Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nani arrived ten minutes early. 

The Sanrio café looked like it had been waiting for him. Pastel pink walls. Soft white tables edged in gold. Plush characters tucked into shelves and corners like they were keeping secrets. The air smelled of sugar and vanilla, warm and gentle enough that the tightness in Nani’s shoulders eased the moment he stepped inside.

He paused just beyond the door.

Pink cardigan. White tee. Soft trousers. He fit.

Not because the place was cute — but because it didn’t ask him to brace. Because it felt like the kind of space where liking something openly didn’t require explanation.

Nani clasped his hands behind his back and leaned toward the dessert display, eyes lighting up as he took everything in. He drifted closer, excitement careful, like sweetness was something you learned to ration.

“Wow,” he murmured, smiling. “This place is adorable.”

Across the street, Sky stopped. He hadn’t planned to arrive early. He rarely did. It just… happened. Dark navy coat. Black shirt. Clean lines. No softness to him at all — wrong for the pink behind the glass, wrong for the plush toys and warm light spilling onto the sidewalk.

Then he saw Nani.

Standing there, framed by pastel color and quiet warmth, smiling at something the barista said like the world hadn’t yet taught him to flinch. Like enjoying something hadn’t come with consequences.

Something in Sky went very still. Not breathless. Not stunned.

Focused.

Nani laughed softly, pointing at the display case, debating heart-shaped macarons with earnest concentration. The sound lodged itself in Sky’s chest and stayed there, heavy and deliberate.

He belongs here, Sky thought. I’ll make sure he keeps having places like this.

Sky crossed the street.

The bell chimed gently when he entered.

Nani turned immediately. “Sky!”

The smile he offered was instant — bright, genuine, unfiltered. The kind that assumed safety. Sky absorbed it without letting a trace of it surface on his own face.

“Hi,” Sky said evenly. “Sorry if I’m late.”

“You’re not!” Nani shook his head, stepping closer. “I just got here too. Isn’t it cute?”

“Yes,” Sky said. “It is.”

Only then did he reach into his coat and bring out the flowers. A small bouquet. Soft pink ranunculus layered close together, delicate and full, threaded with light sprays of baby’s breath. Quiet. Thoughtful. The kind of arrangement that looked like it belonged on a café table rather than in a photograph.

Sky set it down beside Nani’s place without ceremony. “I saw these,” he said calmly, “and thought of you.”

The words landed without flourish. No pause. No expectation.

Nani froze — just for a heartbeat. Then his breath hitched, soft and surprised. “Sky…”

“They’re beautiful,” he said, fingertips brushing the petals once, reverently. “Thank you.”

Sky nodded, accepting the thanks without comment.

Nani glanced down again, then back up, smiling — something warm and a little unguarded slipping through. “I’ve wanted to come here for ages. I just… I wasn’t sure how to suggest it. It felt kind of silly.”

“It’s not,” Sky said immediately.

The certainty made Nani pause. 

Sky met his eyes. Calm. Steady. As if there were no other reasonable conclusion. “You like sweet things,” Sky said. “That’s enough reason.”

The barista cleared her throat politely. “Are you ready to order?”

Before Nani could answer, Sky stepped forward. “He’ll have the strawberry milk,” Sky said, already taking out his card. “The one with less ice.”

Nani blinked. “I—”

“And whatever desserts catch his eye,” Sky continued, unbothered. “Plus the limited edition items.”

The barista hesitated. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

Nani laughed, startled. “Sky, that’s— you don’t have to—”

“I know,” Sky replied easily. “I want to.”

For a brief moment, Nani opened his mouth again. Then he closed it. The protest dissolved into something quieter, warmer. Gratitude. 

Sky glanced at him, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. Not enough to soften the decision. “Call it research.”

Nani shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Research for what?”

“For remembering,” Sky said. It was vague enough to feel harmless. Gentle enough to reassure.

They took a table by the window. Pink light spilled across Nani’s face, softened his features, caught in his lashes when he lifted his cup and took a careful sip. His eyes widened — quiet delight, unperformed.

