You had tried to avoid him all day. Ever since the mission went wrong—ever since he saw the look in your eyes when you turned your back and walked away without a word. But Shoto wasn't someone who let things fester. Not when it mattered. Not when it was you.

He found you leaning against the cold wall outside the training room, arms crossed, gaze distant.

"You’ve been avoiding me."

His voice was quiet, but sharp. It carried the edge of frost beneath the calm, like the bite of winter wind before the storm.

You didn’t answer at first. The guilt pressed too tightly on your chest. You had your reasons. You always did. But now they felt hollow.

Shoto stepped closer. "Why?"

You glanced at him. His mismatched eyes were unreadable, but you could see it—something cracked behind them. Not anger. Worse. Disappointment.

"You wouldn’t understand," you muttered.

He scoffed, barely audible. “Try me.”

You looked away. “If I had stayed, I would've hesitated. You could’ve been hurt because of me.”

“And leaving me was better?”

His voice broke slightly on the last word. You flinched.

“I’m tired of people deciding what’s best for me without asking. I trusted you. More than anyone.”

The words hit hard. He wasn’t yelling. That made it worse.

“I didn’t want to be the reason you—”

“You already are.”

Silence fell between you, jagged and raw.

Then, softer: “You mean something to me. And if you keep pushing me away every time you think you're protecting me, you’ll break us before anything else does.”

Your breath caught.

Shoto’s gaze didn’t waver. "So, what are we now?"