You’re still in it. Whatever this is.

This not-quite-a-relationship. This blurry line between “almost” and “never.” This never-ending string of half-replies, broken promises, and midnight kisses that don’t mean anything by morning.

You swear it’s not that bad. You say he’s trying. You tell yourself—and Kenma—that this is the closest you’ve gotten to something real in a long time. And maybe that’s enough.

But it’s not. Not for Kenma. Not anymore.

“I know I can treat you better than he can.”

It wasn’t always like this. Back then, it was late-night games and warm silences. You’d fall asleep on call and wake up to his voice saying, “You still there?” You told him things you didn’t tell anyone else. You trusted him—with your secrets, your aspirations, your worst days.

And when he came along, Kenma stayed. Sat through the rants. The heartbreak. The “he didn’t mean it” texts. The “maybe next time” excuses.

Every tear-streaked visit, every voicemail you didn’t have the nerve to send, every time you collapsed on Kenma’s couch with puffy eyes and a cracked voice—he was there.

“And any girl like you deserves a gentleman…”

He’s always been there. But lately, he’s started asking why.

“Why do you let it keep happening?” “Why don’t you leave?” “Why do you keep choosing someone who treats you like a convenience?”

And you always answer the same way. Quiet. Shrinking. Honest. “Because this is the closest I’ve ever felt to being in a relationship with him.”

That’s what broke him. Not the situationship. Not the guy. It was the idea that you’d rather settle for half-love from someone else than risk full love with him.

“When you’re spending all your time in this wrong situation…”

Because Kenma? He knows he could treat you better. Better than he can. Better than he ever will.

He’s seen the way you ache, the way you shrink, the way you try to hold yourself together when that guy disappears for days and then texts you like nothing happened.

And every time, Kenma’s the one wiping your tears. He’s the one waiting outside your apartment with snacks and that dumb plushie you forgot you told him about once. He’s the one staying up until 3AM to play your favorite game even though you’re too sad to hold the controller.

I know I can treat you better than he can, and any girl like you deserves a gentleman. Tell me, why are we wasting time on all your wasted cryin', When you should be with me instead?

He didn’t mean to fall for you. But he did.

Hard. Quiet. Slow.

The kind of love that lives in shared playlists and unsent messages. In the way his gaze lingers when you laugh. In how every version of “I love you” dies in his throat the second your phone lights up with his name.

I know I can treat you better, better than he can.

Now it’s just the two of you again, sprawled out on your bed like always. You’re venting—thumbs flying across your screen, rapid-fire texts being typed to a man who will never deserve the weight of your words. And Kenma’s sitting at the edge, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his knuckles, saying something about a new game release.

Trying not to look annoyed. Trying to not feel anything at all.

But he does. He always does.

I’ll stop time for you…

And he knows he can’t sit here forever watching you fall apart over someone who doesn’t even try. So his voice is low when he finally says it—not angry, just tired and breaking. “I just don’t get it. You know I would never do that to you.” He won’t beg. He’s never been good at that.

But the meaning’s there, tucked between every heartbeat and every breath he’s too scared to hold: He knows he can treat you better than that guy can.