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lost in waves

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These wonderful illustrations will single-handedly power my own workout lol.

Gotta get those gains in if you wanna kill sorcerers 💪🏼

Wanna see more versions (including NSFW? 👀) Check out my 🔞Patreon🔞

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LMAO, our brethren, our people... This is all TOO relatable! 😂

"IT WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE A ONESHOT!!!" i scream, desperately clawing at the floor, as the fic drags me back into The Depths to continue writing against my will for the rest of eternity

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🐅 ✌️ [charity commission]

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This is such a nice, cute read. Thanks for sharing, OP! 🩵

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

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I found your sinewy symphony fanfic through a recommendation and I absolutely loved it! I spent the weekend raiding your masterlist for your other Nanami fanfics because they are all so good ! The way you portray him is always so deep and accurate!

Hello, Anon! Thank you for your note, I appreciate it so much! I'm so glad that you enjoyed Sinewy Symphony so much that you sought out my other writings; that truly warms my heart. I'm thrilled that you enjoy my takes on Nanami, I always say that the way I characterize him is exactly how he exists in my mind lol. Thanks again!! 🩵

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It's the way I will be gobbling this up. Are you kidding me??

You were his partner once. His equal in battle. The person who knew Nanami Kento before the cracks spread too far. And while you remained with Jujutsu High, you’ve never stopped watching the smoke on the horizon, knowing he’s there. Somewhere between grief and conviction. Somewhere between justice and vengeance.

As Nanami’s quiet war against the old world escalates, you’re caught in the growing storm: torn between loyalty and empathy while duty and love tear through you. He doesn’t ask you to follow him.

But he doesn’t need to.

Because every time he looks at you, you feel the weight of the same question he’s already answered:

What do you owe a system that never protected you?

Content warnings (will be updated as the story progresses):

Canon-typical violence, Psychological themes, Moral ambiguity / Ethical conflict, Ideological manipulation, Character death (past & referenced), Emotional manipulation (subtle), Mentions of trauma and grief, Betrayal, Bittersweet romance, Slow descent into villainy

prologue

i. ii. iii. iv. v.

vi. vii. viii. ix. x.

coming soon

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"This one won't go over 10k, trust" I said not even 9 hours ago.

once I post these two fics I will retire my blog title in favor of something that is a bit less on the nose because at this point I might be a victim of self-inflicted nominative determinism

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Title: Temperature Check Pairing: Nanami x f!reader CW: suggestive themes Summary: Ten months into matrimony, a domestic dilemma doubles as a temperature check between you and Kento. WC: 5.9k

If the distinctive thud of a book closing shut followed by the familiar sound of its cover dragging over the wooden grain of the nightstand isn’t clear enough an indicator, then the dip and sway of the mattress under a shifting weight along with the faint rustle of sheets punctuated by the distinctive click from the bedside light switch all but confirms to you that Kento has decidedly started the short nightly routine you’ve often witnessed him execute.

Another shift, and you sense his approach even as you keep your eyes shut, anticipating what you know is to come. The carefully rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, accompanied by your deep, steady breaths, conceals your state of alert wakefulness as you lie motionless, pretending to be fast asleep next to the man you once believed held no secrets from you.

Sure enough, you feel Kento’s warm breath fan across your cheek for a second before his lips brush against your forehead. He brings his fingers to gently trace the side of your temple and tucks a loose strand of hair securely back under your silk bonnet. And when you hear the hushed, heartfelt goodnight he whispers to your still form, your heart flutters like a candle flame flickers in a gentle draft.

You almost feel remorseful for taking away from the tenderness of the moment.

For having schemed your little sting operation.

For the briefest of moments, you find yourself having to resist the restlessness brought on by a sudden sentiment of guilt and of doubt at the prospect that somehow, your suspicions might have been unfounded, that somehow, you might have made a grave miscalculation.

But it’s not long until you sense Kento enact it, just as he has last night, and the one before that—the short sequence of actions that sees him flipping himself over to face away from you, settling on his side before discreetly unlocking his phone.

Nanami doesn’t know that his attempts at concealing his sneaky little habit are as apparent as they are fruitless.

He doesn’t realize that your eyes are now wide open, rendering pointless his effort to dim the screen’s brightness as soon as it lights up.

He’s oblivious to the fact that minimizing his device’s luminosity by strategically angling his screen downwards doesn’t make its glow any less conspicuous, that if anything, it only makes this betrayal more striking, like a bright beacon of light in the darkness of duplicity.

You tilt your head upwards and the air crinkles with anticipation as you wait for the signal, eyes trained up towards the juncture where the wall and ceiling meet, right where you expect the visual confirmation that forms the basis of the hypothesis over which you’ve been toiling for the past three days.

As expected, after a short moment, your eyes find what they’re searching for.

Did it really have to come to this?

Tonight, you’re fully intent on turning this rhetorical question into a candid conversation.

To this end, you slowly get into position, your arm lifting haltingly, inconspicuously hovering up in the air as you move your hand closer towards his shoulder. Your leg lags a few inches behind, Kento’s hip is its destination, and you trace a trajectory parallel to your arm, doubling down on vigilance as you inch closer with each shift towards him lest you alert him to your presence in his peripheral vision.

Your suspended arm tremors at the self-inflicted tension posed by the imminent activation of your plan, and your pulse races ahead of the moment of revelation.

You set out on a mental countdown.

Three.

Two.

This is a little ridiculous, comes the more rational voice of reason, cutting through the tense silence of your mind to whisper its final plea.

One.

You pull onto Kento’s shoulder with your right hand, and you shift your weight to your hips, swinging your leg over his waist, forcing him down from his side onto his back and hoisting yourself up to settle astride him.

“What the—”

You never register whether he completes that thought, your attention having since focused on the dexterous switch of your hands, the one that pulled onto his shoulder now firmly gripping his phone and you yank it out of his grasp and into the air as you lift it high above your head, your eyes following the screen, and even amidst the slight dizziness induced by your sudden and jarring movements, you confirm what you’ve known for a couple of days now.

You lower your gaze, the incriminating phone screen showering you both with the only source of light in the dark room, illuminating just enough of Nanami for you to distinguish his raised eyebrows, his surprised look, and his mouth slightly agape.

“Caught you,” you say, slightly breathless—half vindicated, half vexed.

While the silent strife that has directly led to tonight’s tussle traces its origins to three days ago, it is merely the latest iteration of a long-standing conflict whose inception point dates back nearly two months prior.

But it’s not like things have always been this dire.

For so long, it’s been smooth sailing between you and Kento.

You function like a well-oiled machine, complementary, in tandem: if he cooks, then you clean; you run point on design for home decor, he’s practicality; he showers right after his morning workout, and you shower in the evening before bed.

When you do have the rare disagreement, the occasional squabble that inevitably punctuates any couples living together, you address it head on, together, opposing yourselves to the problem rather than to one another and rarely retreating from it before you’ve hit either a point of resolution, or a most steadfast promise of hitting one at the soonest.

Only a little over ten months into matrimony, you’re convinced you’ve heard it all. The jokes about the looming end of the proverbial honeymoon period, the warnings against the frustrations, the unassuming frictions concomitant with sharing a living space with a partner for the first time.

Some of these comments reflect a myopic perspective of what’s often seen as a whirlwind romance by outsiders: a relatively short courtship, an even shorter engagement, a quick decision to elope. After all, not everyone was privy to the underside of the iceberg of your union, to the multi-year period of close friendship that often crossed into something entirely more as you slowly circled each other, to the accumulation of small moments that have facilitated your mutual understanding, the one that explained how it is that you’re both so attuned with one another, with what you wanted, that testified to the extraordinary way in which you complement one another.

So you don’t attribute any malice to those who repeat what you find to be platitudinal but harmless cliches, which are, in all fairness, grounded in some form of typical reality. You know that yours and Kento’s is an atypical alignment, a seamless synergy that has swiftly settled between the two of you, a phenomenon that you even find difficult to articulate into words yourself. You’re understanding, even sympathetic to those who struggle to comprehend the idea that most of these trivial, commonplace issues rarely show up as points of contention in your relationship.

Perhaps it is with this steady footing of assurance that you march over the cliff of hubris.

The irony is not lost on you that it is the scorching sun along with its sweltering heat that, in some twisted way, ends up burning holes through the veneer of your assumed immunity.

“The weather forecast is looking quite hot this weekend,” Nanami says one day, midway through the final week of June, as he emerges into the kitchen area of your shared home for a cup of tea. He finds you at the dining table, typing away at your laptop on one of the delightfully fortunate days during which you both work from home. “I’ll dust the A/C vent this evening in preparation.”

“Finally, we get to put this thing to use and see what it’s made of,” you reply, briefly peering up at the unit hanging on the living room wall. “Then it should undeniably feel like summer!”

Your apartment’s A/C is powered by a cooling system central to the building, comprising sleek and compact rectangular wall-mounted diffusers in each of the large rooms that blend neatly into the upper wall, each adjustable via a remote. Given that it was already well into the fall season when you moved into your residence together less than a year ago, you’ve still yet to have an opportunity to use the A/C.

You sense Kento pause for a brief moment before speaking again. “Make sure you stay hydrated. I know you tend to… forget when you get engrossed in your work.”

