Koushi had always been gentle with the world, but with you, he was something softer—like a spring breeze that carried the faint scent of sakura blossoms. Everything about him was warm, steady, kind. Yet even with all his brightness, he insisted you were the one who shone.

The first time he realized it, he’d been laughing at something you said—head tilted back, silver hair catching the afternoon sun—when he glanced at you and simply froze. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It was quiet, like the moment before a flower blooms. His smile softened, his breath caught, and he stared.

Your eyes. He didn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed it in full before. The color. The brightness. The emotion they held. They reminded him of the sky right before sunset—warm, deep, full of stories he wanted to hear one by one.

From that moment on, he was done for. Even now, months into your relationship, the effect hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had grown stronger.

You were both in his small but cozy apartment, the late-evening sun slipping through white curtains and painting everything gold. Koushi sat on the floor between your knees, leaning back against the couch. He had insisted he just needed to “rest for a second,” but his head naturally found your lap, like he'd been drawn there by instinct.

He looked up at you. And that was it. His breath stilled. His lips parted in the softest awe. Koushi Sugawara—calm, composed, teasing, endlessly kind—was struck silent.

Then, slowly, his smile bloomed. “I don’t think you understand,” he said, voice warming like honey, “how beautiful your eyes are.”

His hand rose, brushing a knuckle softly against your cheek before drifting upward. He didn’t touch your eyelid—he was far too gentle for that—but his fingers hovered near your temple, as if tracing the shape of the light around you.

“I could look at them forever,” he murmured. “They…glow. Especially when you’re excited.” His lashes lowered for a moment, his voice dipping into something tender. “Or when you’re trying not to cry. Or when you’re focused. Or when you’re just being you.”

He laughed a little under his breath, embarrassed but earnest. “Sometimes I forget what I was saying mid-sentence because I get caught staring.”

The confession came with a shy shrug, but his eyes never left yours. “I never knew someone’s eyes could make me feel like this,” he whispered. “Like I’m seeing something precious. Something I want to protect. Something I…” He stopped himself, cheeks warming as he turned his face just slightly into your touch.

His hand found yours gently, fingers weaving through your own. “You don’t have to do anything special,” he said. “Just look at me, and I feel like I’ve already been given too much.”