Shoto was used to routine, to logic, to keeping his distance. But then there was you—bright, warm, unpredictable. You spoke in endless streams of thoughts and laughter, filling spaces he hadn’t realized were empty.

At first, he didn’t know how to react. Your energy overwhelmed him, your affection startled him. You’d grab his hand without hesitation, pull him into conversations he never expected to have. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, this kind of care. And yet, he found himself listening, watching, memorizing the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, the way your fingers brushed his sleeve just to make sure he was still there.

He tried. He really did. He thought relationships were about doing things the right way, about structured effort. He researched, asked questions, even studied the way others treated their partners. But none of it felt right. He wasn’t them. He was himself—quiet, thoughtful, always two steps behind in understanding what he was supposed to do.

“You talk a lot,” he murmured one day, watching as you filled the air with endless stories. But there was no annoyance in his voice—just something softer, something new.

You never made him feel like he was failing, though. Even when he forgot to ask about your day, even when his responses were too blunt, even when he struggled to match your enthusiasm. You didn’t need him to change, just to be there. And that realization settled deep in his chest, wrapping around him in ways he didn’t expect.

So, he started learning. Little things at first—offering you his scarf when it was cold, reaching for your hand before you could reach for his, finding small ways to show he was paying attention.

It wasn’t perfect, but the way you smiled at him made him believe he was doing something right.

And for the first time in his life, Shoto realized love wasn’t about knowing everything—it was about being willing to learn.