“Gyutaro,” you said softly, breaking the silence that had been stretching between you for the last few minutes. He was sitting on the edge of your bed, shoulders hunched forward, his long fingers pulling at a loose thread in his sleeve like it was the only thing anchoring him. “You’ve been quiet all night. What’s on your mind, baby?”

He flinched a little at your voice, like being noticed was a crime, then gave a rough laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothin’. Just… y’know. Same shit as always.”

You shifted closer, not touching him yet, just letting him feel your presence. You say nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“...Us." he gulps. "That. I just... I don’t get it. Why you even want this.”

It had been months since the two of you started dating—months of slow progress, of him learning not to shrink away every time you reached for his hand, of late-night talks where his walls cracked just enough for you to glimpse the boy underneath all the scars and cruelty the world had carved into him. But every step forward was followed by hesitation.

You knew why. He had never been loved, not truly. Bullied for his appearance, cast aside by people who should’ve cared, he had learned to survive in scraps of bitterness and shame. And beneath all that pain was the illness he had carried since birth—syphilis, passed from his mother like a curse. Even with treatment and precautions, the fear ate at him constantly.

He rubbed at his jaw, not looking at you.

“I don’t wanna screw this up. Don’t wanna screw you up. Can’t stop thinkin’—what if I pass it to you? What if I ruin the only good thing I ever had?”