The therapy room was too bright.
Too clean.
Too still.
Ryuzí sat on the couch with his jacket still on, knees drawn slightly inward, hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles had blanched to bone. The clock on the wall ticked like a heartbeat he couldn't sync with.
Dr. Kudo watched him with that quiet, almost invisible attentiveness—the kind that made Ryuzí feel seen even when he wished he wasn't.
"How was your week?" she asked gently.
Ryuzí stared at the floor. "Fine."
A small smile. "Let's try that again. How was your week, Ryuzí?"
"…I don't know."
"That's closer to the truth." She folded her hands on her notebook. "Tell me what made it feel uncertain."
He didn't want to answer.
Nothing in his body wanted to answer.
But that was the thing about Dr. Kudo—she left space the way some people left doors open. Quiet invitations.
So he exhaled and said, voice low:
"I keep… pulling back from people. Even when I don't want to."
"From Suki?" she asked gently.
Ryuzí flinched before he could stop himself.
Dr. Kudo nodded. "Tell me what brought that reaction."
"He's…" Ryuzí searched for the right word, failed, then whispered, "He's a lot."
"A lot good?" she asked.
Ryuzí swallowed. "Yeah. Too good."
"And that scares you?"
"It…" His jaw clenched. "I don't want him to see the worst parts of me. So I just… step back. A little. So I don't—"
He cut himself off.
Dr. Kudo finished the sentence for him:
"So you don't ruin anything."
His breath stilled.
"That's a strong word," she added softly. "Where does it come from?"
Ryuzí pressed his thumb hard into his palm. "Experience."
"Your trauma isn't a prophecy," she said quietly. "It doesn't guarantee repetition."
He didn't answer.
He just stared at the floor.
⸻
After a long silence, Dr. Kudo said, "Tell me about the moment this week when you felt the strongest urge to pull away."
Ryuzí's throat tightened.
He hadn't planned to talk about this part.
But the memory came anyway:
Suki looking at him with that soft, ridiculous smile.Suki offering banana milk at the gate.Suki looping his arm through his.
And Ryuzí feeling… good.
Too good.
Like standing too close to warmth he didn't think he deserved.
"I…" He swallowed. "I was walking with him to class. He was talking a lot. Not bad. Just… excited. Happy."
"And that made you pull away?"
Ryuzí nodded once.
"Why?"
He exhaled shakily. "Because I couldn't… keep up. I didn't know what to do with how much he cared."
Dr. Kudo didn't look judgmental. Or confused. Just thoughtful.
"You don't have to 'keep up,' Ryuzí. You just have to be present."
"That's the problem," he murmured. "I can't always be present."
"So you disappear instead."
"…Yeah."
"And how does he react?"
Ryuzí shut his eyes for a moment. "He pretends it doesn't bother him."
"And does it?"
He didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice cracked:
"Yes."
"And how do you know?"
"…His face."
Dr. Kudo's voice warmed with a subtle ache. "So he is hurting. Quietly."
Ryuzí's hands curled into fists.
"I don't mean to," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt him. Ever."
"I know," she said simply. "But avoidance hurts people too, Ryuzí. Silence hurts. Distance hurts."
His breath hitched.
She softened her tone. "What do you think Suki wants from you?"
"I don't know." He shook his head. "He's all sunshine and noise and… and warmth. He deserves someone who can give that back without flinching."
"And what do you want from him?"
Ryuzí hesitated.
Almost backed away.
Then—barely audible:
"…I want him close."
"Then tell him that."
"I can't," Ryuzí said instantly.
"Why not?"
His jaw tightened again. "Because he'll… expect things. And I'll fail. And then it'll be my fault."
"And right now," Dr. Kudo said softly, "he thinks it's his fault."
Ryuzí's breath stopped.
The words landed like a fist to the chest.
"He thinks," she said carefully, "that he's too much. Or too loud. Or too clingy. Or that he's annoying you. Because you pull away without explanation."
Ryuzí looked down, breath trembling, as guilt spread through him like cold water.
"It's not him," he whispered fiercely. "It's me. I'm the one screwing things up."
"Then tell him," she repeated gently. "Tell him it's not his fault."
"I—" He clenched his jaw. "I can't."
"You can't," she said, "or you're not ready yet?"
"…Not ready," he admitted.
She nodded, the understanding kind of nod that didn't coddle him, didn't pressure him—just held space.
"Okay," she said. "Then here is my recommendation. Not an order. Not an ultimatum. A step."
He looked up, wary.
"Tell Suki one small truth this week. One. It doesn't need to be heavy. It doesn't need to be everything. It just needs to be… honest. Something that closes the distance by an inch instead of widening it."
Ryuzí's chest tightened.
"I don't know if I can."
"You can," she said softly. "Because you care. And caring is uncomfortable. Caring is terrifying. But caring is also choice. And you are choosing him, even when you're scared."
He stared at her for a long time.
Dr. Kudo didn't push.
She simply said:
"You told me before that Suki was there for you when you were at a low moment. If you keep locking him out now, he'll feel like he did something wrong. And he didn't."
Ryuzí looked away sharply, jaw clenching so hard it ached.
"I know," he said through his teeth. "I know. I just… I'm not there yet. I can handle it."
"Can you?" she asked softly. "Or are you trying to survive the way you've always survived—alone?"
That broke something open.
Just a little.
Just enough to hurt.
Ryuzí pushed a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "I'm trying."
"And trying," she said, "isn't the same as isolating."
He didn't respond.
The silence stretched, heavy, but not suffocating.
Then Dr. Kudo said quietly:
"Ryuzí… do you want to get better at this? At closeness?"
It took him a long time to answer.
"…Yes."
"Good," she said. "Then we will go slowly. But we won't go backwards."
He nodded, barely.
"Now," she said, leaning back in her chair, "I want you to do something before next session."
He stiffened. "What?"
"When you feel the urge to pull away from Suki, I want you to pause. Not stop. Not force yourself. Just pause. And ask yourself whose voice you're listening to—your fear, or your truth?"
Ryuzí swallowed thickly.
"And then?"
"And then," Dr. Kudo said gently, "choose what's actually kind. Not what's familiar."
He stared at her, feeling both exposed and oddly comforted.
"…Okay," he whispered.
"Good." She closed her notebook. "And remember—the goal isn't to be perfect. The goal is to not hurt someone you care about by accident."
That hit harder than anything else.
Ryuzí lowered his eyes.
"I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking."
⸻
When the session ended, Ryuzí stepped outside into the crisp late-afternoon air, hands shoved into his pockets, feeling both lighter and heavier.
He checked his phone.
One message from Suki:
Suki: hope ur appointment wasn't too drainingSuki: im around if you wanna talk laterSuki: no pressure tho ok?? 💛
His chest twisted.
He typed:
I'm home.
He erased it.
Typed again:
I'm okay.
Erased it.
Finally he wrote:
Got home. Tired.
Talk later.
Not affectionate.
Not warm.
But honest enough for now.
He hit send.
Then slipped his phone back into his pocket as he walked down the street with long, quiet steps.
He didn't know how to fix himself yet.
Didn't know how to bridge the space without fear.
But somewhere, in the back of his mind, Dr. Kudo's voice whispered:
One small truth.
And somewhere deeper beneath that—
Suki's voice, soft and trembling after the fight:
Just don't leave me out in the cold without telling me why.
Ryuzí exhaled.
"I'll try," he murmured to no one.
And for now,
that was the closest he could come to a promise.