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As you watch rain pour down outside, forming patterns along the windows of the shop and collecting in murky puddles disturbed by the rushed footsteps of people trying to find shelter from the storm, your eyelids threaten to close once more. The elbow propping your chin up on the counter wobbles slightly, the gentle rhythm of the store’s soft instrumental music melting together with the gentle patter of raindrops to form a lullaby that, combined with your exhaustion, sends you to sleep.
The sound of growling and a pair of familiar, red eyes appearing in the darkness, however, quickly wakes you up with a start, and your gaze darts around the shop. With an exasperated sigh and shake of the head, you stand up straight on shaky legs and task yourself with making a fresh cup of coffee to give you a bit of much-needed energy. As long as you stayed awake, you wouldn’t have to be haunted by this image an unsettling experience earlier this week had created.
While you prepare the caffeinated beverage, a glance up at the time finds the clock’s hands at a familiar hour—one that always marks the arrival of a regular customer. Once your drink starts dripping into the cup you’ve placed in the machine, you busy yourself instead with opening one of the display cases housing a vast array of different breads and baked goods.
The aroma that greets you fills you with warmth and brings a smile to your face, as does the thought of his impending arrival. Your hand knows the location on the shelves of his favorite loaf by heart, since you make it specially for him without a care in the world if anyone else wants to purchase it. Upon retrieving it from inside, you wrap it up carefully and set it down on the counter.
Contemplatively, you eye the other pastries waiting patiently behind the glass, wondering if it would be too obvious to get him something else to eat and some coffee as an invitation to stay a bit longer. Sometimes, he found half an hour in his busy day to seat himself at one of the booths along the wall and enjoy a treat you’d selected for him while he occupied himself talking to you if you weren’t busy or reading through one of his books if you were. But no matter how long he stayed, it never felt like long enough to you.
I hope the rain hasn’t driven him away today.
But you should know better than to think this way, since, through your conversations with him and his actions, you’ve learned he’s a man of routine. Regardless of what you should or shouldn’t be convincing yourself to believe, however, your attention snaps to the door when you hear the bells above it jingle. The sound of rain, cars honking, and passing conversations seep inside for a few moments as the man in question shakes water off his umbrella and places it securely into the holder by the entrance.
Against the bleak darkness of the cloudy sky outside, his sand-colored suit and blonde hair seem to glow in the warm lights hanging down from the ceiling, making him look almost ethereal—to the point where you wouldn’t have been surprised if white, feathery wings sprouted from his back. Maybe he was your guardian angel, since he’d just saved you from falling asleep on the job once again.
“Kento, welcome back!” you chirp, lips curling up into a grin you struggle to keep as professional-looking as possible.
Taking off his glasses and tucking them safely away in one of the pockets of his suit jacket, he turns to you and sends a hint of a smile your way that you know is rare given his serious demeanor. “Good evening, (f/n),” he greets you as he walks towards the counter, making your heart beat faster with every foot of distance closed between the two of you.
You ask, once he’s approached the counter and glanced at the loaf you’ve wrapped up for him, “So, can I convince you to dine in and take a little break with one of our fresh pastries, hmm?”
A hint of a chuckle sounds from him through a short breath out his nose, and he reaches into a pocket in his trousers to retrieve his wallet. “I don’t need much convincing on a day like this, but I’ll take a pastry as well, please. And a coffee, if you don’t mind.”
“You came in right as I was brewing my own, so you can just have it, instead, since I know we take ours the same way,” you mention, turning away from him to grab the steaming drink.
“Nonsense,” he utters, stopping you in your tracks, “If you made it for yourself, keep it for yourself. I can wait a few extra minutes for mine.”
Prickles of heat rise to your cheeks, but you nod and give him a small, appreciative smile. Once you’ve selected a treat of his choice for his visit, you enter the total cost into the register, which he prepares promptly and hands to you. His fingers brushing against yours sends tingles across your skin like stray sparks of electricity. “I’ll bring your coffee over once it’s ready,” you offer, speaking to distract yourself from your racing thoughts, “Go ahead and get comfortable; you’ve got the whole shop to yourself.”