As though on cue, a work notification flits across your screen, pulling your attention towards an email announcing yet another change order from that one insufferable stakeholder.

“Will do,” comes your distracted response, as you hastily take to typing your reply.

Nanami sets down the mug he’s been holding and crosses his arms pointedly, patiently waiting for you to return your attention to him. You’re more than halfway through your message, the words blurring as you’re finally drawn to meet his gaze and you watch his eyebrows slowly rise in question.

“Hydration. Water. Got it. I appreciate your concern for me, Kento. I promise you I’ll be fine,” you say with a reassuring smile.

He lets out a low, doubtful hum, the sound barely audible above the gentle whirring of his electric kettle as the water reaches its boil.

“Besides, if I do faint this time around, at least it will be in the luxury of a sophisticated A/C, right?” you add, playfully wielding your words like the weapons you know them to be as you make a reference to a short dehydration-induced malaise you’d had in Kento’s presence a couple of years prior and has since made your man punctually paranoid around times of high heat.

A drained sigh escapes his lips. “I know who to blame for the greys I’ve been increasingly finding in my hair lately,” he says as you snicker, and he walks off, retreating to his office with his midday fix of sencha.

Sure enough, Saturday arrives with the sun beating down the city with sweltering heat and with record-high temperatures setting in before the clock even reaches noon. It is a matinal, domestic tranquility that you and Kento both enjoy together this morning, inside the cool and quiet refuge of your home.

As Nanami puts the finishing touches on his massive endeavor of reorganizing his book collection, the spines of his volumes now nearly all neatly aligned on the new shelf he’s recently bought as an upgrade, you’re in the adjacent bathroom, engaged in the meticulous task of putting your hair into braids for tonight’s braid out.

“Phew. Thank goodness for A/C on a day like this, right?” you call out to Nanami. “Could we turn it down by a tiny bit?”

“Turn it up, you mean?” His voice sounds slightly distant to you through the thick, muffling walls.

“No, I mean down,” you say, a bit louder. “As in, cooler?” you add for clarity.

To this, he offers no response, and you assume that he’s acquiesced, until a short moment later, when he shows up in the bathroom doorway, A/C remote in hand, with an incredulous expression that hints at his struggle in making sense of what you’ve just said.

You turn towards him, returning his look with what you can only imagine being a confused one of your own.

“I just want to confirm this: you are joking, right?” Kento finally says, expectantly.

“Uh, I’m not?” you slowly reply, mirroring his incredulous tone as you process the significance of his words before pausing halfway through a braid. “Wait, wait, wait, you honestly don’t find it to be hot?”

“Outdoors, sure. It is practically frigid in here now.”

“What? Come on now, it is so not.”

A long, unwavering gaze passes between you before it dawns on you that you are both dead serious.

“No, you can’t possibly find it to be hot, love?” he asks, his tone now earnest.

“Well, it’s definitely not nearly comfortable yet.”

Kento presses a button on the A/C’s remote, examining it for a loaded moment. 

“We didn’t seem to have this problem in the winter…” he says quietly, almost solemnly.

“How do you mean?” You turn towards him, leaning your hip against the bathroom counter, before adding, “What problem?”

Kento leans a shoulder against the doorway, practically mirroring your stance. “Well, in the winter months, you were perfectly fine with this temperature. You often even set the heater at temperatures that were much higher than this,” he says, supporting his point by lifting up the remote to show you the small LED screen displaying the current ambient temperature.

You squint at the screen to make out the temperature. “Maybe so… But that’s different,” you say, meekly.

“Different?” he asks with a light scoff. “How so?” It’s his turn to grill you.

“In the colder months, you want it warmer than usual, and in the summer, colder than…” you trail off, realizing only now, after having spoken the words out loud, that your sincerity doesn’t make your logic any less flawed.

You can almost see the wheels turning in his mind, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and when his response finally comes after a pause, it is slowly and deliberately drawn out.

“So… your comfortable temperature somehow… varies… depending on the temperature outside?”

“No, that’s not what I’m… Look, it’s just different, okay?” You turn back towards the bathroom mirror, your attempt to evade his pointed scrutiny is foiled almost immediately as Kento locks eyes with you through the mirror’s reflection. “Please, let’s just turn it down for a bit, and we’ll turn it back up again in a few minutes. These are exceptional circumstances!”

Kento’s lips are parted as if caught mid-thought, his brows still drawn together in a slight arch. You detect it instantly, a subtle yet undeniable restraint, a self-imposed suppression of witty words on the tip of his tongue, drawing your attention.

“Oh, just spill it already,” you say, as you apply a dab of Chebe oil to the ends of the section you’ve just braided.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just… We survived the winter fine, so…” Kento trails off, as though hesitating to complete his idea.

“So…?”

“So, I thought us to be above turning into those thermostat couples,” he says with an air of wistfulness.

“Thermostat coup—did you just make that term up?”

“We were doing so well,” he continues, the hints of the mirthful smile that tug at the corners of his mouth accompany his discernibly mordant tone. “We had a couple’s handshake and everything. All quite a shame.”

“What are you insinuating by ‘had’ a handshake? We still do! You cannot conceivably be this dramatic, Kento!” you exclaim, as indignantly as your amused chuckles allow you to sound. “We are in a heatwave!”

He still holds an air of disbelief when he finally relents, and you watch him begrudgingly point the remote towards the closest vent and bring the temperature down with a few successive presses.

“I’ll indulge you this once,” he rebuts, equally unable to conceal his own amusement.

A mere few weeks later, during the season’s second heatwave, Nanami makes a liar out of himself.

It is mid-July by the time this one hits—intense, the kind to break historical records, the kind that definitely warrants the use of the A/C.

By the second day of this hot spell, you and your husband find yourselves having a conversation that rhymes with the one you had a few weeks prior; he maintains that it is entirely too cold and you believe that it’s not nearly cool enough.

This time around, however, the debate doesn’t stretch long. After a few minutes of banter, Kento raises his hands in mock surrender and walks off, and you think you’ve heard the end of it for now.

You can’t tell when it is exactly that the idea strikes him.

All you know is that on that very evening, when you join him in the living room equipped with a bowl of popcorn to watch your weekly show together, you find Kento already seated on the couch, wearing thick white socks.

“Hey, so…” you murmur, perplexed words hanging unfinished in the air.

“Hmm?” A noncommittal hum escapes his lips, his eyes remaining fixed on the screen as he queues up the episode you’ve left off on.

You wait until Kento eventually meets your gaze, and you throw a pointed glance towards his feet.

“My extremities get cold sometimes.” The subtle, teasing tinge in his otherwise even tone does not escape you.

“But socks indoors in July? Seems a tad bit excessive,” you say as you slowly take your seat next to him.

“I assure you it is not,” he says, nonchalantly taking a piece of popcorn between his index and thumb and tossing it into his mouth with a dexterous flick of his wrist. “Judging by this thumbnail, it looks like we’re in for a gripping episode,” he adds, a playful glint in his eyes betraying his casual tone as he steals a fleeting glance at you.

You roll your eyes as you snuggly fit the bowl between the two of you, shaking your head as you think you’ve married the pettiest man on earth.

Pettiness doesn’t even begin to cover what he pulls the next evening.

You’re already in bed, scrolling away on your phone, just about ready to tuck in for the night, when you spot Kento approaching in your peripheral vision. It’s only his bedside lamp illuminating the room, so your first glance does not initially register what your eyes see. Your gaze snaps back, a sharp, surprised inhale catching in your throat, and you do a double-take at the sight of him wearing what you now recognize to be the shimmering fabric of one of his light jackets in the dim light.

“Alright, if you won’t draw the line, then I will. You are not wearing that to bed.” You scoff in utter disbelief as you lift a foot in a playful yet threatening mock kick towards him to block him from settling in. 

Kento grabs your foot, gently tickling it where he knows you to be sensitive, and the dam breaks: the effects derived from the absurdity of the moment combined with the light, tingling flutter against the arch of your foot, set you into a fit of giggles. Nanami’s mellow laughter joins yours as you squirm and make an attempt to free yourself from his grasp.

After a moment, he relents, gently folding your leg back onto the mattress.

“No, you’re right, love, I’m exaggerating,” he says as he slowly unzips his jacket.

You reach for the A/C remote to increase the temperature, a concession you’re willing to make given that it doesn’t feel as hot as the day prior. “I was just getting drowsy, but now you’ve managed to get me worked up and—”

You cut yourself off as you turn your head just in time to catch Kento shrugging off his jacket from his shoulders, only to reveal a thick sweater polo underneath.

“You can’t be serious right now,” you say.

“This one I’m keeping on,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“This is wild… I’m just about to turn the temp up, but here you go again, acting like we’re in the arctic!”

“It is cold in here, and I’m dressing in consequence,” Kento says, as he slides himself under the covers, indicating that he was fully committing to this. “Now, don’t give me that look, Ms. Ice Queen,” he adds, and you recognize that whatever expression he reads on your face is what fuels the amusement you see dancing in his eyes before he flicks off his light, plunging you both into complete darkness.

“My goodness. I’m literally turning it up, right now,” you emphasize your words with the clicks you give to the remote as you relinquish a few more cooling degrees in another conceding gesture.

