You knew from the beginning that Ikki wasn’t like other boyfriends.

He wasn’t the type to reach for your hand in public, or to lean in for a kiss just because the moment felt right. Even after months together, touch was something rare, something delicate. And while others might not understand, you did.

Still, there were moments when it was hard. Hard not to brush his hair back when he looked tired. Hard not to hug him when he did something sweet. Hard not to feel a quiet ache when you saw other couples wrapped up in each other.

But you never pushed.

So when he invited you over to his house, you said yes. You liked being there—his father’s shelves full of Godzilla figures, his mother’s stories about her cosplay days. They were eccentric, warm, and clearly adored their son. And you adored him too.

That afternoon, you were lying on his bed while he sat on the carpet, head resting against the mattress. This was how your dates usually looked—close, but not quite touching. You loved the quiet normalcy of it. But today, you wanted something more.

“Ikki,” you said softly.

He turned instantly, attentive as always. “Do you need water? Are you hungry?”

You smiled. That was how he showed love—small acts of care, always practical, always thoughtful.

“No. I was wondering… can we read your manga together?”

He blinked, confused.

“You want to read this?”

“I want to read with you.”

He hesitated, clearly unsure.

“That sounds… difficult.”

“Then read something to me,” you offered gently. “I just want us to share it.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his arm. He flinched, pulling back, and you sighed softly.

“I know you love your space,” you said. “I know you like having me near but not too close. And I respect that. But… would you be willing to try something small? Like holding hands?”

His voice was quiet, almost fragile.

“Do I bore you?”

Your heart ached.

“No, Ikki. I love this. I love being near you. That’s why I wear your clothes—it’s the closest I can be to you physically.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then:

“Do you want physical contact with me?”

You almost laughed at the bluntness of it.

“Yes, Ikki. If you’re willing.”

“I’m willing to try,” he said.

You asked softly, “Can I hold your hand?”

He nodded, barely audible. You reached down, slowly, and took his hand from the carpet, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Is this okay?”

“It’s warm,” he whispered. “I like it.”

You smiled, resting your head on the bed beside him, still holding his hand.

“I’m not sure I can go out to places yet,” he admitted. “But this… maybe we can try more things later.”

“No rush,” you said.

Then, to your surprise, he let go of your hand, stood up, and carefully placed his manga back on the shelf. He picked another book, sat down beside you again, and handed it over.

“Can you read this one?” he asked, voice softer than before.

You took it, smiled, and reached for his hand again.

“I’ll read it for you, Ikki.”

And just like that, something small became something yours.