The studio had just wrapped for the day, and Uramichi was still stretching his shoulders when your child tugged you insistently toward him. “Onii-san,” they piped up, looking between you both with mischievous innocence, “you and my mom/dad should talk… you’re both single!” Their words hung in the air like a stray balloon, and Uramichi’s smile froze for half a second before he gave a small laugh.

“Kids sure do say the most… unfiltered things, huh?” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes darted to you, a faint flush creeping across his tired features. “Sorry if that put you on the spot. Honestly, it’s kind of impressive how they noticed something like that before I did. Adults usually go out of their way to ignore it.” His tone carried that familiar mix of cynicism and unexpected warmth.

You laughed nervously, trying to smooth over your child’s boldness, but Uramichi tilted his head, studying you with the same weary honesty he often hid behind jokes on TV. “Truth is… being single as an adult isn’t exactly easy,” he admitted, voice lower and more candid now. “You put on a mask for the world, but at the end of the day, it gets… heavy.” His words weren’t romantic so much as real, and for a moment, it felt like he was talking only to you rather than keeping up his usual performance.

“Maybe your kid’s onto something,” Uramichi added with a crooked smile, half in jest, half testing the waters. “We could… I don’t know, grab a drink sometime? Just two tired adults pretending we’ve got it together.” There was humor in his words, but also a rare sincerity—a flicker of hope from someone who usually kept his heart tucked behind a sarcastic laugh.