#SIREN KENTO 😂

[tsukimefuku]

Pardon my French, but holy shit this is so fucking good I body slammed myself against a wall thank you

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 6

Contents: pre-relationship, establishing feelings, slow burn, dinner dates, slow romance, first kisses.

When Kento said that he wanted to do things the right way, he was being very serious. You received more phone calls from him on each day of the week, at exactly the same time. He would call even if he'd seen you at work, albeit briefly, during the course of the day. He always made sure to first ask if you were occupied with anything else.

Each time you spoke was like filling in a new blank space on a crossword. A cryptic crossword, to be more precise. Everything you learned about him was either slipped like a knife between the rich layers of your conversations or hard won through every verbal sparring match you engaged in. It wasn't as if your interaction with him had become more complicated or less easy. The flow of thoughts and their exchange was still the most natural thing you both had engaged in.

There was so much more now, though, so much that hinged on Kento being comfortable enough to show you the parts of himself reserved for his leisure time. This was the self that manifested when he was truly off the clock and the rigid persona that inhabited his daylight hours could be shelved in favour of the man who simmered like a delightful burst of flavour, hidden just beneath the surface.

Kento was sensitive to the feelings of others. He was far less self-reliant than he thought (as responsible as the man was, he had terrible sleeping habits and ran through suits horrendously fast considering the nature of his work). He bought lots of books that he hadn't yet read, told his protégés numerous times not to look to him as an example, and then acted as exactly that, secretly indulged in romantic serials and b-grade martial arts films, ate fried chicken with beer every Tuesday and liked to visit the aquarium on his down time because watching the fish relaxed him. He always ended those aquarium trips by eating a sushi meal set, something you told him was decidedly morbid.

As someone who had spent years feeling drained by the many social interactions that came with any working day, speaking to Kento was a refreshing change, and not just because he was the man you had rapidly deepening feelings for. There was something about talking to him that left you feeling a little more enriched each time, as if some mischievous spirit, leashed by the strings that left lovers hopelessly entangled, danced with a loaded paint brush through your life, esoteric colours in unheard-of shades splashing against the placid walls of your current life.

Kento was a hopelessly beautiful mess of contradictions. Solid, yet vulnerable. Dependable, yet never disguising his yearning to live for something more. Practical and no-nonsense, yet a dreamer and an idealist. A man who gave himself no excuses, nor shirked responsibility, but made no secret of his desire for a soft life on a sunny beach.

You would not exchange him for anyone else in the world.

The second time you go out together, he calls it a date. He is completely unabashed in his approach. He sees no need to conceal what you both know to be the truth, now that it has been acknowledged. It's something you have keen appreciation for. He doesn't message you the details, instead asking you outright in the break room, where you meet regularly for lunch.

He wants to go to a specific seafood place that he feels you will enjoy. When you cheerfully agree, he touches you with intention for the first time.  It is only momentary, as if he can't contain the desire to do so. He reaches across the table and gently brushes his fingers over your wrist before that same hand smoothly unwraps the packaging on his lunch. You think that it's almost unfair, the effect that this small contact has on you, but then you see that his hands fumble with the chopsticks slightly.

Of course, it's only a matter of time before the conversation that is completely necessary takes place. You didn't know when it would occur, but the second time you go out together turns out to be the occasion.

He waits for you in the garden after work, as he did the last time. You're starting to learn how important routine in small matters is to him. You take your stroll through the school grounds, lingering in the familiar spaces that now feel new, due to the person beside you.

Kento is amused by the turn your conversation has taken.

"So, you've never learned how to swim?"

"Never. Even though I lived fairly near the ocean when I was younger."

"But what was it about the water that scared you?"

"Do I really have to tell you?"

"Yes."

"Is that an order?"

"More like a strong suggestion."

"How considerate of you, sir."

Kento clears his throat, and you glance sideways at him. Smiling, you continue.

"It wasn't the water itself. It was more the idea of what was beneath it. It's wasn't about what I could see, rather what I imagined was there."

"And what did you imagine?"

"Sharks."

"There were sharks near where you grew up?"

"Very rarely. But I thought of them anyway."

"Did you, perhaps, watch - "

You laugh and shake your head.

"Jaws? No, so that wasn't the reason."

He hums thoughtfully.

"All human fear has its root in a primal cause. It's our desire for survival, our learned fear. But not all fear is learned. Sometimes, we fear things that we can't quite put a name to."

This time, you're the one that can't hold back. You reach for him, the back of your hand brushing his.

