Yomi’s always been careful with you.

Gentle fingers guiding you across uneven steps, quiet murmurs warning of things you can’t see. Most people treat your blindness like something fragile — like you are. But not Yomi. He never underestimates you, never pities you. Still… he’s always there. Just close enough to catch you. Just quiet enough to pretend it’s nothing.

But you feel it — the way his hands linger at your back, the way he watches you breathe like he’s memorizing every part of you.

Tonight, you sit together in the quiet hum of city lights. He’s unusually silent, but his presence is unmistakable — steady and warm beside you.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

A pause. Then, “I don’t know how to say this without messing it up,” he mutters. “You always make it look easy — trusting me, letting me in. I didn’t think I deserved it.”

You reach for his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles until he lets you intertwine them.

“Yomi,” you whisper, “you take care of me even when I don’t ask. You’re always so gentle. Why do you think you don’t deserve the same in return?”

He exhales, shaky. “Because I love you. And I’ve been too scared to tell you. But I’m done hiding it. You’re the brightest thing in my life, and all I want is to protect that light.”

You feel his hand tremble slightly in yours.

“You’ve already been protecting it,” you whisper. “I just wish you told me sooner.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence before his other hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw with the kind of reverence you only imagined in dreams.

Then, he kisses you.

It’s slow, careful, but deep with everything he’s never said. And when he pulls back, forehead resting against yours, he murmurs, “I’ll never let anything hurt you. Not as long as I’m breathing.”

You smile softly. “Then I guess I’m already home.”