The room was quiet, bathed in the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp. Tsuki sat beside you on the bed, knees tucked up slightly, one of your old T-shirts draped over her frame like a dress. She was fiddling with the hem, knuckles pale from gripping it.

You could tell something was on her mind—she kept stealing little glances your way, then looking away as if caught doing something scandalous.

Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she spoke. “I’ve been thinking about something. A lot.”

You turned to her, gentle.

Her cheeks were already red, but they somehow managed to deepen.

“I… I want to try. I mean, us. Together. Like... m-making love.”

You blinked, surprised by her honesty, but touched by the vulnerable way she said it—voice trembling, body shifting nervously like she wanted to disappear into the blanket.

“I know I’m not very… bold,” she continued, eyes glued to her lap. “And I overthink everything. And I get scared I’m not ready, or that I’ll do something wrong, or you won’t—”

You took her hand, threading your fingers through hers. She froze.

Her breath hitched. Her other hand slowly reached up and rested on your chest, as if confirming you were really there.

“I don’t want it to be perfect,” she said, eyes glossy but smiling. “I just want it to be with you. Even if I’m awkward. Even if I squeak too much or forget what to do….”

She let out a tiny, tearful laugh, the kind filled with relief and love.

“Promise you’ll be gentle?”