He thanks you with a small dip of the head and picks up his food so he can head over to the same booth he selects each time he visits while you start making a fresh cup of coffee for him. As you take a sip of your own, you can’t help but pause a moment to admire his appearance now that his attention is focused elsewhere. He’s a striking man with sharp features and a straightforward, authoritative manner of speaking, but there’s a certain softness to his edges that you’ve seen within him over the time you’ve been acquainted.
You wonder if that tenderness to him is reserved for just for you. If you’re the only one who brings about the softness you can see behind his warm, brown gaze. If he would put his book down as quickly if someone else approached him. You like to think yourself the only witness to his subtle, gentle mannerisms, but you prevent yourself from getting too caught up in your thoughts by reminding yourself that he’s a customer. Someone who comes solely because your bakery’s the closest one that makes his favorite bread, rather than because he has any sort of attachment to you.
With a small sigh, you bring your cup of coffee to your lips for a long drink before taking the one you’d made for Nanami in your other hand and wandering over to his table. Judging by how the crowds outside are moving, everyone seems to be more concerned with getting home and out of the terrible weather than with picking up treats from your bakery. If you hadn’t had such a busy day, you’d be concerned by the lack of customers in at this hour. Now, however, as your aching feet move over to the empty seat across from the shop’s sole patron, you appreciate the quietude in the store that allows you peace in its final hour before closing.
Nanami slides a page marker towards the spine of the journal he’s writing in and closes it when you arrive with his freshly brewed drink, setting it down in front of him. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Mind if I sit?” you ask, even though your knees are already bending to guide you onto the padded seat across from him.
“As long as I won’t distract you from your work, please, go ahead,” he answers, then takes a long, appreciative sip of his coffee.
“I don’t think anyone here would be opposed to me taking a break, considering it’s just us,” is your response given with a smile. You’ve forgotten quite how long it’s been since you’ve had a moment off your feet, and you let out a long sigh as you sink into the booth. Weariness makes itself known in a yawn that suddenly escapes your mouth—a sign that all the fatigue you’ve been somehow avoiding is starting to catch up to you. “Excuse me.”
Blonde eyebrows furrowing slightly with concern, he wonders, “Long day?”
Shrugging, you gaze into the dark liquid filling the cup in your hands, watching it quiver with each minute movement of your body. “It’s been a bit of a long week, to be completely honest,” you sigh. A pair of red eyes appears in your coffee as your mind wanders momentarily. Taking a deep breath and curling your lips into a forced grin, you quickly gather yourself and add, “But, anyway, it’s alright. I’m sure you’re much more exhausted than I am given what you have to do on a daily basis.”
“The nature of our jobs may be different, but I’m sure you’ve been just as busy as I have.”
You chuckle softly at his words and add, “You fight curses and I make baked goods. I’m sure one’s a bit more taxing than the other. Or, at least, more life-threatening.”
“Both deserve appreciation,” he states in his usual, matter of fact tone that never fails to amuse you. Though he’s completely serious, you always find a bit of humor in his straightforward manner of speaking, especially when he argues the essential nature of your job. “I know that you make this specifically for me just to make my life that much easier—” he taps the wrapped loaf of bread with one of his long fingers—“so, I appreciate your work and what you do.”
Heat rises to your cheeks, making you lower your head bashfully while you take a long drink of coffee. It’s a surprise your voice doesn’t falter when you comment, “You’re too kind to me.”
“There’s no such thing in your case. I’m simply being honest.” There’s a short silence that ensues his compliment, during which you try to slow your racing heart by glancing out the window at the other shops, cars, and people all distorted by watery veins across the glass. Nanami’s gaze doesn’t leave yours, however, and he inquires, “Are you taking care of yourself?”
Somewhat dozily, you echo, “Taking care of myself?” as your eyes flutter shut so you can think for a moment. Almost immediately, they fly open once more at the sight of those red orbs piercing the darkness once more. “I just… haven’t been getting enough sleep, I don’t think.”
“Is something bothering you?”