“Certainly don’t do it on my account. I’m perfectly fine like this,” he mumbles into the back of your neck. If it’s a playful snark that undercurrents his words, it is in great contrast to his actions as he snuggles closer to you and absentmindedly caresses your arm.

The heatwave finally breaks in a wave of refreshing coolness, and what has thus far remained a playful tension of differing preferences fades away with the heat.

All stays well until the next crisis, beginning two days ago Friday night, or really, the early hours of Saturday morning.

You’ve spent the evening gaming with your friends, way past your usual bedtime, let alone anything that could possibly pass for Kento’s, even for a weekend night. By the time you’re ready to join him, you find him in deep slumber, having long lost his battle against somnolence. You know that it’s not for a lack of trying, judging by his glasses being worn, and his book still open on his lap. Light sleeper that he is, he stirs almost as soon as he feels the bed rustle under your weight as you gently close his book and lean over to place it on his bedside table before kneeling next to him to pull off his glasses, just as you’ve done countless times before.

And like countless times before, Nanami lets you.

Just as you lean in to adjust his pillow, his eyelids flutter open, and he blinks at you, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“How was game night?” he mumbles groggily.

“We might have gotten carried away,” you say sheepishly. “You know how it is, don’t want to end on a loss and the next thing you know…”

Nanami chuckles in response, bringing a hand up to your cheek. “Will you wake up on time to go to that new brunch place, or should we postpone?”

“I’ve set my alarm. It might be a rough wake-up, but for brunch with you, you know I’ll gladly take the hit.”

“Hmm,” comes his unconvinced reply.

You lay down and give it some thought, before continuing, “But please, will you wake me up in the event I sleep through it?”

“Now I will,” he says with another light chuckle.

Minutes after your whispered goodnights, you begin to regret your unwise decision of remaining so damn invested in the stimulating activity constituting a FPS video game this late into the night. Despite the time it took for you to shower and to enact your nighttime routine, you find yourself still wired with adrenaline, the lingering effect of the evening’s shenanigans still keeping you up. You don’t know how long you stay awake, lying on your side, your body still, but your mind agitated, staring into the darkness ahead of you.

All you know is that after a while, Kento peels away from you and slowly turns around. You figure he’s just shifting into a more comfortable position.

A few seconds thereafter, the distinctive luminosity from his phone bounces against the wooden bed frame above your head before he brings down the brightness, reducing it to the faintest glow. This too, you don’t put much thought into, you think that he might be ensuring that his own alarm is set.

But then you see it, your eyes drawn towards a small movement you catch in your peripheral vision. Bright blue numbers on the A/C unit flashing the set temperature. Silently, it goes up by one. By two. By a few more degrees before the display flickers off.

You can’t tell for sure, but you think that Kento stays on his phone for a little while longer, after which you hear him replace it back on the dock on his nightstand.

You sense him turning back towards you, slowly finding his spot snuggled behind you, snaking his arm back around you as if he’s never left your side.

It doesn’t take long before his breathing regularizes, before his light snoring fills the otherwise charged silence.

You haven’t moved throughout any of this, and you still don’t do it now. For all intents and purposes, you haven’t seen a damn thing.

You fall asleep, eventually. 

When morning comes, and Kento acts as normal as ever, you set a mental plan in motion and decide to test a theory later this evening.

You wait until you’re getting ready for bed. You’ve just returned from an evening out together and you therefore have the luxury of being synced and of going to bed at nearly the same time. When you approach him, Kento’s already in bed, well into the chapter he’s set on reading tonight.

“Don’t hate me for this,” you trail off, as you grab the A/C remote from his side of the bed, “but I really feel like I need to crank it down a bit.”

“Shocker,” he deadpans, but the affectionate mirth in his eyes betrays his snark, and speaks to the more benevolent, docile stance he’s appeared to have taken lately in the face of your differences in thermal preferences. 

Up until last night’s discovery, you would have attributed this softened, more assenting attitude to the theory that perhaps Kento was finally beginning to feel the full extent of these intensely hot temperatures, just as you did. That you were both finally getting aligned on this. But now? You find yourself inclined to question many things you think you know about him.

“Mind if I hang on to this?” you ask, holding up the remote. “That way I can adjust back in a bit?”

“Of course,” he replies without lifting his eyes from his novel, clearly engrossed in its story.

You lower the temperature a few degrees before placing the remote down on your nightstand, sliding into the covers, kissing your man goodnight, and turning your side of the light off. Tonight, you also slip on your sleeping mask, leaving enough of a gap at the bottom to allow you to take quick, inconspicuous peeks.

As expected on any of the rare occasions you manage to tuck in before him, Nanami doesn’t wait long before following suit. Through the gap of your mask, your eyes remain fixed on the A/C display until you feel him suddenly shift closer and over you.You shut them quickly and keep them closed as you sense Kento peering down at you, a move you now understand carries the motive of ensuring that you’re asleep. You keep your breathing deep and steady, and you assume that you must have convinced him because, after a moment, he finally pulls away to turn his light off.

You wait for a solid minute or two before slightly peeling your eyes open just in time to watch the digital thermostat decrease by a few degrees before flashing once and returning to standby, just like it did the night prior.

What a sneak, you think to yourself.

There is one more data point you want to collect before you can finalize your hypothesis. It requires you to wait until the morning.

When you next slip off your mask, the early sun rays filtering through your window warm your face, and the sound of the running shower confirms that Kento is already up and occupied. You reach for the remote to activate the A/C display.

A chuckle escapes you as your suspicions are confirmed once more: the thermostat has been reverted to the temperature you’d last set it to last night.

Now you know for sure. Alright, Nanami Kento, you sneaky man, you think to yourself, it is so going down tonight.

Such is how you find yourself here and now, with the beginnings of a dull ache creeping down into your shoulder, your extended arm heavy, tingling like pins and needles from holding Kento’s phone up for too long.

“I caught you,” you repeat, breaking the tense silence that has settled between you, “red-handed, might I add.”

After a brief pause, Nanami leans his arm over and flicks his table light on. When his gaze returns to yours, it holds an air of cockiness.

“You caught me doing what, exactly?”

“Don’t do this,” you say, as you finally lower your arm, cautiously clutching the phone in your hand in case he decides to take it from you.

It only occurs to you now that he hadn’t moved to try to stop you at all.

You glance down at the screen and find exactly what you’d expect. A simple interface, a dashboard of some sort, settings surrounding a large circle in the middle, with the temperature displayed.

“I wondered how you were doing it, seeing as the remote was usually by me. I thought maybe it was a pre-programmed setting or something. But of course, it’s just yet another phone app doubling as a remote.” You lift your gaze from the phone to meet his before continuing, “so you wait until I’m asleep, or at least until you think I am, and you increase the temperature. Which is clever except—“

You cut off as you discern it, both evident and seemingly uncontrollable: the full-on grin that begins to spread across Kento’s lips.

You narrow your eyes, quickly trying to figure out why the reaction you’re getting out of him is leagues off from the one you’ve anticipated.

You give his chest a poke. “What’s so funny?”

“Well, for starters, you’re about to make my point for me,” he states.

“Your point?” You shake your head, as though the motion could help you stay on topic. “How long have you been pulling this?”

He just watches you, his eyes glistening with mischief, his voice low, conspiratorial as he inches his face up closer to yours.

“How long do you think?”

“Well, definitely since this latest heatwave started, maybe even before that—”

And suddenly, it clicks.

The question you’ve asked now spins in your mind. How long had he done this? Changing the temperature without you knowing, only to change it back before you woke up. Until this moment, you’ve only assumed that this has been going on for a couple of days. But perhaps it had been longer? In fact, there’s a non-zero chance that he’s routinely done this, and that he didn’t only do this at night.

Your mind flits into your catalogue of memories, back to that one occasion when you’d conceded that the A/C was too cold, when you’d moved to reach for the remote to increase the temperature, and he’d quite literally jumped at the opportunity of turning it up. In the moment, you’d ascribed his eagerness to a sentiment of respite.

Could it be that Kento was, for this entire time, working to conceal that the temperature had already been adjusted to something higher than you’d anticipated?

Could it be that you were the unsuspecting victim of one long placebo-like experiment at the hands of your own husband?

Could it be that he anticipated, or even planned on being caught? That the schemer had long been out-schemed?

“You can admit it, you know,” Nanami’s voice pierces through your contemplation, through the silence of your realization, “that you were a little less than reasonable, that the temperature you want is unnecessarily too cold.”

Nanami shuts off the light for emphasis.

“Say it now, here in the dark. It will be our little secret,” he says, bringing his fingers to the frilly bows that adorn both sides of your PJ shorts, fidgeting with them like he often likes to do. “Tell me that I’m right and that I have been since the end of June.”

“Alright, now I know you’re lying. It can’t possibly have been that long—”

“Since June 28th. The app has historical data. Feel free to check it for yourself, my dear.”

You bring up the phone you forgot you’re still holding, and the few scrolls back into the app’s calendar and through the entirety of the average temperatures that flit through the phone's screen, are sufficient for you to understand that Nanami is very much not bluffing.

“And to think you only noticed when, two? Three days ago?” he says, settling his palms flat onto either side of your hips and giving them a light squeeze.

