The coffee from the vending machines at Jujutsu High was an offense against human dignity, and Kento Nanami, who held severe opinions about far less important matters, refused to drink it.
That was why, during an unusually quiet break, he agreed to walk with you to the nearest 7-Eleven.
Although walk with you might not have been the most accurate description.
He kept pace beside you with the vigilance of a bodyguard, his tie slightly loosened, while you attempted to convince him that a seasonal frappé could still be considered coffee if one abandoned all moral standards.
He listened with the dry patience he reserved for your most ridiculous arguments. He neither agreed nor interrupted. Every so often, he glanced at you from the corner of his eye with an expression that, on anyone else’s face, would have been simple resignation.
On his, it was affection.
You had been together for a month, and you were still learning how to recognize it in the smallest details: the way he shortened his stride to match yours, how he discreetly moved objects away from the edge of a table before you could knock them over, the recent habit of resting a hand against your back whenever you crossed a crowded street.
Nanami was not a man given to constant declarations.
His love revealed itself as a series of preventive measures.
Inside the store, he went straight to the coffee machine while you examined a row of refrigerated desserts, debating between two options you already knew you would make him taste.
You were leaning toward the display when you heard your name from a few feet away, spoken with an intonation so familiar that the entire store became a trap before you had even turned around.
Not just any cousin, but the precise cousin capable of turning a chance encounter into a genealogical investigation, informing three aunts and your mother before you had finished a sentence, and extracting an approximate wedding date without anyone remembering having provided her with information.
She was already approaching, looking first at your face, then at Nanami.
Panic reached your mouth before reason did.
Nanami had just stepped beside you with a cup of coffee in his hand when she asked who he was. He remained still and composed, waiting for your answer with the natural confidence of a man who had not considered the possibility that it might be a problem.
The word landed between you with dreadful softness.
Nanami did not frown or turn toward you. He merely greeted your cousin with a polite inclination of his head and gave her his surname when she asked, sober and courteous, as though you had not just reduced a month of kisses, quiet dinners, and nights when his hand had searched for yours beneath the sheets to the same category occupied by Ijichi.
Still, you knew him well enough to notice that his stillness had become too deliberate.
His shoulders remained relaxed, but his fingers tightened unnecessarily around the cup. When your cousin began asking where the two of you had met, Nanami allowed you to answer.
He did not contradict you.
He would never have embarrassed you in front of someone else over a private matter.
When your cousin finally left, promising to call soon with a smile that foretold family interrogations, you released the breath you had been holding.
The walk back to Jujutsu High was carefully administered torture.
Nanami did not ignore you. It might have been easier if he had.
He answered when you spoke, held doors open for you, and took the bag from your hand when you tried to open a drink while walking. Everything remained within the boundaries of his usual behavior, but the discreet touch at your back was gone. So was the closeness that had slipped into both your routines over the past month until it felt natural.
He had not stopped taking care of you.
He had simply withdrawn the parts that belonged only to you.
Once you returned, you both went back to work. You tried to concentrate on a report, but the same two lines blurred in front of you as you reconstructed the scene and rehearsed explanations that sounded worse each time.
You were not ashamed of him.
The idea was absurd. Nanami was the sort of man whose presence made you want to brag about something as insignificant as the way he held a cup.
You were only terrified that something private would cease to belong to you the moment it entered the insatiable machinery of your family. Once your mother knew, the questions would begin. Then the aunts. Soon, someone would want to know how long you had been together, who had made the first move, and whether Nanami’s intentions were serious.
Knowing him, he would probably have a detailed answer prepared for every point.
Even so, you understood why the word had hurt him.
He had approached the relationship with the same seriousness he brought to everything he chose. He had not courted you for entertainment or kissed you on impulse. He had decided to be with you, and in Kento Nanami’s world, a decision like that carried weight.
Hours later, you left the records room with a folder pressed against your chest. At the end of the corridor, you found Nanami waiting for you.
Afternoon light entered through the windows at an angle. His tie was still slightly loose, a minor detail that somehow looked indecently intimate on him.
When he saw you, he stopped.
He did not say your name or gesture for you to come closer, but you knew he was there for you.
You approached more slowly than necessary.
Nanami took the folder from your hands. He straightened a page that protruded from the edge, then placed it neatly on the windowsill.
Only then did he look at you again.
He did not corner you. He simply shortened the distance between you until your body decided, without consulting you, to retreat. Your back met the wall.
Nanami stopped in front of you. He placed one hand beside your head, leaving more than enough room for you to step away.
“Now,” he said. “Explain why you decided I was your friend.”
The formality of the question made your gaze fall to his tie. Looking him in the eyes had become too difficult.
“I didn’t decide anything. I panicked.”
“It sounded like a fairly definite answer.”
“My cousin is the biggest gossip in my family. The second I told her the truth, she would have called everyone. My mother would start asking questions, my aunts would investigate your entire life, and someone would probably ask when we’re getting married before dinner.”
Nanami remained silent for several seconds.
You could feel his slow breathing, the warmth of his body in front of yours, and the faint, clean scent that always lingered on your pillows after he left.
