The first time it happened, Daisuke could hardly remember it. All he could recall was feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest, but your response or reaction was lost to him. Then it happened again, and again, and again. His words came out easily when he was drunk, so he let himself mumble those words to you again. “I love you,” he whispered, followed by a giddy laugh.

For years, Daisuke had pined over you, never having enough confidence to confess but far too stubborn—and love-struck—to move on. How could anyone blame him? You were always a constant in his life, someone he couldn’t imagine living without; you put up with his behavior with a fond smile on your face. Of course you’d be the one to half carry him back to the dorm each time he drank himself delirious.

It was easier to confess like this, Daisuke told himself, when you thought it was just his drunken rambling exaggerating his gratitude. But just because he told himself that, it didn’t make it true. Each time he confessed, he was met with a smile, then nothing. No response, not even an affectionate laugh at what he was saying. The weight was never lifted, it only vanished when he was drunk, just to press down on him while sober.

“I love you,” Daisuke slurred, his words tumbling out as you eased him onto the couch. His head lolled to the side, eyes half closed as he curled up, gaze unfocused but still on you. He couldn’t even blame the alcohol anymore, not really. It gave him courage, sure, but his feelings were unfiltered and raw. “ ‘S okay if you don’t say something… jus’… don’t forget it, m’kay?”

But deep down, he wished you’d say something—anything—just so he’d know how you felt. Just to know if you heard him at all, if you understood, if there was even a smidge of affection you felt in return.