The expression of concern on his face could easily be mistaken for frustration or disgust, given the way his lips are pursed, and brows angled downwards. But you know from experience that those emotions are reserved for conversations about his work, rather than those regarding you, and his level of interest warms your heart. “I… I saw something earlier this week, and… it was a bit unsettling, is all.”
You can’t help but notice how his full attention is on you when your eyes meet again. Neither his pastry nor his steaming cup of coffee is on his mind, since neither one is in his hands. Instead, his gaze searches yours for the answer that you’re not speaking. Before he can attempt to coax it out of you with another question, you quickly realize that the conversation has veered off in a direction you deem selfish given your desire to allow your most devoted customer a peaceful refuge from the world under the roof of your shop.
“Please, I really don’t want to worry you,” you speak quickly, your hands moving energetically for extra emphasis. Unfortunately, your fingers nudge the cup in front of you just hard enough to topple it over rather dramatically, and its contents flow across the table in a dark wave that has you uttering a curse word under your breath and reaching for the napkin dispenser. Your fingertips are met with plastic, bringing you to realization you’d forgotten to refill it after the morning rush. “I’m so sorry. I’m really out of it today, it seems. Give me a second while I run to the back, okay?”
Before he can respond, you’re up and making a beeline for the kitchen and storage room, cursing yourself on the way there for being so clumsy. A rush of unusually cold air along with the sound of rain pounding the ground greets you when you set foot in the kitchen, and your gaze moves across the room to where the back door is mysteriously ajar. You shudder, but not just because of the chill.
I just got the lock on that damn door fixed…
Your heart pounds against your ribcage, and your feet feel as if they’ve been replaced by sacks of bricks when you try to lift them. It’s as if every fiber in your body is resisting any and all movement toward the door even though you know you can’t leave it open. The horrible sense of dread welling up inside of you almost makes you want to call for Nanami but telling yourself you’re just being dramatic allows you to walk to the other end of the room, but it feels like miles separate you and the far wall.
With a deep breath, you shut the door once more, returning the air within the kitchen to its original stillness, but the weight of the silence that follows feels crushing. And that’s when you hear it. The low, distorted rumbling that you’d heard nearly every night this week from outside your bedroom window. You almost don’t want to look, but when you finally muster enough courage to follow the direction of the ominous sound, you’re met with that same, red gaze that had burned through the gap between your shutters at night.
A few feet away, in a corner that seems much darker than usual, a disfigured but humanoid hand splays across the tiled flooring as the curse who’d been making house calls pulls itself out of the shadowy depths it’s created. Your breath hitches in your throat as fear takes hold, its cold grip freezing your body in place so all you can do is watch as the creature rises up from the floor and stares at you hungrily from where it stands on all fours.
Before you can even understand what’s happening, it lunges at you with a shriek. Thankfully, one of the loudest screams you can muster leaves your mouth, and your survival instincts break you free of the paralysis your emotions had trapped you in. You’re barely able to evade the curse’s grip as you run around the corner of a counter and grab the closest thing to you in the moment, which happens to be a broom. Furiously, and without thinking, you whack the creature as hard as you can while you try to run back towards the shop.
“Kento!” you shout, words accompanied by a loud hiss as you slip, falling against the cold tiles with a thud. The arm you use to brace yourself courses with pain, but that doesn’t stop you from using your free arm to continue throttling the curse with your barely effective weapon of choice.
Just as you see a shadowy hand reach out towards you to grab you, your vision is suddenly obscured by the familiar, sandy brown of Nanami’s suit. In an instant, he’s swinging his cleaver in front of him with his cursed technique that downs the beast in one fell swoop. Once the threat has been eliminated, your knight in business attire places his weapon in its holster on his back and bends down to check on you.
Any questions he asks you are lost in a hum of shock that rings in your ears for a moment, and you find yourself unable to do anything but stare at where your otherworldly assailant had been looming over you mere seconds ago. However, a sudden moment of clarity brings you back to reality, and you finally meet Nanami’s gaze, feel his hands on your arms, and hear his voice.
“It was waiting for me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The curse,” you clarify before repeating, “Bastard was waiting for me.”
