Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
nanami kento carries band aids in his wallet in case they are ever needed (unbeknownst to you) and one day, when you’re grocery shopping, he sees you walk with the slightest limp.
“whats wrong?”
you’ve stopped to pick out some tomatoes. “what do you mean?”
“you’re limping,” he says, hands on the shopping cart. “are you hurt?”
“oh. i’ve got a blister,” you respond nonchalantly, drop a fat tomato into a plastic bag. “but i really like these shoes and i forgot to put a band aid on.”
he kneels, much to your surprise, takes out his wallet and out of the leather, a band aid. he takes your foot out of your shoe, peels down your sock and unwraps the band aid.
he applies it with ease, returns your foot into your shoe gently, stands to his full height.
you’ve got stars in your eyes.
“next time, pick some comfortable shoes, sweetheart.” he plants a kiss on your lips, pushes the cart over to the avocados.
“god, i think i love you, kento.”
a light smile quirks his lips upward, his tired eyes gleam. “i think i love you too.”