You can feel the dynamic flipping, even sitting astride him, looking down on his shadowy face in the dark. 

Kento’s gained the upper hand.

“Oh, so you knew that I was onto you?” you ask.

“You were not exactly subtle about it.”

You feel his fingers gently trace up your leg and settle on the bow adorning your short.

“So why don’t you just concede, my love?”

Somehow, this cannot be. Somehow, you just won’t allow yourself to lose.

Time to switch tactics.

“So you did all this… You think I was lying about being sensitive to the hot weather...” It's your move to play to Kento’s conscience, to wring a few words of culpability for you to latch on to.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“How can you possibly know, then, that I didn’t have trouble sleeping thanks to your little gambit?”

“I know you didn’t, and you know you didn’t. Besides, the temperature was adjusted very incrementally over time.”

“I like how you’re using passive terms as though you aren’t the architect of all this scheming. And I think you’ve made a monumental error admitting to all this, by the way,” you say, fully aware that you are grasping at straws. “What if I need to know that it’s at 20 in order to sleep? What if it’s too hot and I’m unable to sleep tonight? What if I have trouble sleeping and I’m late to work tomorrow, and—”

In one swift movement, Nanami flips you both over.

“Let’s play a game then,” he whispers, his tone taking a darker tenor.

He lightly bites down on the bow adorning your shorts and slowly drags them down your legs, before speaking again.

“Give me a few minutes, and if you’re still hot and awake when I’m done with you, you win, and you can set the temperature for the rest of the summer.”

He pulls the rest of your shorts off and returns above you, tracing his finger under your chin before grabbing it.

“But if,” he leans down once more, sliding his fingers under your underwear and pulling them down, “no… When I inevitably do manage to put you to sleep, you lose, I get carte blanche, and you’ll have to grant me your admission when you wake in the morning, in the cold light of day.”

He approaches you again, running both hands up your inner legs, settling on your thighs. You try not to writhe in anticipation of his touch.

You’re pretty hot now, but this heat you welcome.

Nanami pauses, and you feel him peer up at you, feeling his breath, the vibration of his next words against your core.

“You can still just admit that I’m right, and we table all of this.”

“I think I’ll take my chances, Kento,” you say, reaching down and sliding your fingers into his soft hair, bringing his head closer to his intended destination, any semblance of your initial confrontation long since tossed out the window.

“Of course you will,” comes his response before he all but disappears right where you want him.

And suddenly, none of this feels like losing.

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Nature + Fiddler

This month's (June) exclusive sticker club artwork. There are a few slots still open!

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absolute unit incoming

stay in the loop & get more regular updates here!!

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Take the Gambit?

Hes finished!

I'm not sure if I like it or not but I'm just kinda sick of looking at it now.

I'm pretty happy with most of him from the neck down XD

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I love this style!! 🔥

old nanami painting i still love 🪓

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Ducky ran out of cigs after reading this one LMAO. An incredibly well-executed portrait of Caleb, accurately transposing him, along with that little sumn sumn that makes him Caleb, into such an immersive medieval AU. I audibly gasped at the allegory and parallels with the rose garden, like DAMN. I loved it. 🩵

Yours

A knight!Caleb x princess!Reader Medieval AU fic

Summary: Caleb is yours. He’s always been there for you. And he always will be. Pairing: Caleb x Reader WC: 3.1k Content tags: medieval AU, knight!Caleb, princess!Reader, arranged marriage, dark themes

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

Rhythmic steps echo through the halls and towards your door, the soft clinking of armour joining each step. Unmistakably Caleb’s.

Your heart flutters, but your thoughts are elsewhere. After all, you’re slated to meet your betrothed today. A man you’ve only seen a handful of times, but of whom you’ve heard tales filled with gallantry, romance, and heroism. There isn’t a princess in the world who wouldn’t be excited at the prospect.

It’s what you attempt to convince yourself of, the words flitting about your mind like a mantra as you apply the final touches of rouge to your warm cheeks.

Then, two raps at the door. A cadence unmatched by anyone else in this castle.

“Enter,” you call.

Helm tucked under the crook of his arm, dark hair perfectly parted, and a hint of something indescribable in the galaxies of his eyes, he does as you bid, shutting the heavy door behind him.

“Princess,” he greets, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his lips curve. It’s almost enough to make you ignore the tension that permeates his body, seemingly holding him up like a taut string.

Caleb has been yours for as long as you can remember. Things were always simple with him. He knows you, to your depths, as you grew up together. Days and nights spent running around the courtyard and the castle’s labyrinthine halls, sneaking off to the gate town as you pretended to be thieving common children and were chased off by merchants.

Things were simple, until they weren’t.

It was a gradual buildup that reinforced the wall that has always separated you, the wall that you became more conscious of every day the world availed itself to you a little bit more. The wall grew taller, as did he. And then the days of play-fighting were over. You spent more time apart. He trained as a squire first, then as a knight. And you were to learn the ways of politics and royal life, as the heiress to a kingdom.

But the shift that pulled you apart also drew you closer, like an oscillating tide. You noticed things about him. The way his musculature developed as he trained more and more. The way his round face hardened over the years, letting way to a sculpted jaw, edges as sharp as the blade he wielded. The way his eyes, once gentle and filled with wonder, were now hardened and dark, with glimpses of the Caleb you knew slipping through from time to time. The way your heart quickened when he held you by the shoulders, the warmth of his body pressed firmly against yours as he would escort you through the common areas. The way his own touch lingered as he would bid you farewell at the end of the night, firmly planted just beyond the threshold of your chambers.

Caleb is yours because your father has decreed it so. ‘In her service shall you live and die,’ are the words you recall, years ago, at his knighting ceremony. They filled you with dread, but also with some insidious sense of something else. Pride, possessiveness, and other follies you’re still afraid to put to name.

Caleb is yours, but you still purse your lips as he stands before you today, restraining the smile that threatens to pull them into a curve. You still your tongue when the words threaten to pour out; flowery words of admiration you’ve used countless times when confiding to your handmaids, to describe the man you’re going to marry. A prince, hailing from a kingdom in the South. Tall. Handsome. A bright smile that’s all charm. He’s even flashed it at you once or twice. You’ve only ever glimpsed him from a distance, but he’s everything a princess could ever dream of.

Your father made sure to ask you if you were satisfied with the arrangement. You knew his question was nothing but a formality, as the alliance was more political than it was for your happiness. But still, you expressed to him that you couldn’t be happier.

And yet, Caleb’s towering presence stifles that elation today. So you greet him simply as you finish up your embellishments, hoping your face appears as stoic as you’ve attempted to set it.

“Are you ready?” he asks, brow ever so slightly raised.

You sigh. Perhaps a bit too energetic. “I think so.”

He offers his plated arm, and you take it.

Banquets are terribly crowded and noisy things. You’ve never been partial to the tradition, but today, anticipation carries your feet to your seat at the high table, next to your father, with a lightness to your steps despite the uncomfortable heeled shoes you wear. You hurriedly flatten nonexistent creases in your cascading dress, peaches and pinks layered beautifully upon a tulle skirt. Quickly, before the prince arrives.

A heavy presence settles on the seat besides you as you fiddle with the loose curls that frame your face. It must be him!

You steal a demure glance towards the prince, but you quickly realize that it wouldn’t matter if you planted your face two inches away and stared at him. His attention is elsewhere, or he hasn’t noticed you, or…

No, he must simply be distracted by some concern or another. He leans lazily on the table, hunched form turned away from you, and so you clear your throat as inconspicuously as you can while still pulling his attention. Finally, he turns.

Clad in a white surcoat trimmed with the golds of his kingdom, the prince appears just as you’ve always perceived him. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. His hair isn’t as neat as it usually is, the parting confused and dishevelled, greasy ends sticking together. His usually bright eyes are dark and narrowed at you, and the smile that tugs at his lips doesn’t reach them.

Perhaps your nervousness is making you see things, casting an apprehensive filter over your eyes and clouding your perception. Your clammy palms settle on your lap as you scan the hall, almost immediately spotting who you’re looking for.

Caleb stands at the courtyard entrance, the one closest to you, eyes glued to you. A familiar, grounding presence. You ignore his chastising eyes. He’s still there, after all.

You chance a few words, since your betrothed seems to be following his wandering gaze once more.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” you say, voice steadier than you could have hoped, smile beaming.

“Hm?” he replies, mind clearly elsewhere. “Oh, yes.”

He takes a large swig of wine, then stops a servant for seconds before wiping dribbling red droplets from his chin.

“Do you enjoy banquets? I find them…” You try to think of the right words as you sip on your own glass. “…a bit tiresome.”

“Do I enjoy…” he replies, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Your practised smile doesn’t falter as you grip the silk of your dress harder. “There’s drink, there’s women…” he gesticulates towards the scantily clad dancing troupe. One of them blows a kiss at him. “What is there not to enjoy?”

‘All men are the same’, your handmaid Tara and your greatest confidante often told you. You thought her cynical at the time, but you were starting to believe her.

Still, perhaps all you need is common ground. Or to show him you’re pleasant. You let out a diplomatic laugh. Tara also said that men enjoyed when you laughed at their jokes.

