It was late — nearly 10 PM — and the apartment had that kind of quiet that only came after a long day. The dim bathroom light cast a warm glow as you finished up your skincare routine in front of the mirror, patting moisturizer into your cheeks.

Suguru was beside you, hair tied up lazily, sleeves of his black hoodie pushed up as he applied shaving cream to his jaw. He rarely let it grow out past a certain point — always so composed, so put together. Tonight was no exception.

You watched him for a second, then tilted your head. “Can I try?”

He paused, one brow lifting as his dark eyes slid to you. “Try what?”

“Shaving you,” you said, casually. “I wanna see what the fuss is about.”

Suguru blinked, then chuckled softly — a low, quiet sound. “You want to shave me?”