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According to the 2021 issue of the Handbook of Modern Cupids: The Essential Guide to Knowing Your Clients Better, being charitable still ranks as one of the top five qualities that at least ninety-five percent of people look for in a professional matchmaker.
“Nanami,” Satoru drawls, having no regard for the bajillion microbes that are probably already crawling all over his face as he keeps his right cheek pressed on the cool surface of the café’s wooden table. He releases a breath, pouting at the hardbound book in front of him, and lazily waves his left hand in an attempt to get the attention of the man behind it. “What’s your type?”
Silence.
Satoru wrinkles his nose, tapping an uneven rhythm on the table with his free hand while he waits for any kind of reaction from Nanami, but the man doesn’t budge, seemingly hellbent on only giving his attention to the book that he’s reading—hell, if anything, the man doesn’t even bother sparing him a single glance as he flips another page off of José Rizal’s Noli Me Tàngere.
And boy, does it make Satoru want to rip his own hair out.
Throughout the whole ten years of their unsurprisingly low-maintenance friendship, Satoru would be lying if he says that he’s never given any thought as to why Nanami has never introduced him to any of the people whom he has dated in the past.
It started out as a lingering question at the back of his mind, a simple thought that he hopes will eventually answer itself, and yet the longer their friendship goes on, the more it feels as if Nanami’s purposely blocking him out from that specific part of his life.
Sure, he’s known the man long enough to know that he isn’t the type to easily air out his private life in public—not to mention that he’s also at least eighty percent certain that he’ll be the last person that Nanami will ever tell his relationship status to—but that still doesn’t help Satoru from feeling as if he’s missing something.
“And why should I tell you that?”
Satoru blinks, straightening his posture while his mind processes whether he’s heard Nanami correctly or not, and subconsciously hears the gears in his head turn.
He just asked a question, his brain supplies helpfully, the thought consequently dredging up all the times that Nanami has managed to evade his offer to set him up. That’s a first.
“Because I’m the best matchmaker in town,” he tells Nanami in jest, voice wavering for a bit while his mouth momentarily catches up to his brain.
“You’re the only matchmaker in town.”
“Exactly,” Satoru responds with a grin, casually lazing back against his chair as he slips back into his usual demeanor around the other man. “And I get really sad whenever I see you all alone like this, you know? How long have you been single again?”
“Not everyone wants to be in a relationship, Satoru.”
“I can change your mind.”
Nanami looks up, arching an eyebrow up at him in question, and Satoru can almost see the faint outline of a smile playing on his lips. “Is that your way of asking me out?”
Satoru feels his own smug expression slide off his lips as a warm sensation creeps up his neck. “What?”
Nanami simply looks back at him, his amusement coloring his otherwise stoic face, and Satoru has to school his features to prevent himself from openly gaping at his friend.
“Was that a joke? Did you just tell me a joke?”
The man only shrugs before shifting his focus back to his book, a subtle indication that their conversation has already ended.
See? Satoru hears his inner monologue quip from the back of his head. You’re definitely missing something here, Satoru.
“Oi, Nanami,” he tries again.
“What is it this time?”
“What’s your type?”
His friend stays silent for a moment, idly flipping the corner of the page with his thumb and forefinger, and eventually lets out a soft sigh. “If I answer your question, will you leave me alone for the rest of the day?”
“Scout’s honor.”
The man lowers his book and pushes the frame of his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He gives him a leveled gaze, seemingly studying Satoru behind those gold-rimmed glasses of his, and finally concedes to his offer. “I like people who are good with animals.”
“That’s great,” Satoru tells him as he whips out his phone and types in animal lover in a blank Google Docs file before naming it Nanami’s Type. “What else?”
Nanami doesn’t say anything in response, prompting Satoru to look up from his phone with his brows furrowed, only for him to immediately pause as soon as he catches the hurried way that Nanami averts his head to the side.
