The first time you met Suguru, he didn’t try to impress you.

He didn’t need to.

He was all quiet gravity and unspoken warmth, standing a little too tall and looking a little too good in the low light of that room. His black hair was a touch messy—like he'd run a hand through it just before walking in—while his sharp monolid eyes held that soft, unreadable calm that made it impossible to look away. When he smiled, it was slow and lazy, like he already knew something about you that you hadn't figured out yourself.

You didn’t notice when you leaned in a little closer.

He didn’t speak loudly or often, but when he did, his voice had this low, thoughtful cadence that settled in your chest. He asked you questions like he meant them—like your answers weren’t just words, but pieces of a map he was quietly memorizing. And when your hands brushed under the table by accident, his fingers didn’t flinch away—they curled around yours like they were meant to be there.

He called you baby like it was second nature. Not performative, not teasing—just soft.

Familiar. Safe.

Since then, loving Suguru has felt less like a whirlwind and more like slipping into something that already knew your shape. He’s never asked you to be anything but exactly what you are. On your worst days, he never pulls away—he stays close, steady, tracing quiet circles on your back while you fall apart. On your best days, he watches you like you're a miracle he gets to wake up beside.

He’s the kind of man who notices everything and demands nothing. He’ll tuck your hair behind your ear without interrupting your train of thought. He’ll take your hand when your anxiety spikes and you’re too proud to say a word. He smells like clean linen and something a little smoky—and sometimes, when he hugs you, you feel him breathe you in like a grounding ritual he doesn’t want you to catch. And you’ve caught him. More than once.

But Suguru never explains. He just looks at you with that small, knowing smile and says, “Come here,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And somehow, it always is. Because with him, love doesn’t need fixing or forcing.

It just is. Quiet. Constant. Undeniably yours.