“Oh,” he said softly. “This is really good.”

Sky didn’t look at the drink. He watched the way Nani relaxed into the chair. The way his hand drifted toward the flowers without realizing it.

So he likes this, Sky thought. Good.

Outside, the city moved on. Cars passed. People hurried. Lives brushed past one another and disappeared.

Inside, Sky leaned back, content. This moment had already been filed away.

Not as a memory. As a pattern. For future. 

-

The table filled faster than Nani could keep up.

A tray of pastel drinks arrived first — pink milk crowned with a heart of foam, a strawberry soda fizzing softly, a lavender drink capped with whipped cream like a small cloud.

Then the desserts followed.

Macarons arranged in careful rows. Custard bread still warm, steam escaping the moment it was torn open. Tiny cakes shaped like Sanrio characters, almost too cute to touch without feeling a little guilty.

Nani stared. “…Sky.”

Sky leaned back in his chair, composed. “Yes?”

“This is too much.”

Sky tilted his head slightly, considering him. “Is it?”

Nani looked from plate to plate, then back at Sky. “I can’t eat all of this.”

“You don’t have to,” Sky said calmly. “Just try.”

Nani laughed, soft and a little helpless. “You ordered everything.”

“I wanted you to have options.”

Nani gave him a look. “You ordered the entire menu.”

Sky didn’t argue. “Start wherever you want,” he said. “I’ll follow.”

That was how it began.

Nani picked up a macaron first — pink shell, pale cream — and took a careful bite. His eyes widened.

“Oh,” he breathed. “This one’s really good.”

Sky leaned forward just enough to notice. “Which flavor?”

“Vanilla,” Nani said. “But not boring vanilla. It’s… warm. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Sky replied.

And it did.

Nani reached for the custard bread next, tearing it in half and offering Sky a piece without thinking.

Sky accepted it. Their fingers brushed. Nani didn’t notice. Sky did.

“This one’s better warm,” Nani said. “I don’t like it when custard’s too sweet.”

Sky nodded once. “Noted.”

Nani paused, glancing up. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m being studied.”

The corner of Sky’s mouth curved faintly. “You told me you liked sweet things. I’m making sure I understand how sweet.”

Nani laughed, cheeks faintly pink, and reached for the strawberry soda.

“Oh— okay, this is good too.”

“Too sweet?” Sky asked.

Nani shook his head. “Just right. But I couldn’t drink a full glass.”

Sky’s gaze flicked to the untouched lavender drink. “And that one?”

Nani sniffed it, then made a face. “Pretty, but not my favorite. I like fruity more than floral.”

Sky filed it away.

Fruit over floral.
Warm vanilla.
Not too sweet.
Portions matter.

He didn’t need to write it down.

Nani, meanwhile, had discovered the My Melody cake and was now staring at it like it might judge him.

“I feel bad eating this,” he admitted. “It’s too cute.”

“You don’t have to,” Sky said.

Nani considered that for exactly two seconds before carefully slicing into it. “No,” he said solemnly. “I will. But I’m sorry in advance.”

Sky reached out and steadied the plate before it could slide. “Does it pass?” he asked.

Nani took a bite. His eyes closed.

“Yes,” he said seriously. “Very much yes.”

Sky watched the expression settle over him — ease, delight, the absence of guard. This was the point.

“You really like watching people eat,” Nani said suddenly, peeking at him over his fork.

Sky didn’t deflect. “I like watching you enjoy things.”

Nani froze — then laughed, flustered. “You’re dangerous.”

Sky’s gaze softened. “Only when it matters.”

They shared bites and quiet commentary. Sky paid for refills without announcing it, slid plates closer when Nani leaned, passed a napkin before crumbs could fall. Care, rendered invisible.

Sky reached for his glass, pushing his sleeve up just enough for comfort. The tattoo flashed into view.

Nani noticed instantly. He leaned forward, eyes bright. “Hey. That one.”

Sky paused mid-motion.

“The tattoo,” Nani clarified, smiling. “You said it was usually covered.”

“It is,” Sky said.

