your sweet face, i said such horrible things, i’m so, so sorry my dear, my love, and as undeserving as i am for your forgiveness, please, let me make it alright, with time, not suddenly— let me protect what we have with time.” he pleaded and lowered his hands, gripping the rug roughly.
you took a step to his figure and saw it more clearly how his expression was shattered defeatedly.
nanami had always been gentle with you. the man before you, minutes ago, felt as if he was a stranger crawled into his skin, displeasure seeping into his veins. you weren’t sure how to respond to him, to his honesty, for it would mean you acknowledging his behavior.
but you took a deep breath, also burning to talk to him, to make him understand you grander. to get it out of your chest. to not carry it within you for the next morning, and letting him carry it instead.
so you opened your mouth with uncertainty.
“you’ve hurt me,” you breathed out.
“you’ve hurt me, and i see where you’re coming from, truly, i do, but what frightened me is, kento— it’s that you weren’t able to stop. and i shouldn’t be even half as understanding as i am, and i shouldn’t be put in a position where i should force myself to see your perspective because you’ve hurt me unintentionally.”
“but i love you. and i know you. and i also, need time and closure.” you said, your shoulders still tense, body aching.
“i’ll work on myself so that you won’t go through something like this ever again,”
once you were close to him enough for him to see your feet with his gaze lowered, he gently grabbed your ankles, and breathed there for a second, yearning for your permission. for you to not seek his absence, for you to accept him. for you to allow him to repent of his faults.
getting the permission from your silent form, he lowered his head, his dewy lips, all wet from his tears, met with your ankles delicately. he pressed a faint kiss upon your ankle, his touch still fragile where it rested against your warm skin.
he inhaled, with all the weight against him, he seemed so small, the grand man you know, defeated beneath your feet, crying against it. he stayed there for a moment, kissing your ankle, the top of your foot, his tears striding down from your skin.
“kento,” you whispered, and hearing your whisper he pressed one last kiss, his hand leaving you for him to rise on his feet.
his hands instantly found your waist, sitting there and wavering slightly but warm and secure and familiar. you smiled at him, face glistening with tears and heart still broken, but embraced with his presence. not alone. never alone.
“i’m so sorry, so sorry i’ve caused you something i’ve swore to never put you through,” he said, pressing another kiss upon your shoulder, leaving traces of wetness there.
“give me the chance to prove myself, to you, please.”
he traced his hand adoringly through your hair, took one strand and brought it to his nose with shivering hands, inhaling it, the other hand still sitting securely on your waist.
“i could never breathe without you,” he whispered, “i love you, and i could never live without you, nothing would ever mean a thing without you,”
“kento…” he stroked your sides, his warmness tracing your heart, his voice caressing your mind, and you melted with his heat, all the weariness the day has brought you now crushed against him, crawling out of your body into his embrace.
“can i carry you to bed?” he asked for your permission again, still unsure of his movements. you just nodded out of tiredness, still not hugging him or returning his gestures, way too hurt for it.
“i’ll give you space tonight, would you want that?” trying not to push too far, he said while his hands moved down, under your knees to lift you.
you nodded once more. you weren’t quite sure if you could handle his presence beside you all through the night, even though you usually adored it, it didn’t feel right, not tonight.
he kissed your temple and whispered a silent ‘of course, my love,’ and going up the stairs, he kept whispering how sorry he was. when you arrived in bedroom, he tucked you in gently. with the same gentleness you knew. then he left silently, with the same calmness he entered with, closing the door with a silent click.
you rolled in the soft bed, and thinking he left, also getting ready for sleep in the guest room, closed your aching eyes, face still swollen from all the crying.
he crouched down behind the door. he knew, from the moment he saw the tears on your face, that he would spend the night behind the door, listening to your breaths.
and he did that.
in the morning after, sun shining throughly, when you woke up with fresh flowers, more colorful than usual, the same morning coffee he brewed for you every morning, today with extra care, your favorite breakfast which he brought to bed, something he was fiercely against, you already knew that, nanami was indeed, a man of his word.
