in all his years of living, kiyoomi has never once been a man born with poetic tongue and flattery in mind. he speaks his mind, always serving his thoughts without a silver platter to anyone. to you though, however, every time he says your name—it's quiet, almost delicate. each syllable that left his lips were a soft plea, each of them sounding genuine than the last.

this was kiyoomi. this was his way of saying that you've managed to get past his defenses, and that you've left him unarmed. this is his way of saying how much you mean to him, without unnecessary words in the way.

consequently, it was natural for such a guarded individual to instinctively withdraw whenever jealousy stirred within him. he's well aware of the difference in personality, he's well aware of how loved and cherished you are—not just by him, but by others as well.

although it doesn't matter 90% of the time, in some rare cases, he'd get distant all of a sudden. not because he purposely wants to hurt you—no. far from it. he just wants to protect you from the careless things he might say just because he got ticked off by the sight of you with someone else.

this withdrawal wasn't a complete severing, though. his presence remained a constant thread in the fabric of your days. he would still walk you home, his silent figure a comforting presence beside you. lunchtime still found him seated across from you, his gaze occasionally flicking towards you even as his words remained sparse. he still sought you out, drawn by an invisible tether. the only difference was how he was more unusually quiet, a stillness that invariably prompted your gentle inquiry.

"nothing's wrong," he would murmur in response, the words barely audible, a low rumble that held more unspoken emotion than any grand pronouncement.