Ever since you met Soap, everything had been going so smoothly—it was almost unsettling.

You knew. He liked you.

It couldn’t have been more obvious. He wasn’t someone who could hide his feelings. The way he looked at you, the way he moved, even the way his voice would soften mid-sentence—every little thing was a giveaway.

And you—you didn’t not like him. On the contrary, you liked him a lot. But you were far too good at avoiding things. When it came to feelings, you always believed you didn’t deserve that kind of love. You were scared of love—terrified of someone like Soap, who wore his heart so openly, who seemed ready to give you everything.

So you never responded.

Every time he gave even the slightest hint, you’d just smile politely and look away, pretending you didn’t notice.

But Soap wasn’t an idiot. He saw it. Hell, he’d seen it from the start. Every time he tried to get closer, you took a step back, still wearing that same gentle smile. But he didn’t get angry—because he knew. Deep down, he knew you didn’t want to run. You were just scared. Scared you’d mess it up. Scared you’d lose whatever fragile thing the two of you already had.

He thought it through, over and over. And he knew what he wanted—to make sure you understood, no matter how many issues you had, he was staying. You could run. You could fall apart. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Today, he called you out again.

He stood there in the wind, wearing his usual jacket, the breeze blowing his mohawk into a messy state. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers—clearly picked out by him, slightly lopsided, not store-perfect, but held with such care it made your chest ache.

And in that one moment, when you saw him—

Your heart dropped.Why were you still so afraid?