He doesn’t usually think too much of it, really; he has seen this exact same movement from his friend at least a thousand times before, after all, but he also can’t stop the familiar warmth that creeps up his neck whenever he catches it, this time blooming from the apples of his cheeks and moving up to the roots of his hair.
“What else do you want me to say?” Nanami asks quietly, somehow audible enough for him to hear despite the noise of their surroundings.
Satoru clears his throat, swallowing the lump that has managed to lodge itself inside it in the process, and goes back to his phone. “I’m skipping the cheesy questions this time so you can just describe the physical qualities you’re looking for in a person for now.”
“Such as?”
“Your ideal height, hair color, you know, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t care for any of those,” the other says with a sigh, lounging against his chair before carefully running his fingers through his hair. “I’m all right with anyone as long as I can get along with them.”
The answer makes the sides of his lips quirk up. “Even when they’re obnoxious?”
“Especially when they’re obnoxious.”
Nanami openly stares at him, even tilting his head to the side while he waits for another question, and Satoru quickly shifts his eyes back to his phone, silently praying that his face isn’t as red as he’s imagining it to be.
Huh.
Even after all these years, the man still manages to surprise him.
They continue with their exchange—which mostly translates to Satoru avoiding any questions that might put Nanami off—and the once blank Google Docs file becomes half-filled with all the things that Nanami’s looking for both in a relationship and a person.
Things that, if he squints hard enough, just might be the complete opposite of Satoru’s qualities.
“Okay,” he says, dragging each syllable as he exits one app in his phone and opens another. “I think I got what I needed. When are you free?”
“Evenings during the weekends should be fine,” the man replies with a dismissive wave of his hand before taking off his glasses and closing his book. “How much am I going to pay you again?”
There’s an unreadable expression on Nanami’s face, one that he has never seen him wear before, and Satoru suddenly feels an inexplicable urge to ask the other man what it means.
“Oh, no, don’t worry about the fee, man,” he tells him instead, tightening the lid on his self-control to avoid blurting anything that he’ll knowingly regret, and flashes his signature wolfish grin at the man in front of him. “I’m taking this case pro bono… or whatever you lawyers call it.”
“All right,” Nanami says with a nod, placing a neat stack of bills on the table as he stands up, and Satoru notes the glimmer in his friend’s eyes. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”
ᜈᜈᜄ᜔
Satoru puffs out a series of soft, shallow breaths, watching the wisps of water vapor escape his lips in an attempt to distract himself from becoming fully aware of the knot that’s slowly forming within the ropes of his stomach.
“How long have you been standing there?”
He starts, almost dropping his phone as he whirls his entire body around, but suddenly feels himself freeze as soon as his eyes land on the owner of the voice. “Nanami?”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
Satoru stares at the man walking towards him, painfully aware of the ridiculous awestruck expression on his face, and realizes that he doesn’t have any shred of willpower left inside him to turn his eyes away because what the hell.
Nanami looks like he’s been plucked out of a fashion magazine.
The man has his hair down, the blond tips slightly brushing against the top of the round gold-rimmed glasses adorning his clean-shaven face, and his casual all-black outfit perfectly hugs his body in just the right places to highlight his physique.
“No, I’m just, uh,” Satoru begins with a shake of his head, internally cursing at himself for shamelessly ogling Nanami like that, and chucks his phone inside the pocket of his coat. “I thought you were a different person.”
Nanami regards him for a moment, seemingly unconvinced with the answer he’s provided, but the man doesn’t press him any further and carries on to another topic as they walk inside the restaurant. “This place looks nice.”
“It does, doesn’t it? The owner just got it a few months ago and he wanted it to feel as if he’s back in Italy,” he tells the other with a small smile, following the restaurant’s hostess to a secluded table that Satoru has specifically reserved for Nanami and his date.
Nanami thanks the hostess before taking his coat off and neatly folding it on the empty chair beside his. “You’re acquainted with the owner?”
“He’s a friend,” Satoru simply replies as he pulls his phone out—a lousy excuse to keep himself from unconsciously ogling Nanami again—and sees a notification glaring on his lock screen. “Your date says she’ll be here within five to ten minutes.”
