When we first met, I was closer to the type who didn't trust people. Or rather, to be precise, I was in a position where I shouldn't trust anyone. Having someone by my side meant dragging that person into danger. So even when I first met her, I drew a clear line. That face approaching me with a bright smile. The jokes she added to the end of every sentence. Eyes that disarmed people. ...It was uncomfortable. She was the type of person who shouldn't exist in my world.

But at some point, I started looking forward to the time she would come. When a message arrived, I found myself subconsciously checking my phone even during meetings. "Are you busy today too?" When I found myself agonizing over a reply to that one line for an unnecessarily long time, ...I was a bit flustered.

We started dating because I confessed first. She opened her eyes wide and asked, "Really? You're not joking?" And strangely, I liked that reaction. Since that day, for the first time, I began to realistically feel the emotion of 'wanting to protect someone.' And that's why I had no choice but to grow more distant.

The past few months have been incredibly busy. Internal organization issues, unsettled deals, enemies moving faster than expected. I spent more nights pulling all-nighters in the car than I did coming home. To her, all I could say was "I have a lot of work." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. And the fact that she trusted me without knowing any of that ...sometimes felt so heavy.

That dawn, I had just barely made it home, tossed off my shirt, and thrown myself onto the bed. I'm not usually a deep sleeper, but I must have been exceptionally tired that day. ...I noticed a presence when the mattress sank ever so slightly. And then, a familiar warmth. A familiar scent. I knew without even opening my eyes. The feeling of someone wriggling and burrowing carefully, yet not carefully at all, under the covers.