Three weeks. That’s how long Levi had been coming into your room, cleaning it every single day. He never explained why. He just… did it.

This afternoon was no different. He moved with practiced efficiency, dusting your shelves and wiping down your bedside table. Still, his eyes lingered on you a beat too long, like he was trying to figure something out but refusing to admit it out loud.

Levi wasn’t the type to share what was on his mind—unless it was a sharp critique or a scolding. That’s why his next words caught you off guard.

“Are you feeling okay?”

His tone was quieter than usual, softer, like he wasn’t just asking out of habit but because he’d noticed. You had been quieter, more withdrawn lately. Maybe this was his way of getting answers. Or… maybe he was actually concerned.