“All right.”
“She also wants me to tell you that she’s sorry for the inconvenience.”
“I don’t mind. It’s just a few minutes, after all, and I think the restaurant’s ambiance is enough to take my mind off of the wait,” Nanami says, once again thanking the hostess after she brings him a glass of water. When his friend turns back to him, Satoru catches the subtle way that Nanami’s eyes wander all over him. “Are you supposed to be going somewhere?”
He inevitably meets the man’s gaze, its intensity seemingly luring him and trapping him in some form of a spell, and it makes Satoru forget everything around him—his surroundings completely vanishing in his consciousness as he allows himself to get lost in the pair of dark-brown eyes burning into him.
“Satoru?”
Nanami’s voice snaps him back to reality, feeling the familiar heat blooming in his cheeks as he catches the undeniable delight on the other man’s face.
“Oh. Right,” Satoru blurts out in panic, adding another layer to his embarrassment, and instinctively rubs his nape to ease the tension that’s been building up inside him. “My friend’s asking me to meet him and his partner on the second floor.”
“The owner?”
“The one and only.”
“You two seem close. Was he your client?”
Satoru furrows his brows. There’s a slight change in Nanami’s tone, a worried edge that he can’t seem to make any sense of, and it oddly sets both his mind and heart racing.
“I guess you could say that, but I think the majority of it was just him coming to me for advice.” A part of his brain screams at him to shut up, aware that it’s unethical for him to share any of his clients’ sessions, but his mouth can’t seem to stop moving on its own accord. “He’s been in love with one of his friends for years and he didn’t know what to do about it.”
“What sage advice did you offer him, then?”
“I just told him to confess,” Satoru says with a shrug, trying to pass off as nonchalant to hide the quiver in his voice. “It did take a lot of convincing, though. He was very adamant that his friend didn’t feel the same for him and he was scared that his confession would ruin their friendship.”
Nanami raises a curious brow, flicking his gaze back up at his face, and it makes Satoru’s stomach do a little flip. “Did it work?”
“You know it did,” he deadpans before standing up and motioning at the restaurant’s entrance. “She’s here.”
He sees the man’s head turn to follow his line of sight, also rising from his seat to greet the white-haired woman approaching them, and Satoru makes a last-minute decision to leave before Carmilla can reach their table. “You’ve got it from here, Nanami.”
Nanami glances back at him, a concerned expression flashing across his face, but his friend only gives him a nod and slides a hand on the small of his back. “Enjoy your night, Satoru.”
He gulps, trying his best to trump down the heavy feeling that’s pooling in his stomach, and smiles at the man beside him. “You, too.”
Satoru clears his throat and heads straight to the stairs, thankfully managing to snap out of his reverie just in time to politely acknowledge Carmilla.
His other client simply throws a playful wink in his direction as he passes by her, almost as if she can clearly see the inner turmoil brewing inside him, but quickly shifts her focus to her date, pressing a friendly kiss on both of Nanami’s cheeks in greeting.
“You’re here early.” Satoru vaguely registers the familiar voice as he reaches the second-floor landing, eyes still somewhat glued to the pair that he had just left downstairs, until he suddenly feels a presence blocking his way. “Gojo? You okay, man?”
He blinks, glancing at the man in front of him in confusion. “Yeah, of course. Sorry. I was just with a friend…”
Satoru gestures below but immediately trails off, suddenly feeling his heart tighten before pounding wildly against his chest at the sight of Nanami laughing at something that Carmilla had probably said, and—oh.
Oh, no.
ᜈᜈᜄ᜔
“Has Nanami ever laughed at any of your jokes?”
Shoko evidently pauses, the beer mug in her hand stopping midway to her lips as she slowly turns to him with her brows raised comically high up on her forehead.