“Well, tell me about yourself, about your father’s castle. Is it as big as this one?” you say, leaning in as if he’s the most interesting thing in the world.

The prince scoffs. “It is. And why does the size of my castle matter?”

Your father’s castle, you refrain from correcting. And just like that, you’ve slipped back into the facade you’ve been trained to display since you were young, like a bed of roses hiding prickly thorns.

“Oh, I mean no offense. I’m simply curious, since I’m to live there after all is said and done.”

He hums. “Hm, yes, you are.” It’s as though he forgot. “Well, you’ll have no concern of space. You’ll have adequate quarters to do… whatever it is you like to do. To bear my heir. To meet my needs. And to leave me be when the time comes. I’ll be busy tending to a kingdom, after all is said and done.”

It’s the way he says it, words colored with dispassion and contempt, that sinks your heart to the bottom of your stomach.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Guilt gnaws at you. For being so naive, so stupid, so vapid as to think that you were marrying the man of your dreams, someone who would see you as a person, someone who you would grow old and die with, happy and grey. No, dreams don’t come true, no matter how badly you try to will them into existence.

The prince is disinterested once more, and this time you don’t try to speak to him again. The room begins to spin, frenzied candlelight shimmering against the crowd, excited voices crooning and exclaiming all around you. To your right, your father is occupied in deep conversation with the prince’s father. You shouldn’t interrupt.

As you try to steady your breathing, your eyes are pulled towards the courtyard entrance once more. And there Caleb stands, gaze still fixed on you.

He’s always there.

You walk the dim halls, body flush with Caleb’s. His hold is gentler than usual. His warmth more comforting. You wish you could stay like this forever, but the mere thought sends feelings of shame cascading through your mind. You don’t deserve his kindness, not right now. Perhaps you don’t deserve anyone’s.

Worse even, you know he’s going to ask you how it went. You don’t want to talk about it, but he’ll find a way to make you. Your body tenses, and his hold tightens. After what feels like too short of an instant, you’ve arrived at the threshold of your quarters once more.

But he doesn’t let go. And you don’t move either, instead hanging your head and waiting for the inevitable.

“What happened?” he murmurs into your ear. His soft lips ghost over the skin of your neck, and you bristle slightly.

“Nothing,” you lie pointlessly, staring at your closed door.

He lets out a breathy sigh, part disappointment and part impatience, that compels you to revisit your answer.

“I just… he wasn’t as I imagined.”

Caleb’s arms move to encircle your shoulders from behind, and you’re suddenly taken back to your childhood. Yes, he used to do this whenever you were hurt or sad or crying and didn’t want to face him. “It’s more than that.”

His voice is low and gravelly, as if he’s the one who’s been hurt. The tears you’ve held back all evening threaten to surface, to spill, to undo the facade you’ve worked so hard to build up.

You shouldn’t face him. You don’t deserve to. And yet you do, misty eyes and all. Caleb’s arms relax to let you shift, but he still holds on to you, leather gloves rough against your bare upper back, as though you’ll crumble if he doesn’t. And the look that he returns, concern mixed with a thousand years of hurt, is enough to unfurl your facade.

Tears flowing, you meet his unwavering gaze. I was wrong, you want to say. I’m sorry, you try. It isn’t my fault, but you can’t.

Voice trembling, barely above a whisper, you speak. “I don’t think I want to marry him.”

Then you crumble, hands gripping onto the deep blue cloak at his back, a color you’ve come to resent and hate, because to hell with your duties, and to hell with this marriage, and to hell with your father’s kingdom.

You’ve crumbled, but Caleb’s arms hold you firmly, and so you don’t fall.

Yes, he’s always there to catch you.

The prince is dead.

A terrible accident. Skull cracked open at the bottom of the spiraling staircase of the guest towers, last night, on the fifth day of festivities. Discovered by a poor servant late in the night, still reportedly inconsolable.

Word travels fast, so you hear about it mere hours after it has happened. It is Tara who delivers the news, but she expresses no condolences. Not after what you’ve told her.

Word travels fast, but not as fast as rumours. ‘He must have had too much to drink. He did love his swill, after all. It’s a flaw his father has always tried to keep under wraps. No, he was lovesick; the woman of his dreams was a tavern wench who he was fated to never be with. You saw how he ogled her! So he threw himself down the stairs, unable to keep on living without her. Especially since he was set to marry…’

You’re partial to the drunk theory, if the way he knocked back wine and ale that one night was any indication.

You appear as morose and sullen as you can in the face of all the prying eyes that have suddenly shifted towards you in the past day, but you’ve shed no tears.

You hear Caleb’s distinctive steps approach as you’re slipping your mournful black dress off. It rests crumpled at your feet by the time he raps at the door. Quickly, you grab the first dress you can fish out from the pile of clothing that sits on your bed and slip it over your head. It’s a lounging dress, thinner and lighter than you thought when you wore it, but you pay it no mind. You want to see him.

You practically throw the door open and bid him to enter. You notice how his eyes linger on your form, your soft curves barely obscured by the thin silk that frames them. It makes you happy. It makes you more than happy. It sends heat through your cheeks and ears, and it makes your heart flutter. It shouldn’t, but it does.

It’s still early, so sunlight filters in through the large windows of your chambers, resting on Caleb’s gentle features. He shuts the door as he asks, “How are you holding up?”

He knows the answer, but you still entertain him. “Well, you know. I… I should be upset, right?”

Caleb scrutinizes you, his dark purple eyes seemingly peering right through you. You wrap your arms around yourself and opt to stare at the crest on his chest instead, at the glint of golden sun on silver plate. It’s almost blinding. “Yes, you should be,” he replies matter-of-factly.

It lingers in the air, that which remains unspoken.

Of course, you never wished for the prince to die. You simply wished that you would somehow escape the marriage arrangement. That the alliance would fall through, that your father would find that another kingdom’s favour was worth more or less costly. Not that he would die. You never wished that. Not outright.

And now that he is dead, why should you mourn? What should you mourn? A life of being used by a man who would never love you, because he would not even see you as an individual? Of raising his children, of curbing your disdain for them whenever they reminded you of their father?

“I should be. I’m not.”

Your confession is no surprise to Caleb, or if it is, he doesn’t show it. A sympathetic smile spreads across his face. It’s a joyful sort of compassion, and you smile back with a shrug, slightly puzzled. He knows, of course, how you felt about the departed prince. So why does he look…?

“Come here,” he orders. His tone is gentle yet commanding, just as it used to be when you were younger and he really wanted you to do something. You’re still compelled to follow, after all these years.

Caleb waits until you get close, then wraps his strong arms around your bare shoulders. Your cheek rests on the cool steel of his chest, firm and stalwart. Your arms wrap around his back, and you simply stay there for a while.

For days after meeting the prince, you blamed yourself for the naïveté that drove you to weave tales about who he was. For how he sent butterflies through your stomach each time you’d exchanged polite smiles from across vast halls. For ever feeling attracted to him. It made you sick.

Then your thoughts would wander back to Caleb. How he watched you make eyes at the prince each time without ever making a comment, and you knew he had ample subject matter. How he had every right to call you out on the childlike fantasy you projected on a man you’d never met.

How you didn’t deserve him.

Yet here he is, offering you his arms once more. Instead of disparaging remarks, he breathes a sigh into your hair, head resting on yours.

“You knew him, still,” Caleb remarks. Quiet, but not solemn. Inquisitive. “You don’t feel an ounce of sorrow?”

“Sorrow? Not an ounce,” you reply.

“Good. Yes, that’s good. That’s a relief.”

You pull away slightly to meet his gaze. “A relief? You really don’t need to worry about me so much.”

“I know that. And still, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your eyes narrow, betraying your confusion. “You haven’t hurt me, Caleb. You’ve never…”

You trail. The scent of freshly planted roses wafts from outside, and you suddenly recall weeping in the garden, ten summers ago, on a day as balmy as today. You wept because Caleb had cut down all the roses the gardener had just planted, just for you. Roses had been your favourite flower, after all. But Caleb cut them down all the same, wielding nothing but his training sword, then pulled the remaining roots out one by one.

You wept because even though you’d accidentally cut yourself on the thorns the day before, and you’d cried when it happened, and he’d held you as you cried, you’d never wanted him to rend all the roses out from the soil. To do something so final, so violent. To do something that could never be undone.

You stiffen, and Caleb’s hold on you tightens. Interminable thoughts flood through your racing mind. No, it can’t be. He wouldn’t. He did. I wanted this. I told him. He’s mine. I did this.

I did this.

He lowers his head to gently whisper in your ear, and the ghost of his soft breath lingers on your heated skin. “You didn’t want to marry him. And now you won’t.”

Caleb is yours. He’s always been there for you.

And he always will be.

My medieval brainworm told me: “Yes and, what if you threw Caleb into it?” And so I had to answer and this is what came out. Whew, what a fic to get out of writing block with. Shoutout to these travels that left me with nothing much to do except write during transit. And shoutout to my writer friends I traveled with who did IRL sprints with me so I could get this done!! <3

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my absolute favorite story from the light novels, they were truly leaning into the dynamic duo thing in this one 😂🩵

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Title: Temperature Check Pairing: Nanami x f!reader CW: suggestive themes Summary: Ten months into matrimony, a domestic dilemma doubles as a temperature check between you and Kento. WC: 5.9k

If the distinctive thud of a book closing shut followed by the familiar sound of its cover dragging over the wooden grain of the nightstand isn’t clear enough an indicator, then the dip and sway of the mattress under a shifting weight along with the faint rustle of sheets punctuated by the distinctive click from the bedside light switch all but confirms to you that Kento has decidedly started the short nightly routine you’ve often witnessed him execute.

