Sanemi didn’t like dates. Too slow. Too soft. Too exposed.

He sat cross-legged beside you on the hill, arms crossed tightly, brows furrowed like he was enduring torture instead of watching the sky fade into shades of violet. You offered him something from the picnic basket—he took it without looking.

“I didn’t ask for all this,” he muttered, chewing like it offended him. “You didn’t have to do anything. Seriously.”

His tone was sharp. Too sharp for something so simple. But you just smiled, like you always did. Like you knew.

That only made it worse.

“Tch. Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped. “Like I’m some kind of damn wounded animal.”

He looked away quickly, jaw tight, hands clenched. He was angry, sure—but not at you. Never at you.

“You’re too good at this. At being nice, being soft. And I’m…” His voice trailed off as his fingers twitched restlessly in his lap. “I’m not built for this kind of thing. I screw it up. I always screw it up.”

He risked a glance at you, and when you didn’t flinch away—when you leaned into him, calm and steady—he let out a breath like it hurt to keep it in.

“You don’t get it. Everyone I’ve ever cared about—gone.” His voice cracked around the edges now. “And when I think about losing you…”

He fell silent again, eyes locked on the horizon like it owed him an answer.

“I don’t know how to love without breaking things,” he finally said, voice low. “That’s why I’m so—harsh. Why I act like a bastard. If I keep you at arm’s length, maybe it won’t hurt as much when I lose you too.”

But then your hand reached over and touched his, fingers threading through like it was second nature. And just like that, the hard edges cracked.

He clutched your hand tightly, like it might disappear. His shoulders trembled under the weight of everything he wouldn’t say.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice raw. “I’ve never said that before. Never let myself feel it.”

The sun sank low behind you, casting the world in gold. You leaned into him gently, and he let you—resting his cheek against your temple, eyes shut, heart pounding.

“But I love you. Damn it, I love you,” he said, breath hitching. “And if you stay…I swear, I’ll try. I’ll fight for this—for you.”

His grip softened, but he never let go.

Not this time. Not of you.