As he helps you up to your feet and gets you settled back down at the booth you’d previously occupied—and that he’d cleaned, you notice—you explain to him the story of the unsettling visitor whose loitering had robbed you of your sleep the entire week. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you could see curses?” he wonders, taking off his suit jacket and draping it around your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Whether you’re doing so out of shock or your body’s need to maintain its natural temperature, you’re unsure, but the warmth of the garment he sheds soon puts an end to it.
“I don’t know,” you answer slowly, eyes steadily making their way up to his face where it hovers above your arm so he can carefully place a bag of ice he’d wrapped in a towel on the steadily swelling lump adorning your forearm. “I think it’s because I wish I couldn’t see them and saying that I can would really make me think about all the horrible things I’ve seen.”
“Do you have any other injuries?” His touch is gentle in an unexpected way, given the level of his strength and the ease with which he’d disposed of your attacker, and you can’t help but watch his fingers rearrange the bag of ice to cover your injury after you shake your head in response. “Give me a moment,” he states, retrieving his phone from his pocket, “I’m calling a coworker to take us back to Jujutsu High’s campus so you can have a proper examination.”
“I’m okay! I promise!” you splutter quickly, but the pain in your side that suddenly makes itself known when you try to stand causes you to grimace and further solidifies his suspicions. “I don’t want you to work more than you have to.”
He ignores you and delivers a very to the point message to his colleague with information about your whereabouts anyway. After he hangs up, a feeling of appreciation spurs you to open the palm of your opposite hand as you extend it towards him and rest it on the table. He returns your gesture by placing his unoccupied hand in yours so your fingers can wrap around it tenderly. But even once you’ve given it a gentle squeeze, he doesn’t make any attempts to retreat from your grip.
Quietly, you ask, as your heart flutters in your chest, “Why are you doing this for me?”
With a gentle sigh, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of amusement meet yours. “Do you remember the first day we met?” You nod and a small smile forms across your lips at the pleasant memory coming back to you, pushing away all the worries and doubts that had been previously swirling around your head.
“I came in here, asking if you sold my favorite type of bread. You told me you didn’t—much to my dismay. However, you looked at me for a long moment and I don’t know what it was you saw in me, but whatever it was spurred you to say, come back again tomorrow, and I’ll have some made for you.”
The short pause he takes while his gaze shifts to the bread you’d given him earlier is filled with the soft music playing throughout the shop. “I’ve thought about how you could’ve just said no and been done with me. We didn’t have any obligations to one another. We were just strangers. Yet, you chose to go out of your way for me.”
“You were exhausted.”
He watches you expectantly, so you explain, “That’s what I saw in you. That you were just so, so tired, Kento; and I wanted to do anything I could to give you some peace of mind. That’s why I make it, just for you.” A giddy grin spreads across your lips at being reminded of how your coworkers had always asked if you were making the special loaf whenever you’d been working on your own in the kitchen after your first meeting with Nanami.
“Plus,” you continue, “you’re a jujutsu sorcerer. You’re constantly putting your own life on the line for the rest of us, so you should be able to enjoy a simple pleasure like eating something you enjoy."
When he smiles, the pain throbbing deep beneath your skin subsides for just a second. It’s such a rarity to see that tough and somewhat aloof demeanor of his break and give way to what you’re witnessing now that you wish you could stop time and hold onto this moment forever. But what he says next makes you glad that it continues without a care in the world about what you desire.
“You asked why I’m doing this for you. From the first day I met you, you’ve made it clear that you care about me. Please, let me show you that the feeling is mutual.”
Maybe it’s a combination of the week you’ve had or the fact that you’d just narrowly avoided death thanks to the man sitting in front of you, but his words nearly bring tears to your eyes; and your heart swells with affection at every effort he makes to do right by his promise. He helps you gather your belongings, even going so far as to sling your bag over his shoulder, places an arm around you to support you and keep you under the cover of his umbrella while the two of you walk out to his colleague’s car, and allows you access to his hand to hold during the car ride to campus.
“Kento.” His attention shifts over to you from where it had been directed towards the window, watching the city pass by outside. Placing your other palm atop the back of his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, you say, “Thank you so much. I really appreciate you.”
“As I do you.”