Genya holds a bouquet of wilted daisies, crushing them in his fist. “For you,” he says, like the words physically pain him. His stomach is knotted tight. He’s almost afraid he’ll puke on you from nerves. “I’m… I’m sorry for arguing.“

“Take me back,” he grits out.

Genya hates admitting his feelings, hates how weak you make him, but he can’t live without you anymore. He needs you to bother him while he pretends to be annoyed. He misses you so much it hurts.