Work Text:
It starts quietly.
Sky:
Did you get home?
The message arrives before Nani has even finished peeling himself out of his café uniform, apron tossed over the chair, shoulders sagging with the long day finally allowed to land.
Nani smiles at his phone anyway.
Nani:
Just did. Feet officially dead 😴
A pause. Short. Measured.
Sky:
Sit down.
Drink water.
Nani snorts, rolling his eyes at the screen, but he sinks onto the edge of the bed all the same. Reaches for the bottle. Takes a few obedient gulps.
Nani:
You’re not my manager, you know.🙃Sky:
I know.
Another beat.
Sky:
You still listen.
That earns him a soft laugh. The kind Nani doesn’t even realize escapes him until it’s already gone.
They don’t call that night.
They text.
About nothing. About everything disguised as nothing.
About how the café ran out of oat milk again and one customer acted like it was a personal betrayal.
About a regular who tipped in coins, meticulously counted, like a strange little ritual.
About Sky still working, lights on somewhere high above the city, hours stretching thin.
At some point, Nani sends a photo.
No caption.
Just his My Melody keychain resting on the bedside table, pink and a little worn, caught in the warm spill of his lamp.
The typing bubble appears.
Disappears.
Appears again.
Then—
Seen.
Sky saves the photo. He does not comment on it. Just heart reacts to it.
Nani stares at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
His chest feels… steady.
The first call happens three nights later.
Sky is still at his desk, sleeves rolled up, city light cutting pale lines across the wood. Nani is already in bed, phone balanced against his pillow, cheek pressed into cotton that smells faintly of detergent and sleep.
“Are you still working?” Nani asks, voice soft with drowsiness.
“Yes.”
A breath. Small. Careful.
“…Do you want to be?”
There it is. A pause follows. Longer than polite. Shorter than avoidance.
“No,” Sky says, and there’s no calculation in it. Just truth, set down plainly.
They don’t rush to fill the space after that. The silence stretches. Not awkward. Not empty. Just occupied.
“You still there?” Nani murmurs eventually, words already halfway to sleep.
“Yes,” Sky replies.
Immediately. The speed of it is unmistakable.
Nani hums, low and content, like the sound is meant for himself alone. He doesn’t add anything else. Doesn’t need to.
Sky stays on the line anyway.
It becomes a pattern.
Sky calls when Nani closes late, voice steady, asking nothing that would require effort.
Nani calls when Sky works past midnight, sometimes only to say Sky’s name once, softly, as if checking that it still belongs to him.
Some nights they talk. About schedules. About nothing worth remembering.
Some nights Sky listens to the slow, even rhythm of Nani breathing and decides that this is enough.
They’re on the phone again.
Sky is driving, one hand steady on the wheel. Nani is lying on the floor, legs propped against the couch because “someone on the internet said it helps,” and he’s too tired to question it.
“What are you doing?” Sky asks.
“Thinking about whether penguins have knees,” Nani replies.
Sky stops at a red light. “…Do they?”
“I don’t know,” Nani says, solemn. “But if they do, it explains a lot.”
Sky exhales, a quiet sound that carries more amusement than he intends. “You’re exhausted.”
“Yes,” Nani agrees. “But in a philosophical way.”
The silence that follows is easy. Unhurried. The kind that doesn’t demand filling.
“What about you?” Nani asks eventually. “What are you doing?”
“Driving,” Sky says.
Then, after a brief pause, as if the thought has already been there awhile—
“Thinking about dinner.”
“Oh?” Nani’s voice perks up despite himself. “What kind?”
Sky considers. The light ahead still red. “Something warm.”
“That’s not a kind.”
“It is to me.”
Nani laughs, soft and pleased, the sound loose around the edges. Sky lets it settle into the car, lets it linger.
The light turns green.
Sky doesn’t rush it.
The conversation turns, inevitably, to friends.
Nani:
Bright texted me again 🙄Sky:
Let me guess. Win.Nani:
Obviously Win.
Sky:
They’re incapable of making decisions without consulting each other.Nani:
Bright asked me if I think Win would be upset if he changed his hair 🤦🏻♂️Sky:
He’ll notice
He’ll pretend not to. He’ll be upset anyway.Nani:
That’s exactly what I said! 😂
---
Later that night, they’re on the phone.
“Tay and New are arguing again,” Sky says.
“About what?” Nani asks.
“Where to eat.”
Nani laughs softly. “They eat out every day.”
“That’s why it’s a problem.”
Nani smiles to himself. “At least they’re arguing together.”
There’s a brief pause.
“…BrightWin are annoying,” Nani adds thoughtfully. “But kind of sweet.”
“They are,” Sky agrees.
Then, after a moment, “They work because they communicate.”
Nani hums. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“No,” Sky says. “Just observation.”
Another night, Nani is curled into his blanket, eyes half-closed, voice slower now.
“You know,” he says suddenly, “Dew and Tee are idiots.”
Sky lifts an eyebrow. “In what way?”
“They like each other,” Nani says. “Everyone knows it. They just won’t talk about it.”
Sky considers this. “That sounds inefficient.”
“It’s exhausting,” Nani agrees. “They keep dragging me into it.”
Sky’s voice softens, lowers. “You don’t have to fix it for them.”
“I know,” Nani says. “I just… want them to be happy.”
There’s a brief silence.
“You do that a lot,” Sky says finally.
“Do what?”
“Carry other people’s feelings.”
Nani doesn’t deny it. “…You don’t make me do that,” he says instead.
On Sky’s end of the line, his grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel. “Good,” he replies.
