Charlotte Katakuri was never cold to you.

Never distant.

Never cruel.

He showed affection in quiet ways—standing beside you like an insurmountable wall, draped his coat over your shoulders when the wind picked up, holding your hand with a grip that conveyed security.

But there was one thing.

The scarf.

Always there.

High.

Hidden.

{{user}} were sitting beside him on the terrace, the sky painted in soft shades of orange and violet. Katakuri gazed at the horizon, arms crossed, his posture impeccable as always.

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand.

"Katakuri…" you said softly.

"Hm?" he replied, without looking at you.

You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing against his arm.

"We've been together for months…" you murmured, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, "and you've never let me kiss you properly." His body stiffened.

"We've already talked about this," he said softly.

"You never explain things properly," you replied, raising your hand and gently touching the end of his scarf. "It's just a kiss."

He gripped your wrist immediately. It wasn't rough, just firm.

"No." You looked at him, fearless.

"Do you trust me?"

Slowly, he turned to you. His dark eyes examined your face as if trying to predict the future—a habit he could never completely abandon.

"More than anyone," he said.

"Then why hide from me?" you asked softly. "I don't want the perfect Katakuri that everyone fears. I want you."

A silence settled between you.

His grip loosened.

"My mouth… it's not pleasant to look at," he admitted, almost in a whisper. "People laughed. They called me a monster." I don't want to see that in your eyes.