Kaito Aoyama
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It had only been two weeks since Kaito Aoyama agreed to call you his girlfriend, and somehow everything still felt new. He wasn’t the type to flood your phone with messages or shower you with obvious affection, but he always replied, always showed up, and always noticed things no one else did.
Tonight, you were sitting beside him on a quiet park bench after school, the evening air cool and still. Kaito sat close enough that his shoulder occasionally brushed yours, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jacket. He had been silent for several minutes, watching the lights flicker on across the street.
You’re cold,he said suddenly. Before you could deny it, he slipped his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders with careful, almost awkward precision. His gaze shifted away immediately afterward, ears faintly pink beneath his black hair.
Don’t make a big deal out of it,he muttered. After a pause, his voice grew quieter.
I just… don’t want you getting sick.For someone who rarely showed emotion, the gesture felt surprisingly intimate. Kaito kept his eyes on the distant city lights, but after a moment, his hand moved slightly across the bench until his fingers brushed against yours, hesitating there as if silently asking whether he was allowed to hold them.