Nani tilted his head. “You don’t mind me seeing it now?”

Sky considered him — the pink café, the sugar on the table, the way Nani looked at him like curiosity wasn’t something to fear.

“No,” Sky said. “I don’t mind.”

Satisfied, Nani returned to his dessert.

Sky pulled his sleeve back down slowly, pulse steady.

At one point, the barista returned with another tray, smiling brightly.

“This one’s on the house,” she said to Nani. “You’re very popular today.”

Nani blinked. “Oh— thank you—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sky said politely. His hand rested on the table. Not touching. Close enough.

The barista hesitated, then nodded, took the tray, and left.

Nani glanced at Sky. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

Nani studied him for a moment longer, then smiled and went back to his cake.

Sky watched him do it, satisfaction settling low and quiet.

He already knew what Nani liked. But learning it this way — in soft light, over sugar and warmth — was different.

This wasn’t preference. It was groundwork. And Sky never built anything he didn’t intend to keep.

-

They lingered over their drinks, the first rush of sugar settling into something softer, slower.

Sky watched Nani stir his cup absentmindedly, eyes following the slow spiral like his thoughts had drifted somewhere just out of reach.

“You’re quiet,” Sky said.

Nani hummed. “Just tired.”

“Long shift?”

“Yeah.” Nani smiled, sheepish. “Morning at the café. I switched with someone so I could make it today.”

Sky’s brow lifted slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to meet you.” The words slipped out easily. Then Nani shrugged, blushing faintly. “And I had a fitting earlier too.”

Sky stilled — just a fraction. “A fitting?” he echoed, tone untroubled.

Nani nodded, clearly not thinking much of it. “Mm. I model sometimes.”

Sometimes.

Sky let the word pass.

“For brands?” he asked.

“Small ones,” Nani said quickly, already softening it. “Lookbooks, test shoots. Nothing big.”

“Do you usually work alone?” Sky asked.

“Not really.” Nani shook his head. “Usually with Dew. We get booked together a lot because apparently we ‘photograph well.’” He laughed, a little embarrassed. “Bright teases me about it constantly.”

Sky stored the name away.

“And Bright helps you?” he asked, as if simply following the thread.

“Yeah. Bright talks me up to everyone,” Nani said fondly. “And Win too — he knows people, passes my portfolio around when he hears about castings.”

Sky’s mouth curved faintly. “That makes sense.”

Nani blinked. “…You already knew that?”

“Bright mentioned it once,” Sky said simply.

Nani smiled, amused, then added more quietly, “I’m still figuring out how all of it works.”

Sky studied him for a moment — the way Nani minimized himself even when describing things he’d clearly worked for.

“And the café?” Sky asked. “You like it?”

Nani glanced around the pastel room, the sugar-sweet air, the low hum of comfort. “I do. Modeling’s fun, but it’s strange sometimes. People look at you like you’re not really there.”

Something in Sky’s jaw tightened. Barely visible.

“And at the café?” he prompted.

Nani’s smile warmed. “I get to make people happy. It’s simple.”

Sky nodded once. “You do both,” he said quietly. “That isn’t easy.”

Nani looked up, surprised — then softened. “Thanks,” he said. “That actually means a lot.”

Sky inclined his head, already filing the information away.

-

It happened so casually that, for a moment, Nani thought he’d imagined it.

A laugh — sharp, careless — cut through the café.

“Wow,” a voice drawled behind them. “Did I walk into a kindergarten?”

Nani’s shoulders tightened before his mind caught up. He turned slowly.

The man had wandered in from the street — loud jacket, louder presence, eyes already scanning the room with thinly veiled contempt. His gaze landed on Nani, lingered on the pink cardigan, the pastel table, the half-eaten My Melody cake.

He snorted. “Didn’t know guys were dressing like girls now,” he said, grinning at no one in particular. “What is this, a princess tea party?”

The café didn’t fall silent. It softened.

Conversations dipped. Cups paused mid-air. People suddenly found their phones fascinating. No one wanted to be the first to move.

