Nanami Kento

Sunlight streamed through the study’s massive windows. The room was decorated with dark wood furniture and shelves lined with books. Kento sat in a leather chair next to the unlit fireplace, a newspaper in his hands. His posture was stiff, his gaze fixed on the letters on the page, but he wasn’t reading. His eyes kept straying to the nearby vanity, where you sat, putting on makeup in front of the mirror.

Your reflection in the glass caught his attention. You moved gracefully, applying a soft touch of color to your lips. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words kept getting stuck in his throat.

—How's the newspaper?—you asked suddenly, without turning around, breaking the silence that he so feared but also longed for. Kento blinked, as if you had interrupted a deep thought. He cleared his throat before answering, his voice deeper than necessary. —Informative, as always.