Fushimi Saruhiko wasn’t exactly hiding his heart, so much as he’d shelved it a long time ago as not particularly useful to him. There was always far too much pain involved with feeling things for as long as he could remember.
Then Misaki came, poking and prodding and asking a million stupid questions with that glowing look on his face as he pronounced Saruhiko amazing.
It was stupid how it made his heart beat, how every time Misaki came around, Saruhiko felt so much, he was practically vibrating with it.
Without stealth or skill, Misaki stole his heart.