When you finally looked up, his expression had not completely softened, but there was understanding in his eyes.
“You could have said it was private.”
“You could have given her any answer that did not deliberately deny our relationship.”
The precision of the sentence made you flinch.
“That is exactly what you did.”
He did not raise his voice. Nanami rarely needed to.
The certainty behind each word was enough to prevent you from hiding behind a quick explanation.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I truly am. I’m not ashamed of you. I only wanted to avoid the drama.”
His eyes moved slowly over your face.
“But you’re still upset.”
“You have every right to be. I decided for both of us that hiding it would be easier, and I didn’t even stop to think about how that would make you feel. It was wrong.”
Something shifted in his expression. It was not quite softness, but the tension around his mouth eased.
“Thank you for acknowledging it.”
“I also don’t want you to think I’m hiding you because you aren’t important to me.”
“It seemed like you did.”
Nanami tilted his head slightly.
“I know that I matter to you,” he said. “What I questioned was whether this relationship carried the same weight for you that it does for me.”
The words hurt more than any accusation could have.
His gaze lowered for a moment. Briefly, the composure he wore so naturally gave way to something quieter.
“When you called me your friend,” he continued, “I wondered whether I had taken us more seriously than you had.”
His free hand rose to your face. He held your chin between his fingers, firmly but without roughness, guiding your eyes back to his.
“A friend?” he repeated, as though he were still assessing the severity of the offense. “How convenient.”
His thumb brushed the edge of your lower lip.
“Do you allow all your friends to kiss you?”
Heat rushed into your cheeks.
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
His mouth lowered to yours before you could answer.
It was not an impulsive kiss or a disorderly outburst that contradicted everything he was. Nanami kissed the way he made decisions: with absolute intention.
At first, it was slow and deep, as though he meant to erase the word you had used in the store and replace it with a truth your body could not misunderstand.
His hand left your chin and slid behind your neck. When your fingers closed around the lapels of his jacket, a short breath escaped against your mouth, the only indication that his control was not as perfect as he wanted you to believe.
His other hand settled at your waist and pulled you closer, drawing a muffled sound from your throat.
Nanami stopped immediately.
His breathing had grown heavier, though his expression retained the quiet severity that dismantled you more efficiently than any smile.
He did not kiss you again immediately.
He watched you for another second, as though ensuring that you understood desire had not erased the conversation you had just had.
Then he kissed you again.
This time, without his earlier patience.
His fingers tightened at your waist as his mouth moved to the place beneath your jaw where your pulse had begun to race. The corridor was empty, but the distant possibility that someone might appear made the silence feel alive.
You tried to move closer, but Nanami held you where he wanted you, controlling each touch with maddening restraint.
His lips were parted, his hair slightly disordered, and there was a dark intensity in his eyes that would have seemed incompatible with his usual appearance to anyone who did not truly know him.
You knew it had always been there.
Nanami felt too much to permit himself to express all of it.
“I want to make something clear,” he said.
As he spoke, he adjusted the collar of your blouse with his thumb, an absurdly careful gesture after leaving you breathless.
“I understand that you may not be ready to tell your family about our relationship. I will not challenge that decision.”
You nodded, but he had not finished.
“I can respect your desire to keep this private. What I cannot accept is being denied in order to preserve that privacy.”
Shame tightened around your chest again.
“If someone asks and you do not wish to answer, tell them it is private. If you need me to intervene, I will. If you want to leave, we will leave.”
His hand tightened slightly around your waist.
“But I do not want to hear that I am your friend after you have spent the night in my bed.”
The last sentence went through you in a devastating mixture of embarrassment and heat.
Nanami inclined his head.
“You don’t sound entirely convinced.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth.
Before he could lean closer again, you tugged gently on his tie.
“And I want to make something clear to you,” you said.
One of his eyebrows rose.
“I’m not ashamed that you’re my partner. I’m ashamed that my family could turn a one-month relationship into a massive wedding before we’ve even decided what we’re having for dinner tomorrow.”
“And next time, I won’t deny you.”
Nanami studied you in silence.
“I’ll tell them you’re my boyfriend, and then we’ll run before the questions begin.”
You kissed him before he could answer.
It was brief, but deliberate. An apology and a declaration compressed into the same gesture.
When you pulled away, Nanami remained still for a moment. Then he held the back of your neck and returned the kiss with enough intensity to make you forget that you were still standing in a corridor at Jujutsu High.
He separated from you with almost offensive discipline.
He adjusted his tie and smoothed the lapels you had wrinkled, recovering within seconds the impeccable appearance of a sorcerer who never allowed emotions to interfere with working hours.
Only the faint color of his lips and the way he avoided looking at you while retrieving the folder from the windowsill betrayed what had happened.
When he handed it back, his fingers remained over yours for a moment longer.
“Are you still upset?” you asked
“And what would I have to do to make it go away?”
Nanami checked his watch, though both of you knew he already knew the time.
Heat rose into your face again.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
At last, he looked directly at you. His expression remained serious, but as he passed, his hand brushed your waist with unmistakable intention.
“I believe the answer is quite obvious, girlfriend.”