Nani felt heat rise to his face. Not embarrassment. He’d learned better than that. It was older. Quieter. The instinct to make himself smaller. To smooth the edges until the world lost interest. He drew in a breath.

Sky stood. No scrape of a chair. No sharp movement. He simply rose, and suddenly he was there — between Nani and the man. Tall. Unyielding. A deliberate obstruction.

“Leave,” Sky said calmly.

The man blinked. “What?”

“This café isn’t for you,” Sky continued, voice level, eyes steady. “And your commentary isn’t welcome.”

The man scoffed. “Relax. I’m joking. Didn’t know he needed a bodyguard.”

Sky smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re confusing humor with cruelty,” Sky said. “And you’re mistaken about who this concerns.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Enough to claim space.

“Walk out,” Sky said quietly. “Now.”

The man’s grin wavered. “You threatening me?”

Sky’s gaze flicked once — to Nani. Wide eyes. Shallow breath. Still seated.

Sky decided. “No,” he said evenly. “I’m giving you a chance to leave with your dignity intact.”

The man hesitated, glancing around — at the staff, the watching patrons, the certainty in Sky’s posture.

He scoffed again, weaker this time. “Whatever. Place is stupid anyway.”

He turned and left.

The bell chimed softly as the door closed behind him. The café exhaled.

Sound returned in pieces — cups clinking, music resuming, conversations carefully reassembled. Life continued as if the interruption had been a minor inconvenience.

Sky turned back to Nani immediately. “Are you okay?”

His voice was quieter now. The authority stripped away, leaving something clean and unmistakable beneath it.

Nani blinked once. Then nodded. “…Yeah.”

Sky lowered himself slightly so they were eye-level, keeping his voice private.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Nani said quickly.

Sky didn’t contradict him. Instead, he said, “There’s nothing wrong with liking sweet things. Or softness. Or pink.”

His gaze held Nani’s, steady and unflinching. “You don’t owe anyone hardness to be taken seriously.”

Something in Nani’s chest loosened. He smiled — small, but real. “…Thank you.”

Sky straightened and offered his hand. Not insistently. Just there.

Nani took it. Their fingers fit easily — warm, grounding.

Sky didn’t pull him closer or tighten his grip. He simply stayed where he was, between Nani and the rest of the room, the boundary already drawn. And he didn’t let go right away. Not to make a point. Not to claim. Just long enough to anchor him.

“Do you want to stay?” Sky asked quietly. “Or we can leave.”

Nani glanced around the café — the pastel walls, the plush toys peeking from shelves, the half-finished desserts waiting patiently on their table.

Then he smiled. “I want to stay,” he said. “I don’t want him to ruin today.”

Something in Sky settled. “Okay,” he said simply. “Then we stay.”

Nani traced the rim of his cup absently before glancing at Sky’s arm. “You know,” he said, softer now, “I never asked properly.”

Sky looked at him.

“The tattoo,” Nani continued. “You said it was a reminder.”

Sky rolled his sleeve up — this time deliberately — revealing more of the black ink. Clean lines. Precise. Considered.

“It reminds me,” he said quietly, “to choose carefully.”

Nani frowned slightly. “Carefully?”

“Yes.” Sky met his eyes, unflinching.

“Because when I decide something matters,” he continued, calm and unembellished, “I don’t half-commit.”

Nani swallowed.

“And,” Sky added, voice lower now, “I don’t let go.”

The café noise dimmed, as if the world had politely stepped back.

Nani smiled — not nervous, not afraid. Thoughtful. “…You warned me.”

“I did.”

Sky lowered his sleeve again, unhurried. He released Nani’s hand only to slide the menu closer, restoring the table with careful precision, as if returning order to something briefly disrupted.

“Pick,” Sky said. “Anything you didn’t get to enjoy properly.”

Nani laughed softly. “You’re really serious about this.”

“I take anything you like very seriously,” Sky replied.

That earned him a grin. Nani surveyed the menu with exaggerated consideration. “That one. And that one. And—oh. That drink again.”

Sky signaled the barista with a brief nod. No discussion. No confirmation.

