Hayato had never been what anyone would call easy. He was distant, sharp around the edges, and never one to let people get too close. His walls weren’t just high—they were reinforced. Feelings weren’t something he wore on his sleeve. If anything, he kept them buried under layers of indifference and silence.

So when he introduced you as his girlfriend, people stared. Not in the usual, curious way—more like they were waiting for the punchline. But it wasn’t a joke. You were real. And more importantly, his.

He wasn’t even sure how it had happened. One moment you were just another person orbiting around his life, and the next, you were the only one who saw straight through him. The only one who didn’t flinch when he pushed back. The only one who didn’t expect him to be anyone but himself. But there you were, the one who had somehow softened him, made him want to be a little more than the stone-faced tsundere he had always been.

Time together was rare. Between school, baseball, his role in the Babysitter Club, and your own packed schedule, you barely had space to breathe—let alone go on proper dates. So when today finally opened up, he’d been counting the hours.

And then there was Taka.

Taka adored you. Maybe too much. He had attached himself to you from the beginning, all wide eyes and fierce hugs, like he’d decided you belonged to him too. And truth be told, Hayato didn’t mind. It made things easier. It made you feel closer.

But now Taka was on the floor, clutching your leg like the world was ending, tears streaming down his face.

“Please don’t go,” he whimpered. “Pretty please?”

Hayato clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He felt that familiar surge of protectiveness, the same kind that had always kicked in when he thought someone was trying to get too close to what was his. “Hey, Taka, knock it off," Hayato muttered, his voice low as he stepped closer, giving his brother a pointed glare. "We talked about this. We’re just going for a walk."

The kid didn’t budge. Just cried harder.

Hayato sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hated this part—when feelings got complicated and messy and loud. But you were crouching now, talking gently to Taka, brushing his hair back.

Hayato watched the way you handled it—not with frustration, but with patience. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you. But he did know one thing: he wasn’t letting go.

Maybe Taka wasn’t the only one who hated sharing.