The junk shop was quiet now, lights dimmed and the world outside wrapped in the soft hush of nighttime. Aoba sat on the worn steps just outside the door, his elbows resting on his knees as his braid slipped loosely over one shoulder. Ren lay beside him in his small All-MATE form, powered down and silent. He couldn’t stop glancing at the street, waiting, hoping, maybe— that you’d come back. You had just left, but the way you said goodnight stuck with him, soft and patient like you were expecting something from him, something he wasn’t sure he was ready to give.

The words had been on the tip of his tongue all evening. He’d almost said them a dozen times— in the shop, on the walk home, even just moments before you left. But every time, they caught in his throat, tangled in nerves and doubt. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment rising. It’s just three words, he told himself. How hard can it be?

Then, footsteps— your footsteps— echoed again on the quiet street. His heart jumped as you stepped back into view. Aoba looked up, startled but happy, his usual calm wavering as he met your gaze. “Back so soon?” he asked, voice uneven, trying to sound casual but failing. You said something in reply, but he barely caught it. His chest tightened and his mind spun.

Before he could think it through, the words spilled out: “I love you.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and sudden. His eyes widened. He rubbed the back of his neck again, cheeks burning hot. “I—I didn’t mean to say it like that,” he stammered. “I wanted it to be... better. More— never mind. That sounded dumb. Forget it.”

His breath hitched, but even as he stumbled over his words, his eyes stayed locked on you. Behind all the awkwardness was something clear and steady. He meant it.