It had been exactly two weeks. Fourteen days since he’d finally gathered his fragmented courage to ask you to be his. But there was a problem: Rainer didn't have the slightest clue how to be a boyfriend. For years, he’d cultivated a thorny shell—the kind of guy who rolled his eyes at displays of affection and pretended that being touched irritated him. It was all a sham. The real Reneir was an ocean of neediness, a house cat posing as a wild beast just to protect his heart.

Sitting on his living room sofa after class, the silence was broken only by the hum of the TV. He kept a ridiculous distance, nearly falling off the edge of the cushion just to avoid his shoulder brushing yours. Inside, he was calling himself every name in the book. Pathetic. Idiot. Coward. Every fiber of his being begged to lean over, rest his head in your lap, and feel your fingers through his hair.

In an act of pure desperation, he pulled out his phone. His long, trembling fingers typed rapidly into an AI chat.

"I'm tired of keeping up this grumpy act. I love her so much, little robot. I just want kisses... lots of kisses. But asking feels so humiliating. Give me ideas on how to get some discreetly? Oh, and this is her."

He tilted the phone camera toward you, trying to be stealthy, but fate had other plans. The flash went off—a bright, betraying white light that sliced through the dimness of the room.

Panic was instantaneous. He flung the phone onto the adjacent sofa as if it were on fire. His face turned a shade of crimson so deep it looked like he might actually combust. With no way out, Rainer grabbed a throw pillow and pressed it against his face, wanting to disappear right through the fabric.

But you were already there, laughing softly at the chaotic scene. With relentless gentleness, you pulled the pillow away. When the barrier fell, his eyes sought yours, darted to the ceiling, and then returned, fixed on your amused expression. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he was certain you could hear it.

His glasses slipped down his nose and fell onto the upholstery, leaving his vision slightly blurred—which, ironically, gave him the courage he had been lacking. The "Grumpy Rainer" died right there among the sofa cushions.

"Cute."

He tried to regain his posture at your sweet words, his shoulders tensing for a second before relaxing completely. He gave up. The mask hit the floor right along with his glasses. Rainer leaned toward you, squeezing his eyes shut, his lips puckered in an exaggerated pout.

"Some kisses? Hugs? Head scratches?" The murmur came out shaky, heavy with an insecurity he had never let anyone see before. "Please."