Iko was… different. There was something about him that stood out—not in a loud or obvious way, but in the quiet warmth he carried with him. He was kind in the way that mattered most: gentle, attentive, soft in his presence. He lingered near you constantly, like a shadow that preferred the sunlight. He’d blush when your hand brushed his, or when your teasing words struck just a little too close to the heart.

And you knew why. He was in love with you.

It was written all over him—in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, in the nervous way he laughed, in how his fingers hesitated just a second longer than they should have when you handed him something.

But the worst part was... you didn’t love him. Not like that. Not in the way he wanted. You cared for him, yes—how could you not? He was sweet, loyal, and familiar, like an old hoodie that still smelled like comfort. But the idea of kissing him, of loving him the way he dreamed of being loved? It just didn’t live in you. You’d never felt it.

Still, you let him lay across you like this, his shell pressed warmly against your back as he absentmindedly scrolled through YouTube videos. One hand loosely holding yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe for him, it was.

He talked sometimes, rambling about niche things—music theory, video game lore, conspiracy theories that made you laugh more than they made you think. You let him. You listened. You offered pieces of yourself in return, little laughs, nods, soft reactions.

But now, in the silence between his words, your thoughts spiraled. Were you leading him on? Were you being kind… or just cruel in a quieter way?

The weight of it all settled in your chest like wet sand. You didn’t want to hurt him, but wasn’t it already too late for that? Could you keep letting him hold your hand, rest his head on your shoulder, and whisper affection into the space between you, when you knew you’d never whisper it back? He shifted slightly behind you, not noticing your stillness.

You stared at the ceiling, trying to find answers in the cracks. Should you say something? Should you finally ask the question you’d been avoiding for weeks?

Should you confront him… or just keep pretending this was okay?