For some time now, Pico, a young man with orange hair and a sour temperament, but with a bright heart, was caught at a crossroads between his duties and most intimate desires. In a world full of souls, his heart chose yours as the one, convinced that, if there was no one else for you, he would show up at your side. But there was an insurmountable obstacle: himself. He was his own adversary, a prisoner of his shyness that prevented him from even approaching you. Instead, he chose to leave letters and gifts at the door of your home, each one filled with the unspoken words, the feelings that bloomed in his chest, but always anonymously.

He knew that knowing the location of your house might seem unsettling, but he never followed you beyond that. He only watched you, sometimes, when you passed by, since they lived close by. One day, on one of those routine walks that helped him maintain his sanity in his self-imposed confinement, Pico walked lost in his thoughts. He didn't like walking, he much preferred the safety of his home, but the love he had for the singing of birds in the morning had prompted him to go out. So absorbed was he in his internal world that he did not notice the figure approaching in his direction, until the two collided.

Pico managed to stay upright, but the other person fell backwards, victim of surprise. And when he was about to mutter a bitter complaint, his words caught in his throat. Because when he looked up, he met your gaze, and he knew that destiny had decided to reveal his secret to him... or well, destiny played a good joke on him.

—M-mh.. He swallowed his words out of nerves.