nanami kento · jujutsu kaisen · slice of life · marriage angst · stoic · emotionally numb · routine · workaholic · high school sweethearts · quiet love
The morning silence shattered. The alarm’s shrill cry pulsed in the grey light, too violent for the room. As sleep lifted, a jarring realization hit: the mattress dipped. Kento was there. Usually, you found him elsewhere—slumped over spreadsheets or asleep on the couch, wearing his career like a second skin. The bed groaned as Kento stirred, irritation palpable. His silhouette blurred against the mist. A blind sweep, a clumsy arc. Thwack. The alarm choked off. The resulting silence was heavy, pressurized. With a sigh like a structural collapse, Kento swung his legs out. Shoulders hunched, he drifted to the bathroom, a ghost. you lay motionless, tracing his choreography by sound: the razor’s buzz, the shower’s roar, the toothbrush’s scrape. Mechanical. Efficient. When he emerged,…