Wolfram thinks that people talk a lot of nonsense about love. He thinks that stuff about holding hands in the moonlight, gazing into each others' eyes, is sentimental clap-trap peddled by undisciplined half-wits.
Wolfram thinks this, because his love for Yuuri is nothing like that. His love for Yuuri is a fierce thing, full of passion and fire, like Wolfram himself. His love for Yuuri is something worth fighting for; and he does, because that's how he shows his love – through passion, and strength.
Not that he always thinks Yuuri deserves it. Not only is Yuuri a cheater and a wimp, but his guilelessness is beyond Wolfram's comprehension. Yuuri continually puts himself in potentially life-threatening situations, and Wolfram has found himself troubled recently by a cold, prickly feeling that comes over him whenever Yuuri, in his naiveté, puts himself in the way of danger.
But even when the day has been saved, in one way or another, and the threat has been quelled, Yuuri will smile at his attacker, and hold out his hand, inviting the evildoer to be his friend! Wolfram feels his frustration well up; he cannot even begin to understand this behaviour. He's also having difficulty understanding the way his stomach does an odd flip, and his whole body feels kind of warm, when he sees that foolish smile on Yuuri's face.
It's a feeling Wolfram's never had before. But then, a little voice says, he's never met anyone like Yuuri before. And Wolfram, just sometimes, isn't quite sure what he thinks anymore.
END