When the new order arrived, Nani took his time with the first bite — slow, deliberate, reclaiming the moment.

“Better?” Sky asked.

Nani nodded. “Much.”

Sky leaned back, satisfied.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Nani sipped his drink, shoulders loose again, eyes bright. Sky stayed quiet, watching until the rhythm of Nani’s breathing settled fully into ease.

Eventually, Nani glanced at him over the rim of his cup.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “you were kind of scary back there.”

Sky lifted an eyebrow. “Scary?”

“Very calm,” Nani said. “Very intense. Like—” He smiled, clearly amused. “…a mafia boss.”

Sky didn’t respond immediately. The pause stretched — not awkward. Measured.

“That’s an interesting comparison,” he said at last.

“I mean it as a compliment,” Nani added quickly. “You handled it like you’ve done it before.”

Sky held his gaze a fraction longer than necessary. “I don’t like rudeness,” he said quietly. “Especially when it’s directed at people I care about.”

Something softened in Nani’s expression. “…Thank you again Sky.”

Sky nodded once. A crumb lingered at the corner of Nani’s mouth. Sky reached out without thinking, brushed it away with his thumb, and withdrew just as smoothly. Nani froze. Blushed. Then smiled.

“For someone who dresses like he stepped out of a noir film,” Nani said, eyes glinting, “you’re very committed to pink cafés.”

Sky glanced around the pastel chaos. “I have my reasons.”

Nani leaned back, clearly pleased. “Are you secretly into cute things too?”

Sky met his gaze without hesitation. “You’re cute,” he said plainly.

Nani blinked.

“And I’m interested in you,” Sky continued, calm and certain. No teasing. No retreat. “So yes. I suppose I am.”

The silence that followed was immediate and absolute. 

“Oh.” Nani’s ears flushed first. Then his cheeks. Then the faint line of his neck above his collar.

He lifted his cup halfway, clearly forgetting why. “You can’t just say things like that,” he said weakly. “Not like it’s obvious.”

“Why not?” Sky asked. “It is.”

Nani hid his face behind his hand, mortified and smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“I don’t want you to misunderstand my intentions,” Sky said.

Nani peeked at him through his fingers, eyes warm, flustered, unmistakably pleased. “…I won’t.”

Sky reached for his wallet.

“Hey,” Nani protested. “We’re still here.”

“I know.”

“You’ve paid enough.”

“And I will continue to.”

Nani sighed, the fight gone from him. “You can’t just keep spoiling me.”

Sky met his eyes, steady and unyielding. “I can,” he said. “As long as you let me.”

Nani opened his mouth to argue. Then closed it. “…Okay,” he said quietly. “But next time, I’ll pay.”

Sky smiled — small, genuine. “We will see about that.”

They stayed a while longer, surrounded by sugar and softness, pink light and newly drawn lines.

And Sky thought — not sentimentally, not softly —

This is how I remove threats and establish safety for him.
This is how I will keep what matters the most to me close.

---

They stepped out into the late afternoon light together.

Nani blinked against the sun, still holding the small Sanrio bag Sky had insisted on buying — the bouquet of soft pink ranunculus tucked carefully under his arm, petals protected by habit rather than thought. He peeked inside the bag, then groaned softly.

“Sky,” he said. “You bought me so much official My Melody and Kuromi stuff.”

Sky glanced at the bag, unfazed. “You liked it.”

“But it must’ve cost you—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Nani looked at him properly then, something warm and steady settling low in his chest. He didn’t argue.

“Let me walk you home,” Sky said, like the decision had already been made.

Nani smiled without hesitation. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

They walked side by side, the city mellowing around them. Traffic noise faded into a distant hum. Their shoulders brushed now and then. Neither moved away.

When they reached Nani’s building, Sky stopped just short of the door. The pause between them was unhurried. Charged without urgency.

“Thank you for today,” Nani said softly. “I had a really good time.”

Sky looked at him the way he always did — attentive, precise, as if everything else had quietly fallen out of frame.

“So did I,” he said. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Nani smiled. “I still want to.”

Sky inclined his head once, accepting it. “I’ll message you later.”