Another shift, and you sense his approach even as you keep your eyes shut, anticipating what you know is to come. The carefully rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, accompanied by your deep, steady breaths, conceals your state of alert wakefulness as you lie motionless, pretending to be fast asleep next to the man you once believed held no secrets from you.

Sure enough, you feel Kento’s warm breath fan across your cheek for a second before his lips brush against your forehead. He brings his fingers to gently trace the side of your temple and tucks a loose strand of hair securely back under your silk bonnet. And when you hear the hushed, heartfelt goodnight he whispers to your still form, your heart flutters like a candle flame flickers in a gentle draft.

You almost feel remorseful for taking away from the tenderness of the moment.

For having schemed your little sting operation.

For the briefest of moments, you find yourself having to resist the restlessness brought on by a sudden sentiment of guilt and of doubt at the prospect that somehow, your suspicions might have been unfounded, that somehow, you might have made a grave miscalculation.

But it’s not long until you sense Kento enact it, just as he has last night, and the one before that—the short sequence of actions that sees him flipping himself over to face away from you, settling on his side before discreetly unlocking his phone.

Nanami doesn’t know that his attempts at concealing his sneaky little habit are as apparent as they are fruitless.

He doesn’t realize that your eyes are now wide open, rendering pointless his effort to dim the screen’s brightness as soon as it lights up.

He’s oblivious to the fact that minimizing his device’s luminosity by strategically angling his screen downwards doesn’t make its glow any less conspicuous, that if anything, it only makes this betrayal more striking, like a bright beacon of light in the darkness of duplicity.

You tilt your head upwards and the air crinkles with anticipation as you wait for the signal, eyes trained up towards the juncture where the wall and ceiling meet, right where you expect the visual confirmation that forms the basis of the hypothesis over which you’ve been toiling for the past three days.

As expected, after a short moment, your eyes find what they’re searching for.

Did it really have to come to this?

Tonight, you’re fully intent on turning this rhetorical question into a candid conversation.

To this end, you slowly get into position, your arm lifting haltingly, inconspicuously hovering up in the air as you move your hand closer towards his shoulder. Your leg lags a few inches behind, Kento’s hip is its destination, and you trace a trajectory parallel to your arm, doubling down on vigilance as you inch closer with each shift towards him lest you alert him to your presence in his peripheral vision.

Your suspended arm tremors at the self-inflicted tension posed by the imminent activation of your plan, and your pulse races ahead of the moment of revelation.

You set out on a mental countdown.

Three.

Two.

This is a little ridiculous, comes the more rational voice of reason, cutting through the tense silence of your mind to whisper its final plea.

One.

You pull onto Kento’s shoulder with your right hand, and you shift your weight to your hips, swinging your leg over his waist, forcing him down from his side onto his back and hoisting yourself up to settle astride him.

“What the—”

You never register whether he completes that thought, your attention having since focused on the dexterous switch of your hands, the one that pulled onto his shoulder now firmly gripping his phone and you yank it out of his grasp and into the air as you lift it high above your head, your eyes following the screen, and even amidst the slight dizziness induced by your sudden and jarring movements, you confirm what you’ve known for a couple of days now.

You lower your gaze, the incriminating phone screen showering you both with the only source of light in the dark room, illuminating just enough of Nanami for you to distinguish his raised eyebrows, his surprised look, and his mouth slightly agape.

“Caught you,” you say, slightly breathless—half vindicated, half vexed.

While the silent strife that has directly led to tonight’s tussle traces its origins to three days ago, it is merely the latest iteration of a long-standing conflict whose inception point dates back nearly two months prior.

But it’s not like things have always been this dire.

For so long, it’s been smooth sailing between you and Kento.

You function like a well-oiled machine, complementary, in tandem: if he cooks, then you clean; you run point on design for home decor, he’s practicality; he showers right after his morning workout, and you shower in the evening before bed.

When you do have the rare disagreement, the occasional squabble that inevitably punctuates any couples living together, you address it head on, together, opposing yourselves to the problem rather than to one another and rarely retreating from it before you’ve hit either a point of resolution, or a most steadfast promise of hitting one at the soonest.

Only a little over ten months into matrimony, you’re convinced you’ve heard it all. The jokes about the looming end of the proverbial honeymoon period, the warnings against the frustrations, the unassuming frictions concomitant with sharing a living space with a partner for the first time.

Some of these comments reflect a myopic perspective of what’s often seen as a whirlwind romance by outsiders: a relatively short courtship, an even shorter engagement, a quick decision to elope. After all, not everyone was privy to the underside of the iceberg of your union, to the multi-year period of close friendship that often crossed into something entirely more as you slowly circled each other, to the accumulation of small moments that have facilitated your mutual understanding, the one that explained how it is that you’re both so attuned with one another, with what you wanted, that testified to the extraordinary way in which you complement one another.

So you don’t attribute any malice to those who repeat what you find to be platitudinal but harmless cliches, which are, in all fairness, grounded in some form of typical reality. You know that yours and Kento’s is an atypical alignment, a seamless synergy that has swiftly settled between the two of you, a phenomenon that you even find difficult to articulate into words yourself. You’re understanding, even sympathetic to those who struggle to comprehend the idea that most of these trivial, commonplace issues rarely show up as points of contention in your relationship.

Perhaps it is with this steady footing of assurance that you march over the cliff of hubris.

The irony is not lost on you that it is the scorching sun along with its sweltering heat that, in some twisted way, ends up burning holes through the veneer of your assumed immunity.

“The weather forecast is looking quite hot this weekend,” Nanami says one day, midway through the final week of June, as he emerges into the kitchen area of your shared home for a cup of tea. He finds you at the dining table, typing away at your laptop on one of the delightfully fortunate days during which you both work from home. “I’ll dust the A/C vent this evening in preparation.”

“Finally, we get to put this thing to use and see what it’s made of,” you reply, briefly peering up at the unit hanging on the living room wall. “Then it should undeniably feel like summer!”

Your apartment’s A/C is powered by a cooling system central to the building, comprising sleek and compact rectangular wall-mounted diffusers in each of the large rooms that blend neatly into the upper wall, each adjustable via a remote. Given that it was already well into the fall season when you moved into your residence together less than a year ago, you’ve still yet to have an opportunity to use the A/C.

You sense Kento pause for a brief moment before speaking again. “Make sure you stay hydrated. I know you tend to… forget when you get engrossed in your work.”

As though on cue, a work notification flits across your screen, pulling your attention towards an email announcing yet another change order from that one insufferable stakeholder.

“Will do,” comes your distracted response, as you hastily take to typing your reply.

Nanami sets down the mug he’s been holding and crosses his arms pointedly, patiently waiting for you to return your attention to him. You’re more than halfway through your message, the words blurring as you’re finally drawn to meet his gaze and you watch his eyebrows slowly rise in question.

“Hydration. Water. Got it. I appreciate your concern for me, Kento. I promise you I’ll be fine,” you say with a reassuring smile.

He lets out a low, doubtful hum, the sound barely audible above the gentle whirring of his electric kettle as the water reaches its boil.

“Besides, if I do faint this time around, at least it will be in the luxury of a sophisticated A/C, right?” you add, playfully wielding your words like the weapons you know them to be as you make a reference to a short dehydration-induced malaise you’d had in Kento’s presence a couple of years prior and has since made your man punctually paranoid around times of high heat.

A drained sigh escapes his lips. “I know who to blame for the greys I’ve been increasingly finding in my hair lately,” he says as you snicker, and he walks off, retreating to his office with his midday fix of sencha.

Sure enough, Saturday arrives with the sun beating down the city with sweltering heat and with record-high temperatures setting in before the clock even reaches noon. It is a matinal, domestic tranquility that you and Kento both enjoy together this morning, inside the cool and quiet refuge of your home.

As Nanami puts the finishing touches on his massive endeavor of reorganizing his book collection, the spines of his volumes now nearly all neatly aligned on the new shelf he’s recently bought as an upgrade, you’re in the adjacent bathroom, engaged in the meticulous task of putting your hair into braids for tonight’s braid out.

“Phew. Thank goodness for A/C on a day like this, right?” you call out to Nanami. “Could we turn it down by a tiny bit?”

“Turn it up, you mean?” His voice sounds slightly distant to you through the thick, muffling walls.

“No, I mean down,” you say, a bit louder. “As in, cooler?” you add for clarity.

To this, he offers no response, and you assume that he’s acquiesced, until a short moment later, when he shows up in the bathroom doorway, A/C remote in hand, with an incredulous expression that hints at his struggle in making sense of what you’ve just said.

You turn towards him, returning his look with what you can only imagine being a confused one of your own.

“I just want to confirm this: you are joking, right?” Kento finally says, expectantly.

