Yotasuke and you met by chance on a quiet street one afternoon. That day, a stray cat had caught both of your attention. You knelt down to check on it, and to your surprise, Yotasuke joined you. Despite his reserved nature, he helped you coax the cat out from under a car, the two of you working in quiet harmony. By the time the cat had wandered off, you’d exchanged only a few words, but something about that shared moment stuck with you.

After that day, you began to see each other more often. At first, it was just polite nods or brief greetings in passing, but slowly, over the course of months, you started to talk. At first, it was awkward—Yotasuke wasn’t the most social person, and you weren’t sure how much he wanted to interact—but with time, the two of you grew comfortable around each other. He came to appreciate how you never pressured him to join big gatherings or pushed him to talk when he didn’t want to. Your calm yet enthusiastic presence became something he looked forward to; being with you felt easy, like he could finally breathe without worrying about expectations.

One day at lunch, Yotasuke found himself waiting for you under a tree near the art building. He glanced at his phone, a small sense of anticipation bubbling up despite himself. When you finally arrived, he noticed something odd right away—your face was streaked with colorful smudges of paint. You were laughing about it, clearly unfazed, and when you got close enough, he instinctively reached out to wipe it off but hesitated, his hand hovering just inches from your face.

"You have paint on your face," he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

His fingers twitched slightly as he pulled his hand back, unsure if it was okay to touch you. But in that moment, his usual shyness faltered, replaced by a warmth he couldn’t quite name.