"What are you afraid of, Kento?"

He pauses, before gently entangling your fingers. The simplicity of the gesture, along with its weight, steals your breath momentarily. He seems similarly lost for the appropriate words, the contact of your skin and his forming all the communication you are both capable of in that moment. Eventually, when the car draws up alongside, he has an answer for you.

"I'm afraid of many things. And my list grows longer every day."

The place he has chosen, ironically, is a quaint seaside cafe, a fair distance from Jujutsu Tech. This was why he had asked to leave earlier today. The place is situated on a high ridge overlooking a long, winding staircase that leads to a faint strip of shingle below. The sea looks rough, the weather grey and uninviting, which makes the atmosphere within the cafe seem cosier by comparison. The table he chooses is private, and this time you are seated closer to him, the setting more intimate.

"How did you find this place?"

"I was on a solo mission in the area for a few days. Got caught in a storm and found my way in here."

"Lucky coincidence. I like this place a lot. It's warm."

Your eyes travel across to Kento whose posture is a tad stiff. You realise that because he had come here alone on the previous occasion, he hadn't accounted for how small the seating space at each booth was with two people present. The leather couches formed an 'L' which left your shins pressed against the backs of his very long legs. You never were good at disguising your amusement and Kento watches you with narrowed eyes as you peruse the menu and wiggle your toes slightly. He clears his throat and taps his fingers along the edge of his drinks list.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Very."

"Hmm."

"Why, aren't you?"

"I mean to say, does this seating arrangement make you wish for more space?"

"No. It's cosy."

He goes back to reading the drinks list and remains noticeably rigid, as if he is doing everything in his power to keep from making you uncomfortable. It's not long before he asks again.

"Are you sure that you don't want to move?"

"Oh no. Not at all."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Is this my first personal encounter with your stubborn streak?"

"Perhaps it is."

You look up and can't help the laugh that escapes you at his put-out expression. You move your legs further along until they rest beneath his ankles, a far more comfortable position for both of you.

"Better, my good sir?"

The corners of his mouth curve upward, as if against his will and he relaxes, leaning back in his seat.

"Better."

The appetisers arrive, soft shell crab thermidor for him and sake-steamed abalone for you. He insists that you taste some of his food and you manage to sneak a small sample of yours onto his plate. As you wait for the entrée, sipping on the piping hot tea served in a beautiful earthenware pot, your gaze is caught by the turbulent sea, the distant waves breaking against the shoreline with a muffled roar.

"What are you thinking about now?"

Kento is watching you when you turn back to him. His voice is soft, carrying that gentle undertone that you'd never thought you'd be fortunate enough to hear, let alone have directed at you. You close your eyes momentarily before swirling the tea in your cup, stalling for time.

"I was thinking about how happy I am right now."

"You are?"

"Yes."

There is something in his glance now, something so warm, but so heavy. Your meals arrive and there is no opportunity for you to address it. Kento tucks into his food with relish. It seems that colder weather increases his appetite and, you have to admit, you're very much the same.

He returns to the earlier conversation you'd been having. This was one of the things you appreciated most about speaking to him. You both instantly knew what the other was referring to, even if time and other topics had passed in the interim.

"Would you be open to learning how to swim?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, I've made resolutions to learn at the gym many times. But I'm not sure ... I've always ended up postponing it."

"Why?"

"Things become busy. I forget."

"Sounds like there's a deeper issue here."

"Do you plan to do something about it, then?"

"Possibly."

"Don't tell me that you were one of those kids who stood behind the scared ones at swimming lessons and pushed them into the pool."

"Do you really think I'd do that?"

"No. But how else would you get me into the water?"

"I'd provide an incentive."

"You'd feed me?"

"Just how one-track minded are you?"

"I can't think of a single other reason to get motivated."

"Maybe I'd get in first."

You almost choke on your miso cod.

"Hmm. That may work. Nanami Kento, grade one sorcerer and swimming pool siren. Has a nice ring to it."

"This conversation will never be repeated to another soul."

After supper, Kento does not call the car. There is an enclosed nook outside the restaurant, sheltered from the worst of the wind, where you both stand, his upper arm pressed against yours. It seems that many physical barriers are coming down today, something you're definitely not complaining about. There is something about the sheer strength of the man standing so close to you that is both intimidating and intoxicating. In this moment, you feel that you can say anything to him.

And, possibly, he feels the same, because his next question opens the topic you weren't able to broach earlier. The one that darkens the already narrowing spaces between your life and his.

