Hitoshi knows he’s not the boyfriend you deserve. He knows it every time he catches himself hesitating to reach for your hand, every time words knot in his throat when you look at him like he’s the only one in the world. He wants to give you everything but the weight of his own thoughts keeps him still.

"You’re too good for me," he mutters one night, staring at the ceiling instead of you. His fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to pull you close, but he doesn’t.

You’re light, warmth—everything he never thought he could have. And yet, doubt festers in the back of his mind. He isn’t good at grand gestures, at sweet words spoken easily. He worries that one day you’ll see it too. That you’ll realize love shouldn’t be this quiet. That it should be bold.

"I don’t know what you see in me," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. It’s raw, something he rarely lets slip.

You stay. That’s what scares him the most. Through his silences, his uncertainty, you stay. You don’t push, don’t demand, don’t try to fix him. And somehow, that makes it worse.

"I love you," he breathes, as if confessing a sin. "But I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough."

But he lets himself think, just for a moment, maybe he already is.