“Uh, I’m not?” you slowly reply, mirroring his incredulous tone as you process the significance of his words before pausing halfway through a braid. “Wait, wait, wait, you honestly don’t find it to be hot?”

“Outdoors, sure. It is practically frigid in here now.”

“What? Come on now, it is so not.”

A long, unwavering gaze passes between you before it dawns on you that you are both dead serious.

“No, you can’t possibly find it to be hot, love?” he asks, his tone now earnest.

“Well, it’s definitely not nearly comfortable yet.”

Kento presses a button on the A/C’s remote, examining it for a loaded moment. 

“We didn’t seem to have this problem in the winter…” he says quietly, almost solemnly.

“How do you mean?” You turn towards him, leaning your hip against the bathroom counter, before adding, “What problem?”

Kento leans a shoulder against the doorway, practically mirroring your stance. “Well, in the winter months, you were perfectly fine with this temperature. You often even set the heater at temperatures that were much higher than this,” he says, supporting his point by lifting up the remote to show you the small LED screen displaying the current ambient temperature.

You squint at the screen to make out the temperature. “Maybe so… But that’s different,” you say, meekly.

“Different?” he asks with a light scoff. “How so?” It’s his turn to grill you.

“In the colder months, you want it warmer than usual, and in the summer, colder than…” you trail off, realizing only now, after having spoken the words out loud, that your sincerity doesn’t make your logic any less flawed.

You can almost see the wheels turning in his mind, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and when his response finally comes after a pause, it is slowly and deliberately drawn out.

“So… your comfortable temperature somehow… varies… depending on the temperature outside?”

“No, that’s not what I’m… Look, it’s just different, okay?” You turn back towards the bathroom mirror, your attempt to evade his pointed scrutiny is foiled almost immediately as Kento locks eyes with you through the mirror’s reflection. “Please, let’s just turn it down for a bit, and we’ll turn it back up again in a few minutes. These are exceptional circumstances!”

Kento’s lips are parted as if caught mid-thought, his brows still drawn together in a slight arch. You detect it instantly, a subtle yet undeniable restraint, a self-imposed suppression of witty words on the tip of his tongue, drawing your attention.

“Oh, just spill it already,” you say, as you apply a dab of Chebe oil to the ends of the section you’ve just braided.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just… We survived the winter fine, so…” Kento trails off, as though hesitating to complete his idea.

“So…?”

“So, I thought us to be above turning into those thermostat couples,” he says with an air of wistfulness.

“Thermostat coup—did you just make that term up?”

“We were doing so well,” he continues, the hints of the mirthful smile that tug at the corners of his mouth accompany his discernibly mordant tone. “We had a couple’s handshake and everything. All quite a shame.”

“What are you insinuating by ‘had’ a handshake? We still do! You cannot conceivably be this dramatic, Kento!” you exclaim, as indignantly as your amused chuckles allow you to sound. “We are in a heatwave!”

He still holds an air of disbelief when he finally relents, and you watch him begrudgingly point the remote towards the closest vent and bring the temperature down with a few successive presses.

“I’ll indulge you this once,” he rebuts, equally unable to conceal his own amusement.

A mere few weeks later, during the season’s second heatwave, Nanami makes a liar out of himself.

It is mid-July by the time this one hits—intense, the kind to break historical records, the kind that definitely warrants the use of the A/C.

By the second day of this hot spell, you and your husband find yourselves having a conversation that rhymes with the one you had a few weeks prior; he maintains that it is entirely too cold and you believe that it’s not nearly cool enough.

This time around, however, the debate doesn’t stretch long. After a few minutes of banter, Kento raises his hands in mock surrender and walks off, and you think you’ve heard the end of it for now.

You can’t tell when it is exactly that the idea strikes him.

All you know is that on that very evening, when you join him in the living room equipped with a bowl of popcorn to watch your weekly show together, you find Kento already seated on the couch, wearing thick white socks.

“Hey, so…” you murmur, perplexed words hanging unfinished in the air.

“Hmm?” A noncommittal hum escapes his lips, his eyes remaining fixed on the screen as he queues up the episode you’ve left off on.

You wait until Kento eventually meets your gaze, and you throw a pointed glance towards his feet.

“My extremities get cold sometimes.” The subtle, teasing tinge in his otherwise even tone does not escape you.

“But socks indoors in July? Seems a tad bit excessive,” you say as you slowly take your seat next to him.

“I assure you it is not,” he says, nonchalantly taking a piece of popcorn between his index and thumb and tossing it into his mouth with a dexterous flick of his wrist. “Judging by this thumbnail, it looks like we’re in for a gripping episode,” he adds, a playful glint in his eyes betraying his casual tone as he steals a fleeting glance at you.

You roll your eyes as you snuggly fit the bowl between the two of you, shaking your head as you think you’ve married the pettiest man on earth.

Pettiness doesn’t even begin to cover what he pulls the next evening.

You’re already in bed, scrolling away on your phone, just about ready to tuck in for the night, when you spot Kento approaching in your peripheral vision. It’s only his bedside lamp illuminating the room, so your first glance does not initially register what your eyes see. Your gaze snaps back, a sharp, surprised inhale catching in your throat, and you do a double-take at the sight of him wearing what you now recognize to be the shimmering fabric of one of his light jackets in the dim light.

“Alright, if you won’t draw the line, then I will. You are not wearing that to bed.” You scoff in utter disbelief as you lift a foot in a playful yet threatening mock kick towards him to block him from settling in. 

Kento grabs your foot, gently tickling it where he knows you to be sensitive, and the dam breaks: the effects derived from the absurdity of the moment combined with the light, tingling flutter against the arch of your foot, set you into a fit of giggles. Nanami’s mellow laughter joins yours as you squirm and make an attempt to free yourself from his grasp.

After a moment, he relents, gently folding your leg back onto the mattress.

“No, you’re right, love, I’m exaggerating,” he says as he slowly unzips his jacket.

You reach for the A/C remote to increase the temperature, a concession you’re willing to make given that it doesn’t feel as hot as the day prior. “I was just getting drowsy, but now you’ve managed to get me worked up and—”

You cut yourself off as you turn your head just in time to catch Kento shrugging off his jacket from his shoulders, only to reveal a thick sweater polo underneath.

“You can’t be serious right now,” you say.

“This one I’m keeping on,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“This is wild… I’m just about to turn the temp up, but here you go again, acting like we’re in the arctic!”

“It is cold in here, and I’m dressing in consequence,” Kento says, as he slides himself under the covers, indicating that he was fully committing to this. “Now, don’t give me that look, Ms. Ice Queen,” he adds, and you recognize that whatever expression he reads on your face is what fuels the amusement you see dancing in his eyes before he flicks off his light, plunging you both into complete darkness.

“My goodness. I’m literally turning it up, right now,” you emphasize your words with the clicks you give to the remote as you relinquish a few more cooling degrees in another conceding gesture.

“Certainly don’t do it on my account. I’m perfectly fine like this,” he mumbles into the back of your neck. If it’s a playful snark that undercurrents his words, it is in great contrast to his actions as he snuggles closer to you and absentmindedly caresses your arm.

The heatwave finally breaks in a wave of refreshing coolness, and what has thus far remained a playful tension of differing preferences fades away with the heat.

All stays well until the next crisis, beginning two days ago Friday night, or really, the early hours of Saturday morning.

You’ve spent the evening gaming with your friends, way past your usual bedtime, let alone anything that could possibly pass for Kento’s, even for a weekend night. By the time you’re ready to join him, you find him in deep slumber, having long lost his battle against somnolence. You know that it’s not for a lack of trying, judging by his glasses being worn, and his book still open on his lap. Light sleeper that he is, he stirs almost as soon as he feels the bed rustle under your weight as you gently close his book and lean over to place it on his bedside table before kneeling next to him to pull off his glasses, just as you’ve done countless times before.

And like countless times before, Nanami lets you.

Just as you lean in to adjust his pillow, his eyelids flutter open, and he blinks at you, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“How was game night?” he mumbles groggily.

“We might have gotten carried away,” you say sheepishly. “You know how it is, don’t want to end on a loss and the next thing you know…”

Nanami chuckles in response, bringing a hand up to your cheek. “Will you wake up on time to go to that new brunch place, or should we postpone?”

“I’ve set my alarm. It might be a rough wake-up, but for brunch with you, you know I’ll gladly take the hit.”

“Hmm,” comes his unconvinced reply.

You lay down and give it some thought, before continuing, “But please, will you wake me up in the event I sleep through it?”

“Now I will,” he says with another light chuckle.

Minutes after your whispered goodnights, you begin to regret your unwise decision of remaining so damn invested in the stimulating activity constituting a FPS video game this late into the night. Despite the time it took for you to shower and to enact your nighttime routine, you find yourself still wired with adrenaline, the lingering effect of the evening’s shenanigans still keeping you up. You don’t know how long you stay awake, lying on your side, your body still, but your mind agitated, staring into the darkness ahead of you.

All you know is that after a while, Kento peels away from you and slowly turns around. You figure he’s just shifting into a more comfortable position.

A few seconds thereafter, the distinctive luminosity from his phone bounces against the wooden bed frame above your head before he brings down the brightness, reducing it to the faintest glow. This too, you don’t put much thought into, you think that he might be ensuring that his own alarm is set.