“I’ll be awake.”

Nani hesitated. His fingers tightened briefly around the handles before he set the bag aside, shifting the flowers to one hand so they wouldn’t be crushed when he stepped closer. He reached for Sky’s coat, curling his fingers into the fabric like he needed the contact to steady himself.

“Sky,” he murmured. Just his name.

Then Nani leaned in first. The kiss started soft — careful, almost tentative — his lips brushing Sky’s like he was asking permission without words.

Sky went still for a single breath.

Then his hand came to Nani’s waist. Firm. Certain. He drew him just a fraction closer as he kissed back — not rushed, not gentle enough to be mistaken for hesitation.

Sky deepened it slowly, tilting his head, his thumb tracing a quiet, claiming arc along Nani’s side. The kiss lingered, deliberate, patient, as if he were setting a pace rather than chasing one.

Nani exhaled softly, the sound caught between them. He leaned in fully now, trusting the hold at his waist, trusting the steadiness of Sky’s presence as the kiss grew warmer, closer, sure.

Sky kissed him again — longer this time — until the city truly disappeared.

Nani pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against Sky’s shoulder, chest rising a little too fast.

Sky didn’t follow his mouth.

Instead, he tipped his head and pressed a slow kiss to the mole near Nani’s eye. Then another — higher along his cheek. Another, closer, near the bridge of his nose. One more at the corner of his mouth. Lower — precise — where the small mole rested near his jaw.

Nani stilled, breath hitching.

“Sky—” he murmured, half-lost.

Sky’s lips lingered there for a second longer than necessary, not chasing, not rushing. Just… marking the detail.

When he finally pulled back, his hand remained steady at Nani’s waist, grounding him while his breathing caught up. He rested his forehead against Nani’s, breath steady, eyes closed for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“Go inside,” he murmured. “It’s getting cooler.”

Nani smiled, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way that tightened something low and controlled in Sky’s chest.

“Text me when you get home.”

“I will.”

Sky’s hand lingered at Nani’s waist one last time before he let go. Not reluctant. Deliberate.

Nani watched him until the door closed behind him.

Sky stayed until the light in Nani’s apartment flicked on.

Only then did he turn back toward the street, calm restored, the faint taste of sweetness still present — sugar, warmth, and something else he would remember precisely.

This had worked.

And next time, Sky would already know exactly how far Nani would lean into him.

Sky didn’t think about the man from the café again until Nani was safely home.

Until the light in Nani’s apartment flicked on. Until the city resumed its familiar rhythm — indifferent, humming, unconcerned.

Only then did Sky unlock his phone. He didn’t need a name at first. Just a face. The café’s security cameras were efficient. The street cameras more so. A few taps. A quiet request. A response that arrived without questions.

The name came next. Then the rest.

Where the man worked. Where he lived. How predictable his days were. How often he spoke without thinking. How often people laughed instead of stopping him.

Sky didn’t like that. He made one call.

“I want him removed,” Sky said calmly. “From his job. His residence. This city.”

A pause.

“I don’t ever want him crossing paths with Nani again.”

Another beat.

“Yes,” Sky said. “Effective immediately.”

The call ended.

By morning, the man’s life would begin to narrow.

An email citing conduct violations. Termination, effective immediately. A notice from his landlord. Brief. Final. Messages left unanswered. Invitations that never came. Familiar places that suddenly felt unavailable. No confrontation. No explanation. Just access quietly revoked.

Within a week, he would be sitting in a city that wasn’t his, scrolling through listings that rejected him before interviews were ever offered. Algorithms were very good at that. Silence even better.

Sky poured himself a glass of water and checked his phone.

A message from Nani waited.

Today was really nice.
Thank you again. 💗

Something in Sky softened. Instantly. Completely.

He replied:

I’m glad you enjoyed today.
Sleep well.

He set the phone down.

Some people learned lessons through pain. Others learned them through loss — of comfort, of access, of belonging.

Sky preferred the second. It was quieter. More precise.

And it ensured that anyone who tried to make Nani feel small would never again feel comfortable doing so.