One Thursday afternoon, Sky texts.
Sky:
What are you doing Saturday afternoon?
Nani doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t think about it long enough to call it a choice.
Nani:
Working at the café until three.
The reply comes fast.
Sky:
I’ll pick you up after.
Nani pauses this time. Glances at the register. The half-empty café. The clock ticking louder than it should.
Nani:
You don’t even know if I’m free 😅
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Then—
Sky:
I do now.
The certainty in it hits before the meaning does.
Nani lets out a short laugh behind the counter, sharp enough that his coworker looks over, eyebrow raised.
“You good?” they ask.
“Yeah,” Nani says, still smiling at his phone. “Just—something funny.”
He doesn’t correct Sky.
He doesn’t say no.
He goes back to work with the strange, buoyant feeling of his afternoon already belonging to someone else.
It comes up casually.
They’re on the phone, neither of them really talking about anything important. The kind of call that exists mostly to prove the other person is there.
Nani is stretched out on his bed, phone tucked between shoulder and pillow, half-listening to the soft, distant shuffle of papers on Sky’s end.
“My feet hurt,” Nani says suddenly, words blurring together. “Like… a lot.”
Sky stills. “From work?”
“Mm. Long shifts this week.” Nani exhales, slow and tired. “Standing all day, running around. I swear the café floor gets harder when it wants to be mean.”
A quiet sound from Sky. Not quite a laugh. Not quite concern. “You should soak them in warm water.”
“I know.” Nani yawns. “I always forget.”
There’s a brief silence.
Not uncomfortable. Just… held.
Without thinking, already drifting toward sleep, Nani changes the subject. “So anyway,” he murmurs, “did you ever finish that report you were complaining about?”
Sky answers. Calm. Present.
The conversation moves on.
Nani forgets about his feet entirely.
Sky does not.
---
Two days later, a package arrives at Nani’s apartment. No note. No explanation. Just his name, written neatly on the label.
Nani opens it on the kitchen counter, brows knitting together in confusion.
Inside: a pair of shoes.
Simple. Clean. Soft leather. The kind that doesn’t need breaking in. The kind that feels right the moment he slips one on.
He takes a few steps without thinking. Stops. Checks the brand. His eyes widen.
“Sky,” Nani mutters to himself, half-laughing, half-stunned.
He texts immediately.
Nani:
Did you send me shoes?? 😳
The reply comes a moment later.
Sky:
Yes.
Nani types. Deletes. Types again.
Nani:
They’re expensive! 🫠Sky:
They’re comfortable.
A beat.
Nani:
I just said my feet hurt once.Sky:
I heard you.
The words sit there. Solid. Unapologetic.
Nani stares at the screen, something warm unfurling in his chest. Not excitement. Not gratitude.
Relief.
Nani:
Thank you 🤍
This time, Sky doesn’t answer right away.
When he does, it’s simple.
Sky:
Wear them tomorrow.
Nani smiles.
He doesn’t question it. He doesn’t say maybe.
He’s already planning to.
Later that week, Nani complains — casually — about a photographer who talked too much and listened too little. It comes out half-joking, folded between other details. An anecdote, not a confession.
“He kept interrupting,” Nani says. “Like he was more interested in hearing himself than anything I was saying.”
Sky doesn’t comment right away. Then, one question. Precise. “Did you feel uncomfortable?”
Nani pauses. “Not really,” he says after a second. “Just… tired.”
“Okay,” Sky replies.
The word lands gently. Final.
The subject changes. They drift to something else. Schedules. Weather. Nothing worth circling back to.
It isn’t until much later that Nani realizes something strange.
Sky never asked for the photographer’s name.
They’re on the phone again.
It’s late. Not late enough to raise questions. Just late enough to tell the truth without dressing it up.
Sky is in his kitchen, sleeves rolled up, the apartment quiet except for the low hum of the city outside. Nani is curled into his bed, one sock abandoned somewhere near the footboard, warmth gathered close.
“You ate?” Sky asks.
“Yes,” Nani says. Then hesitates. “…Mostly.”
Sky exhales, slow. “Define mostly.”
“I had toast,” Nani admits. “And a banana.”
Silence. Brief. Controlled. “You work tomorrow?” Sky asks instead.
“Afternoon shift,” Nani replies. “Then I’m free.”
Another pause. Not empty. Deliberate.
“I’ll cook for you,” Sky says.
Nani blinks.
“…Like,” he says slowly, “dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At my place.”
Nani rolls onto his side, facing the wall, heart doing something quiet and unfamiliar. Not racing. Not startled. Just… settling.
“Oh,” he says, smiling despite himself. “Okay.”
Something in Sky’s voice warms, even as it stays steady. “I’ll pick you up after your shift.”
“Of course you will,” Nani teases softly.
Sky allows himself the smallest smile. “Of course.”
They stay on the line a moment longer, the silence easy now, already shaped around what comes next.
“I’ll text you when I’m done tomorrow,” Nani says.
“I’ll be ready,” Sky replies.
Neither of them questions it.
When the call ends, Nani lies there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, feeling oddly settled. As if something has slid into place without effort.
Sky stays in his kitchen.
He doesn’t think about recipes. He doesn’t think about groceries.
He thinks about space. About where Nani will sit. About how long he’ll stay. How long will it take for Nani to move in permanently.
---
He’s been staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour after the call.
Nani:
You make things feel… manageable.
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
Sky:
I’m glad.
Nani presses his face into his pillow, smiling.
He doesn’t question when manageable stopped meaning temporary.