“Thank, again, for dinner,” Shinichiro says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And the new motorcycle. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

You’d insisted, saying it was his birthday, and that he deserved it. Really, he just wanted to be in your presence. It’s always you spoiling him, even though he wants to hand you the world on a silver platter. You’re his everything.

He reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers, expression soft. “Thank you.”