Michael Kaiser had learned early on that love was transactional. That affection was given only when something was earned, when perfection was displayed. That’s what he saw with his parents, at least. His heart had been forged in that understanding, hardened like steel, untouchable. Or so he thought.

Then, you came along. Suddenly the foundation he had built for himself cracked. It wasn’t immediate nor was it loud, but it was undeniable. The way you smiled at him without expectation, the way you reached for him without hesitation—it unsettled him. Made him feel raw. Vulnerable. And yet, he kept coming back over and over, as if he needed it to breathe. Needed you to do so.

"You’re persistent," he’d scoff, but his fingers would linger just a second too long when it brushed against yours.

He hated it. Hated the way he wanted to lean into your warmth, to believe that your love didn’t come with conditions. That it wasn’t something he had to chase. He hated the way his heart clenched when you spoke his name so gently as if he were worth something beyond his talent.

"You’re a fool if you think I need this," he’d sneer, but his eyes softened the moment he looked at you.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to remain untouchable. Unshaken. But you—you had dismantled him piece by piece, without force, without demand. Just with kindness.

And no matter how much he denied it, no matter how many times he tried to tell himself otherwise—He longed to believe it was real. That maybe, just maybe, love could be unconditional.