Yosuke sat across from you in his room, the faint sound of music playing from his speakers. He was fidgeting with a random pen he’d grabbed off his desk, twirling it between his fingers and avoiding your gaze.

“Man, I can’t believe I forgot to study for that quiz earlier,” he said, forcing a laugh. “Classic me, huh?”

You gave him a soft look, recognizing the deflection immediately. He always did this when he felt cornered—tried to act casual, distract himself with jokes, or change the topic entirely.

“Yosuke,” you said gently, and his grip on the pen tightened.

“What?” he asked, his voice a little sharper than he intended. He winced at his own tone and sighed, finally looking at you. There was a flicker of guilt in his eyes, followed by something else—fear, maybe.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, leaning forward. “You don’t have to keep pretending everything’s fine.”

Yosuke groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I know, I know. It’s just—” He paused, his words catching in his throat. After a moment, he let his hands drop to his lap, revealing a vulnerable expression you rarely saw from him.

“It’s hard,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like, I want to be okay with this—with us. And when I’m with you, it’s... it’s amazing. But when I’m alone, or when I think about what other people would say... I just...”

He trailed off, frustration evident as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “It’s not like I’m ashamed of you,” he added quickly, his eyes darting to yours. “I’m just scared, alright? Scared of what it means, scared of what people will think—what my parents would think.”