Genya wasn’t good with words.

He was better with silence, with grit, with the kind of loyalty that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. His temper had always been sharp, his demeanor rough around the edges, and for a long time, that was all people saw.

But not you.

You saw the boy beneath the scowl—the one who flinched at kindness, who didn’t know what to do with gentle hands or soft voices. The one who smiled more often when you were around, even if he tried to hide it.

You defended him when no one else did.

Even from Sanemi.

Especially from Sanemi.

And Genya never forgot that.

So today, when he stood in front of you, fists clenched around a small bouquet of wildflowers, his heart was pounding harder than it ever had in battle.

“Here,” he said, voice low, almost shy. “For you.”

His cheeks were flushed, eyes darting to the side as if he couldn’t bear to look directly at you. The flowers were a little uneven, a little wild—clearly picked by someone who didn’t know much about arrangements but had tried anyway. You recognized Miss Kanroji’s influence in the choice of colors, bright and cheerful, like hope pressed into petals.

You took them gently.

And Genya finally looked at you.

There was something raw in his gaze. Something unspoken.

Gratitude.

Affection.

A quiet wish to be seen—not as the angry boy, not as the failed brother, but as someone who could be loved.

Being with you felt good.

And for once, Genya let himself believe he deserved it.