"You said earlier that you felt happy."

"I did."

"Just for that moment in time?"

"No. Being here makes me happy. And talking to you on the phone does too."

"I'd hoped I wasn't bothering you."

"Your calls are never a bother."

That keen sweetness, the unspoken tension that always hovered so close to your tongues was thickening the air once more. Kento looked down at his hands, fists closed over the railing.

"Are you saying that I make you happy?"

"Yes, Kento."

"What if that isn't always the case?"

"Are you talking about your work as a sorcerer?"

"Yes, and ... other possibilities. If this goes any further, I need to know that you will be safe and have peace of mind. If it means me sacrificing my own happiness, and yours, temporarily, I won't hesitate to do what's necessary. I don't want to see you hurt."

You let out a soft sigh and meet his gaze. It was vital that you address this now. He was not the sort of person who would leave an issue like this hanging tentatively between you two. You cannot mince your words either, because to do so would be an injustice to someone as principled and straightforward as the man standing beside you. You realise that in this moment, there is a different type of courage surfacing inside you, one you didn't know you possessed until you met him.

"Kento, I'll be frank. If anything happened to you, I'd be hurt beyond measure. With, or without us ... progressing further than this. I can't help how I feel. It's too far beyond my control. No, I'm not ashamed to tell you so. Nor am I embarrassed. I want you to know that I will miss you when we can't spend time together. That I will worry for you when you're out in the field. That I will wait for your call and feel relief when I hear your voice. That whenever a fatality is reported, I will feel sick to my stomach and never cease looking for you until I know that you're safe."

You pause and collect yourself. It's too late now, too late to cram the words back into your mouth. Secrets like this can never be swallowed. In this business, words like these birth curses. But they also birth wondrous things, feelings you know you can no longer live without.

"I want you to know that all these things are true, but they don't make other truths lesser, simply because they exist. Knowing that I will miss you doesn't take away from the fact that I cherish the time I spend in your company. When I worry for you, it's only natural. You worry for people you care about whether they're near you or not. You can choose to do whatever you want, Kento, now or in the future. But your actions can't change the way I feel. Not now. Not ever. You can save many people, multiple times, as a sorcerer. But you can't save me from myself."

The laugh that escapes you then is a little wild, a reckless sound that you wish you hadn't uttered, but it's another on the long list of things you can't pull back into yourself.

Kento is watching you as if you've transformed before his eyes, spurred on by the treacherous ocean behind you, into some kind of weapon that holds him in thrall, as if you've dealt him some grievous wound that, somehow, births more pleasure than agony.

He doesn't speak, but his hand comes up, the broad palm unspeakably warm and heavy against the side of your face. His fingers are rough in certain places, strong and capable as they trail down your cheek, pausing intimately at the corner of your mouth, before they move down to enclose the side of your neck, thumb resting beneath your chin.

Your face turns to him, a hapless sunflower towards a solar flare that arcs across space to unfold and destroy it. Your mouth opens under his, readily, and his warm, slightly chapped lips cover yours with that gentle firmness, so characteristic of everything he does. Your head is pushed to the side, tilting as he leans into you, something desperate under the staidness of his kiss, as if he is the one who has swallowed all the words you've spoken and is attempting to breathe his own intent back into you.

Your head tilts even further, as the kiss becomes less chaste, as his lips move with greater firmness against yours. He steals every breath you attempt to take and repays it with molten honey that threatens to drown you. His fingers are now tangled in your hair and yours are clenched in the fabric of his coat.

When you separate, a necessity to keep you both from suffocating, his eyes are shut tightly, the bridge of his nose slightly creased, as if he is in pain. You don't think you've ever seen a more beautiful sight.

You echo his movement, gently cupping his cheek with your palm and guiding his face back towards yours. Not for another kiss, no. Not now. There'll be plenty of time for that later. For now, you rest his forehead against yours and close your own eyes in turn.

Something about the sigh that escapes him, the solid weight of his head against yours, the soft fall of his hair against your brow, reminds you of an illustration you've seen in one of the many storybooks you've read as a child.

A weary knight finds a safe haven in a perilous forest, his back against an old, gnarled tree, sword shoved upright into the earth before him. You are willing to be the sword, no matter how thin your edges are worn. You are willing to be the tree, no matter how scarred time makes you. You want to stand by his side, for as long as you are permitted, holding off the beasts of the forest until dawn arrives.

@tsukimefuku @kentocalls @g-kleran @actuallysaiyan