Under any other circumstances, Satoru would’ve laughed and poked fun at the incredulous look on her face; it’s been a while since he’s seen that specific expression from Shoko, after all—the last time being Suguru’s sudden announcement about his move to Malaysia with Haibara two years ago—and there’s a small voice at the back of his mind that keeps nudging him to at least bark out a laugh.
Except he can’t even bring himself to pull his lips up into a smile.
It’s been five days since he saw Nanami off to his date, five days since he’s shown his face to the man in person, and five days since he might have accidentally unearthed some of the feelings that he has tried so hard to suppress for the last ten years.
“What makes you think I exchange jokes with him?” Shoko asks him quietly, sliding her empty beer mug to the bartender and motioning for a refill before wiping the side of her mouth with the back of her hand.
Satoru flicks his gaze up to her face to look for any indication that she’s joking, but his friend only stares back at him with a blank face. “Don’t you regularly go out for drinks with him?”
“I do,” Shoko confirms, briefly tearing her gaze from him to thank the bartender with a wink. “We just don’t talk about things like that.”
“What do you two usually talk about, then?”
Shoko raises a brow, letting a small but unmistakable smile play on her lips before hiding it behind her mug. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Satoru doesn’t say anything in return, taking a sip from his own drink instead, and tries not to look as if he’s dwelling on Shoko’s teasing question.
The thing is—and Satoru will never admit this for reasons that he’s still too afraid to voice out—a part of him does kind of want to know.
It’s not that he wants to pry into their private conversations or anything, but for the past few days, he’s come to the startling realization that he basically knows nothing about Nanami while the other man knows everything about him.
He doesn’t know how he’s never noticed it before, but Nanami has always been the only one who takes note of the things he likes; the man knows how he likes his morning coffee, he’s the first one to notice if he’s ever feeling uneasy, and he’s the only one who always brings an extra eye drop in case Satoru forgets his own and his sensitive eyes get overwhelmed from any kind of light source.
“Why are you so interested in Nanami’s laugh, anyway?” Shoko asks, leaning against the tiny backrest of the stool she’s sitting on. She looks up, noticeably taking in a deep breath as she stares at the bar’s wooden ceiling, and turns to Satoru with a sly grin. “Did you finally fall in love with him or something?”
Satoru almost spits out his drink.
He coughs and turns his head to the side in an effort to hide whatever expression is on his face from Shoko, but he senses the woman beside him tense—as if the lightbulb in her brain suddenly switched on.
“Holy shit,” he hears her whisper, voice laced with awe and disbelief. Satoru glares at her, feeling himself immediately get defensive over the conclusion that Shoko has probably already formed in her head, but the protest dies in his throat before he can even open his mouth.
“Oh my god,” Shoko says again, this time turning half of her body towards him. “This is serious, isn’t it? You’re blushing so much.”
“Sho, please,” he manages to croak out as soon as he finds his voice. He gulps down the rest of his drink—the fruity sweetness now tastes bitter on his tongue—and mirrors the way that Shoko’s sitting. “Don’t tell anyone.”
His friend studies him for a moment before motioning two fingers up at the bartender. “Hey, ease up, lovesick boy. You don’t have to worry about me because I’m not a fucking tattletale. Here. Drink up.”
Satoru glances down at the shot glass in front of him and wrinkles his nose as he gets a whiff of the familiar smoky wooden smell of whiskey. “You know I only drink mocktails.”
“And how’s that my problem?”
He scowls, taking another look at the dark liquor served to him, and gives in with a heavy sigh. “Fine.”
Satoru swallows all of it quickly and winces as he feels the liquid burn through his throat. Shoko then places a refrigerated water bottle in front of him, probably noticing the pained expression on his face, and Satoru almost spills it everywhere as he desperately tries to appease the burning sensation both in his throat and stomach.
“That’s the spirit,” Shoko remarks with a pat on his back. “Do you finally feel like you want to get something off of your chest?”
He purses his lips, still feeling the heat of the alcohol swirling in his gut. “I brought him to Kojiro’s last week.”
“Kaoru’s Kojiro?”
“Yes.”
