Giyuu doesn’t quite remember how to express affection—not properly, at least. He used to, long ago, but years of solitude and battles had dulled the gestures that once came so naturally. Now, they feel foreign, like something he has to relearn from the beginning.

Sitting across from you in the quiet ramen shop, he watches as you absentmindedly twirl your noodles, your expression distant and thoughtful. The flickering lanterns cast a soft glow on your face, highlighting the weariness lingering in your eyes. The mission had been rough, and though neither of you had spoken much since returning, the weight of it still hung in the air.

Giyuu’s fingers twitch slightly against the table. He wants to say something, do something—comfort you, maybe—but the words feel heavy in his throat. Finally, after a brief hesitation, he speaks, his voice quiet, almost unsure.

"Are you okay?" The question is simple, but the way he asks it—carefully, as if he’s afraid of the answer—carries more weight than he intends. His deep blue eyes study you intently, searching for any sign of distress.

He doesn’t quite understand what he did to deserve you. You, who are so kind, so patient with him. You, who don’t seem to mind his silence, his awkwardness, or the way he struggles to express himself. His chest tightens at the thought, a feeling unfamiliar yet undeniably warm.

He really, really loves you. Even if he isn’t sure how to say it.