But then you see it, your eyes drawn towards a small movement you catch in your peripheral vision. Bright blue numbers on the A/C unit flashing the set temperature. Silently, it goes up by one. By two. By a few more degrees before the display flickers off.

You can’t tell for sure, but you think that Kento stays on his phone for a little while longer, after which you hear him replace it back on the dock on his nightstand.

You sense him turning back towards you, slowly finding his spot snuggled behind you, snaking his arm back around you as if he’s never left your side.

It doesn’t take long before his breathing regularizes, before his light snoring fills the otherwise charged silence.

You haven’t moved throughout any of this, and you still don’t do it now. For all intents and purposes, you haven’t seen a damn thing.

You fall asleep, eventually. 

When morning comes, and Kento acts as normal as ever, you set a mental plan in motion and decide to test a theory later this evening.

You wait until you’re getting ready for bed. You’ve just returned from an evening out together and you therefore have the luxury of being synced and of going to bed at nearly the same time. When you approach him, Kento’s already in bed, well into the chapter he’s set on reading tonight.

“Don’t hate me for this,” you trail off, as you grab the A/C remote from his side of the bed, “but I really feel like I need to crank it down a bit.”

“Shocker,” he deadpans, but the affectionate mirth in his eyes betrays his snark, and speaks to the more benevolent, docile stance he’s appeared to have taken lately in the face of your differences in thermal preferences. 

Up until last night’s discovery, you would have attributed this softened, more assenting attitude to the theory that perhaps Kento was finally beginning to feel the full extent of these intensely hot temperatures, just as you did. That you were both finally getting aligned on this. But now? You find yourself inclined to question many things you think you know about him.

“Mind if I hang on to this?” you ask, holding up the remote. “That way I can adjust back in a bit?”

“Of course,” he replies without lifting his eyes from his novel, clearly engrossed in its story.

You lower the temperature a few degrees before placing the remote down on your nightstand, sliding into the covers, kissing your man goodnight, and turning your side of the light off. Tonight, you also slip on your sleeping mask, leaving enough of a gap at the bottom to allow you to take quick, inconspicuous peeks.

As expected on any of the rare occasions you manage to tuck in before him, Nanami doesn’t wait long before following suit. Through the gap of your mask, your eyes remain fixed on the A/C display until you feel him suddenly shift closer and over you.You shut them quickly and keep them closed as you sense Kento peering down at you, a move you now understand carries the motive of ensuring that you’re asleep. You keep your breathing deep and steady, and you assume that you must have convinced him because, after a moment, he finally pulls away to turn his light off.

You wait for a solid minute or two before slightly peeling your eyes open just in time to watch the digital thermostat decrease by a few degrees before flashing once and returning to standby, just like it did the night prior.

What a sneak, you think to yourself.

There is one more data point you want to collect before you can finalize your hypothesis. It requires you to wait until the morning.

When you next slip off your mask, the early sun rays filtering through your window warm your face, and the sound of the running shower confirms that Kento is already up and occupied. You reach for the remote to activate the A/C display.

A chuckle escapes you as your suspicions are confirmed once more: the thermostat has been reverted to the temperature you’d last set it to last night.

Now you know for sure. Alright, Nanami Kento, you sneaky man, you think to yourself, it is so going down tonight.

Such is how you find yourself here and now, with the beginnings of a dull ache creeping down into your shoulder, your extended arm heavy, tingling like pins and needles from holding Kento’s phone up for too long.

“I caught you,” you repeat, breaking the tense silence that has settled between you, “red-handed, might I add.”

After a brief pause, Nanami leans his arm over and flicks his table light on. When his gaze returns to yours, it holds an air of cockiness.

“You caught me doing what, exactly?”

“Don’t do this,” you say, as you finally lower your arm, cautiously clutching the phone in your hand in case he decides to take it from you.

It only occurs to you now that he hadn’t moved to try to stop you at all.

You glance down at the screen and find exactly what you’d expect. A simple interface, a dashboard of some sort, settings surrounding a large circle in the middle, with the temperature displayed.

“I wondered how you were doing it, seeing as the remote was usually by me. I thought maybe it was a pre-programmed setting or something. But of course, it’s just yet another phone app doubling as a remote.” You lift your gaze from the phone to meet his before continuing, “so you wait until I’m asleep, or at least until you think I am, and you increase the temperature. Which is clever except—“

You cut off as you discern it, both evident and seemingly uncontrollable: the full-on grin that begins to spread across Kento’s lips.

You narrow your eyes, quickly trying to figure out why the reaction you’re getting out of him is leagues off from the one you’ve anticipated.

You give his chest a poke. “What’s so funny?”

“Well, for starters, you’re about to make my point for me,” he states.

“Your point?” You shake your head, as though the motion could help you stay on topic. “How long have you been pulling this?”

He just watches you, his eyes glistening with mischief, his voice low, conspiratorial as he inches his face up closer to yours.

“How long do you think?”

“Well, definitely since this latest heatwave started, maybe even before that—”

And suddenly, it clicks.

The question you’ve asked now spins in your mind. How long had he done this? Changing the temperature without you knowing, only to change it back before you woke up. Until this moment, you’ve only assumed that this has been going on for a couple of days. But perhaps it had been longer? In fact, there’s a non-zero chance that he’s routinely done this, and that he didn’t only do this at night.

Your mind flits into your catalogue of memories, back to that one occasion when you’d conceded that the A/C was too cold, when you’d moved to reach for the remote to increase the temperature, and he’d quite literally jumped at the opportunity of turning it up. In the moment, you’d ascribed his eagerness to a sentiment of respite.

Could it be that Kento was, for this entire time, working to conceal that the temperature had already been adjusted to something higher than you’d anticipated?

Could it be that you were the unsuspecting victim of one long placebo-like experiment at the hands of your own husband?

Could it be that he anticipated, or even planned on being caught? That the schemer had long been out-schemed?

“You can admit it, you know,” Nanami’s voice pierces through your contemplation, through the silence of your realization, “that you were a little less than reasonable, that the temperature you want is unnecessarily too cold.”

Nanami shuts off the light for emphasis.

“Say it now, here in the dark. It will be our little secret,” he says, bringing his fingers to the frilly bows that adorn both sides of your pyjama shorts, fidgeting with them like he often likes to do. “Tell me that I’m right and that I have been since the end of June.”

“Alright, now I know you’re lying. It can’t possibly have been that long—”

“Since June 28th. The app has historical data. Feel free to check it for yourself, my dear.”

You bring up the phone you forgot you’re still holding, and the few scrolls back into the app’s calendar and through the entirety of the average temperatures that flit through the phone's screen, are sufficient for you to understand that Nanami is very much not bluffing.

“And to think you only noticed when, two? Three days ago?” he says, settling his palms flat onto either side of your hips and giving them a light squeeze.

You can feel the dynamic flipping, even sitting astride him, looking down on his shadowy face in the dark. 

Kento’s gained the upper hand.

“Oh, so you knew that I was onto you?” you ask

“You were not exactly subtle about it.”

You feel his fingers gently trace up your leg and settle on the bow adorning your short.

“So why don’t you just concede, my love?”

Somehow, this cannot be. Somehow, you just won’t allow yourself to lose.

Time to switch tactics.

“So you did all this… You think I was lying about being sensitive to the hot weather...” It's your move to play to Kento’s conscience, to wring a few words of culpability for you to latch on to.

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

“How can you possibly know, then, that I didn’t have trouble sleeping thanks to your little gambit?”

“I know you didn’t, and you know you didn’t. Besides, the temperature was adjusted very incrementally over time.”

“I like how you’re using passive terms as though you aren’t the architect of all this scheming. And I think you’ve made a monumental error admitting to all this, by the way,” you say, fully aware that you are grasping at straws. “What if I need to know that it’s at 20 in order to sleep? What if it’s too hot and I’m unable to sleep tonight? What if I have trouble sleeping and I’m late to work tomorrow, and—”

In one swift movement, Nanami flips you both over.

“Let’s play a game then,” he whispers, his tone taking a darker tenor.

He lightly bites down on the bow adorning your shorts and slowly drags them down your legs, before speaking again.

“Give me a few minutes, and if you’re still hot and awake when I’m done with you, you win, and you can set the temperature for the rest of the summer.”

He pulls the rest of your shorts off and returns above you, tracing his finger under your chin before grabbing it.

“But if,” he leans down once more, sliding his fingers under your underwear and pulling them down, “No… When I inevitably do manage to put you to sleep, you lose, I get carte blanche, and you’ll have to grant me your admission when you wake in the morning, in the cold light of day.”

He approaches you again, running both hands up your inner legs, settling on your thighs. You try not to writhe in anticipation of his touch. You’re pretty hot now, but this heat you welcome. Nanami pauses, and you feel him peer up at you, feeling his breath, the vibration of his next words against your core.

“You can still just admit that I’m right, and we table all of this.”

“I think I’ll take my chances, Kento,” you say, reaching down and sliding your fingers into his soft hair, bringing his head closer to his intended destination, any semblance of your initial confrontation long since tossed out the window.

“Of course you will,” comes his response before he all but disappears right where you want him.

And suddenly, none of this feels like losing.