“You set him up, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Satoru confirms solemnly, staring intently at the empty shot glass on the bar table. “In my defense, I didn’t want to admit what I was feeling until I saw him laughing with his date.”
Shoko snorts beside him. “We’ve all been friends for years, Satoru. Don’t tell me you just woke up one day and decided you’re in love with Nanami because you saw him laugh.”
“I was caught off-guard, okay?” He props both his elbows on the bar and presses his face on his palms. “What was I supposed to do? It’s not like he’s ever laughed at anything I’ve ever said before.”
“He laughs at all of your stupid stories, though.”
“He doesn’t,” Satoru insists even though he knows that she’s telling the truth, and presses the heels of his hands harder against his eyes. When he doesn’t hear anything from Shoko, he reluctantly looks up, wondering why the woman doesn’t have a witty comeback at the ready. “What?”
“Need another drink?” Shoko asks instead, but before Satoru can answer, the bartender puts four shots in front of them, unsubtly implying that the drinks are on the house. Shoko smiles and gives him two of the drinks. “What’s your plan now, genius? Are you going to continue setting him up or are you just going to take the bag for yourself?”
“I’m the one who offered him my service. It’d be weird if I suddenly stopped helping him out.”
Shoko pauses once more to drink a shot. “Are you sure about your feelings?”
“I am.”
“Really?”
He sighs, feeling his chest constricting as he prepares himself to finally admit what’s been at the back of his mind for almost a decade, and drinks both of his shots without any chasers. “I think I’ve already been in love with him for a long time, but I just didn’t want things to change between us so I ignored everything.”
“Wow,” Shoko whistles. “You’re really hopeless, aren’t you?”
Satoru squeezed his eyes shut to stop his surroundings from spinning. “Fuck, did I just say all of that out loud?”
“I’m afraid so,” his friend says with a laugh. “Nanami’s not that complicated to figure out, you know? All you have to do is just open your eyes a little.”
The last statement makes him crack an eye open in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Shoko simply shrugs at him and drinks her second shot. “You’ll see.”
ᜈᜈᜄ᜔
He takes another week to fully muster up the courage to see Nanami again in person.
It’s not that he has actively avoided the man in the days that they haven’t met up—no, really, he’s actually even managed to set him up with two other people when his thing with Carmilla didn’t work out—it’s just that Satoru also knows that he’ll most likely only make a fool out of himself in front of Nanami if he doesn’t take some time to think about everything and compose himself first.
“Hey. Sorry. Something came up at work.”
The low, smooth voice makes Satoru’s heart jump.
He peeks up from his phone just in time to see Nanami sitting down on the empty chair across his, looking all freshened up after his long day at work, and Satoru casts his eyes down before he can gape like a fish at his friend for everyone in the café to see.
Nanami still looks as immaculate as ever even in casual clothes, he notes; the man has his hair brushed up and parted on the side, his beige V-neck shirt fitting his chest and arms snugly, and his glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose.
“Satoru,” he hears the man call. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Of course,” he answers with a grin, internally scolding himself for being unintentionally rude to Nanami, and places his phone on the table with its screen facing down. “How was your date last night?”
Nanami sighs, relaxing against his chair before adjusting his glasses. “It was alright.”
Huh, Satoru thinks to himself. That doesn’t sound too positive.
“Alright enough for a second date?”
“No.”
There’s a strange twinge that courses through Satoru’s chest after hearing the man’s answer, numbing the odd mixture of elation and anxiousness that he’s been feeling since before Nanami has appeared in front of him, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.
He leans back and purses his lips. “I’m kind of running out of options here, Nanami.”
“You’re the one who forced me into this,” the man points out, a slight curve appearing on the side of his lips.
It makes the butterflies in his stomach go into a frenzy.
Satoru puffs out a breath and rakes his fingers through his hair, feeling his face grow hot under Nanami’s watchful gaze. “Okay, yeah, sure, that’s on me, but you have to at least give me something useful this time if you still want me to set you up.”
