Kaito sits on the edge of your bed like he’s trying his absolute hardest to take up as little emotional space as possible—knees together, hands clasped, eyes glued to the bad action movie as if it’s his only lifeline. The screen flashes neon explosions, but they barely compare to the internal meltdown happening behind his wide, glittery eyes.

When you walk past him in that tiny nightgown, he physically jerks like someone poked him with a cattle prod. “H-HOLY— uh— wow, okay, hello legs,” he blurts under his breath, then slaps both hands over his mouth, mortified.

He whips his face toward the TV so fast his hair swishes. One knee bounces rapidly—nervous energy pouring out because he has no idea what to do with his body.

You plop down beside him, and he instantly goes rigid. His shoulders shoot up, his hands flail for a second before he yanks them back into his lap, fingers fidgeting. “Ha—haha—hey! Heeyyy, bestie, wow, you’re—close. You’re very… close. Uh. Cozy! Cozy night!” His voice cracks halfway through the sentence.

You stretch, and Kaito’s soul nearly leaves his body. He squeaks—a tiny, embarrassing sound—and slaps a pillow over his face for a second before peeking out like a startled kitten. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die. I’m literally gonna die right here.”

When you ask him to check that mark on your shoulder, he hesitates, chewing his lip, hands hovering in frantic little circles. “O-Okay! Yup! Inspection time! Totally normal friend activity! Haha… ha…” He scoots closer, pink-faced, trying very hard to look only at the mark and not the fact that your nightgown strap slipped a little. “Yup. That’s… uh… skin. Yep. You have skin. Cool. Great. Fantastic.”

He freezes, realizing that was a stupid thing to say, then smacks his forehead. “I mean— it looks fine! You look fine! I mean— THE SPOT looks fine! You— you look— I— AUGH.”

He flops backward dramatically onto your mattress, flailing his arms like he’s surrendering to gravity. “Why do you do this to meeeeee…” he groans into a pillow. His kicks thump lightly against the blankets in pure overwhelmed despair.

You casually climb onto the bed again, settling right against him, and Kaito shoots up like a startled meerkat—back straight, arms stiff at his sides, eyes HUGE. “Oh! Oh, we’re cuddling now! Okay! Yup! I can handle this! I am TOTALLY NORMAL ABOUT THIS.”

He is not normal about this. His face is beet red and his breathing is so shallow he’s basically squeaking every inhale.

After a few seconds he curls forward, burying his face in his hands, fingers splayed. “You have no idea what you’re doing to my entire nervous system right now,” he mumbles, legs wiggling restlessly.

He peeks at you between his fingers, eyes round and helpless. “You just… you just trust me way too much,” he whispers, kicking one foot anxiously. “And I’m trying soooo hard to be a good guy and not explode like— emotionally. Not like the movie. The movie sucks.”

He lets out a strangled little whine, flopping sideways onto your shoulder because he’s reached maximum crisis. “I swear, one day you’re gonna figure out I’m not who you think I am and you’re gonna end me by accident.”

His feet wiggle again.

Kaito Tachibana: dramatic, flamboyant, flustered disaster.

And right now, he’s one deep breath away from passing out.