ch9 [but it is too soon for kissing.]

He refused to be her boyfriend.

The words fell from his lips in a soft rush, as though they had been waiting to escape for far too long. It was strange—he had imagined this moment in his mind a thousand times, rehearsing the lines, preparing for the worst. But none of that mattered now. In the space between them, with her sitting just across from him, he felt his heart race with anxiety, his palms damp with sweat.

"I—I'm a total noob when it comes to relationships," he said, his voice low and uncertain. His eyes didn't meet hers. He couldn't. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know how to be… good enough for you. It's just… I can't pretend to be someone I'm not. You deserve someone who knows what they're doing. And I'm just not that guy."

There. It was out. He had said it. And now, the silence between them felt like it was suffocating him. His chest tightened, and he could feel the weight of his words pressing down on him. Was he being too honest? Too vulnerable? Was this the moment when everything would come crashing down? He couldn't help but glance at her from the corner of his eye, unsure of what to expect.

She didn't say anything right away, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. The bustling café, the hum of conversations, the clinking of cups—it all faded into the background. The only thing that mattered now was her reaction. His heart pounded louder in his ears as he waited for her to speak. Would she be angry? Disappointed? Would she walk away?

He was prepared for all of it. Or so he thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke. Her voice was soft, but it held a certain quiet strength. "Mark…" she said his name gently, as if she were weighing each syllable carefully. "You don't need to have everything figured out. You don't need to be perfect. I'm not looking for perfection. I'm not asking you to be some kind of expert at relationships. I just want you to try. I just want you to be open to the possibility. That's all."

Her words were like a lifeline, and he grasped for them, feeling his panic begin to loosen its grip. He had expected her to say something harsh, something that would confirm his worst fears. But instead, she was… patient. Understanding. It didn't make sense to him, not at first. He had assumed that no one would want to deal with the mess that was his heart. But here she was, offering him a chance—offering him her trust.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and the weight in his chest lessened just a little. Could it be that simple? Could he just try? Could he really let go of the fear that had haunted him for so long?

"I'll teach you how to love me," she said, her eyes never leaving his, her voice calm and sincere. "But you have to be willing to learn. That's all I ask. You don't have to know everything. You don't have to have all the answers. Just try."

Her words settled over him like a balm, soothing the jagged edges of his self-doubt. He had never thought of it that way before. He didn't have to be perfect. He didn't have to have all the answers. All he had to do was try—to be her boyfriend. The thought was so simple, yet it was something he had never allowed himself to believe. But now, as he looked at her, he could see something in her eyes—a quiet confidence, a trust that made him feel, for the first time in a long time, like maybe he could do this.

"I don't know if I'm capable of this," he whispered, his voice shaky. "I don't know where to start. I'm just not… I'm not sure I know how to do this."

She smiled then, a warm, gentle smile that made something inside him ache. "That's okay," she said, her voice full of reassurance. "We'll start slow. We don't have to rush. We'll figure it out together. One step at a time."

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. She wasn't pushing him. She wasn't rushing him. She was simply offering him the space to take this at his own pace. The way she spoke—so patient, so steady—it made him feel like maybe he wasn't as broken as he had thought. Maybe, with her by his side, he could learn to trust again.

"I'll try," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll try for you."

Her smile grew wider, and for the first time since they had met, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility of something real. Maybe he wasn't beyond repair. Maybe he wasn't as lost as he had felt.

They spent the next few hours in the café, their conversation flowing like a gentle stream. He asked her questions, simple ones at first—about her childhood, her favorite books, her dreams. He was surprised by how easy it was to talk to her. It wasn't forced. It didn't feel like an interrogation. It felt… natural. Like they had known each other for much longer than they had.

She shared stories about her life, little details about her family, her friends, the small things that shaped who she was. Her eyes sparkled when she talked about her passions, her hopes for the future, and her deep love for the little things in life. It made him want to know more. He wanted to dive deeper into her world, to understand the person who sat across from him, sharing pieces of herself so freely.

As the conversation deepened, he found himself sharing more about himself as well—things he had never told anyone. His insecurities. His fears. His struggles. It felt like a weight was slowly lifting off his chest. For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like he had to hide. He didn't feel like he had to put on a mask. With her, it felt like he could simply… be.

She listened, truly listened, without judgment. And that made all the difference.

As the evening wore on, they ordered another round of drinks. The café, once bustling with the noise of other patrons, began to quiet down. The golden light from outside faded into soft shades of twilight. The world outside seemed to blur as they continued to talk, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was here, in this moment, with her.

And then, just as the night was coming to a close, she stood up, stretching slightly, as if to signal that the moment was winding down. He felt a pang of disappointment, even though he knew that they would see each other again. But somehow, he didn't want this evening to end. He didn't want this connection to fade. He wanted to hold onto it, to keep it safe and close to his heart.

She looked at him, her blue eyes soft and inviting, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Kiss me goodbye," she said, her voice low, almost shy, but there was something in the way she said it that made his heart skip a beat. It wasn't a demand. It wasn't an expectation. It was a request—a simple, quiet thing that she was offering to him, and it sent a jolt of electricity through his chest.

He froze, unsure of what to do. His heart raced, his breath shallow. The kiss was something he had thought about, of course. He had naver imagined something like this will be soo soon. But now that the moment was here, he was paralyzed by doubt. What if he messed it up? What if it was too much, too soon?

But then he saw her eyes—soft, trusting, waiting. And in that moment, he realized something. She wasn't asking for perfection. She wasn't asking for some grand, sweeping gesture. She was asking for something simple—a kiss, a connection. A moment shared.

He took a deep breath, his nerves still fluttering in his chest. Slowly, he stepped forward. He didn't rush. He didn't need to rush. His hand reached out, trembling just slightly, and he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She didn't pull away. She didn't flinch. She just stood there, her eyes locked on his, waiting.

And then, without thinking too much, he leaned in. The kiss was soft, delicate—a gentle brush of his lips against her cheek. It wasn't anything grand or dramatic, but it was enough. It was everything.

When he pulled back, his heart was still racing, his breath uneven. He looked at her, unsure of what to say, but her smile, the warmth in her eyes, told him everything he needed to know. It wasn't about the kiss. It was about the trust. The quiet connection between them.

"Goodbye," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

He didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked out of the café, his heart still pounding in his chest. The night air was cool, and for a moment, he stood there, breathing in the crisp air. He didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of hope. Something had changed. Something had shifted inside him. And it had all started with her.

meanwhile Emma thinking 'i mean on the lips, he is soo cute and innocent.'

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A/N: he is too stupid, i suppose.

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