His friend raises a brow at him, keeping the small smile on his face as he draws forward and straightens himself.
“Fine,” Nanami says, nodding to the forgotten phone on the table. “Are you going to take note of this?”
“Oh, right, hold on.” Satoru takes his phone, ignoring the trembling of his right thumb as he scrolls through his Google Docs app until he finds Nanami’s file, and looks back at the man in front of him. “Alright, shoot.”
Nanami clasps his hands together. “I prefer someone who rarely drinks alcohol.”
Satoru looks up, briefly pausing his fingers as he speculates whether his friend has actually given up on dating and is just making fun of him at this point, only to see Nanami staring straight at him.
“Don’t you regularly drink with Shoko during the weekends?”
“I do,” the man deadpans, not offering any other explanation as to why he wants to date someone who doesn’t drink.
Satoru bites his lower lip, quickly typing what Nanami has just told him on his phone. “What else?”
“Someone older,” Nanami answers without much thought, sounding as if he already has his type’s qualities written somewhere and is simply reciting them to Satoru. “About a year older than me would be great.”
“That’s very specific,” he remarks, still a little convinced that his friend’s only fucking with him.
Nanami stares at him, propping his elbow on the armrest to rest his chin on the knuckles of his fist. “I guess I just have a very specific taste.”
Satoru sticks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, hearing the loud thumping of his heart as he adds another bullet down on Nanami’s file. “Alright. Any other specific thing you’d like to add to that?”
The man, to his credit, takes a moment to come up with another extremely specific trait, even looking upwards in thought before finally meeting Satoru’s gaze with a fond smile—as if he just remembered a happy memory. “I’d like it if they were talkative, too. The more stories they can make up on the spot, the better. I’ve always pictured my ideal partner as someone who lies more than they breathe.”
Satoru’s thumbs come to an abrupt stop as he feels a wave of nostalgia hit him.
He stares back at Nanami, eyes widening both in shock and confusion while the man’s question for him during their two-day summer trip in Hokkaido from a year ago resurfaces in his mind.
You lie more than you breathe, don’t you?
The small smile on Nanami’s lips slowly turns into a lopsided grin, his eyes softening behind his round-framed glasses, and the man changes his position on his chair once more, this time leaning forward to place both his arms on the table to hold his gaze.
Satoru’s almost positive that all of this is just a fever dream.
Nanami nods at him, prompting him to snap out of his thoughts. “You forgot to jot that down.”
“Wait, wh—”
“I’d also very much appreciate it if you matched me with someone who has sky blue eyes,” his friend cuts him off. “If they also happen to have white hair, that’d be incredible.”
Satoru’s mouth opens for a fraction as he processes the information he’s hearing, letting his eyes wander frantically around Nanami’s face to see whether he’s being serious or not, and feels his entire body go hot while his skin buzz with electricity.
He swallows loudly, hoping that he’s reading the situation right, and starts typing again without looking at his screen. “Would it be okay if they’re taller than you?”
“That’s even better,” Nanami replies, finally grinning openly at him. “Why, though? Do you know anyone who fits my type?”
Satoru’s face burns in embarrassment, but he feels a boost of confidence surge through him, urging him to play into the man’s game. “I can think of one.”
“Do you happen to know what their type is?”
“Let me check,” he says as he looks down and pretends to scroll through his phone for a few seconds before turning his attention back at the man in front of him. He bites the insides of his cheeks, trying to calm his heart from pounding wildly in his throat, and puts on a confused expression. “That’s interesting. It says here their type is someone named Nanami Kento.”
His friend visibly stills, the playful grin easily falling off his lips as he absorbs what Satoru has just told him, and Satoru holds his breath, a kernel of doubt popping up at the back of his head, but it immediately dissolves as soon as he sees the other man’s smirk.
“Oh?” Nanami asks, cocking his head to the side. “Is it possible for us to go on a date right now?”
Satoru only chuckles and chucks his phone inside his pocket.
“Absolutely.”