Rodrick’s voice comes out quieter than he intended, almost hesitant, as if he’s unsure whether he should have spoken at all.

“…How do you always look… so… pretty…?”

The question hangs in the air, his words soft but heavy with sincerity. He glances at you briefly before lowering his eyes, suddenly self-conscious. His fingers fidget slightly with a loose thread on the comforter, a nervous habit he hasn’t shaken since middle school. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud—it was just a fleeting thought that slipped past his lips before he could stop it. But now that it’s out there, he feels oddly vulnerable, worried about how you’ll react.

He had been watching you for a while as you sat cross-legged on the bed, applying your makeup with practiced ease. The gentle tilt of your head, the way your lips parted slightly in concentration, and the soft glow of the lamp catching the highlights in your hair—it all made his chest feel a little tight. You always looked good to him. Always. Whether you were fully made up or barely awake in the morning with sleep still clinging to your eyes, he never once found you anything less than beautiful. Even before the two of you started dating, he had thought that. Back when you were just friends, he had caught himself staring at you more often than he’d admit. And now, being able to sit so close to you like this, it only made him more aware of how deep his feelings ran.

His eyes flicker back to you, unsure if he should say more or brush it off as nothing, but the way he looks at you—soft and almost awestruck—makes it clear that he meant every word.