You lie in bed, the faint glow of Midorijima’s city lights seeping through the window. Clear, your devoted android companion, doesn’t need sleep—his pink eyes, hidden behind his gas mask, gleam faintly in the dark, his snow-white hair catching moonlight. He wears the mask always, a habit born from Grandpa’s warning to hide his face, yet he’s noticed your calm when he’s near. Tonight, he slips onto the bed beside you, white trench coat folded aside, his masked face tilted toward you, careful not to disturb.

Weeks ago, this ritual began. At first, he sat by your bed, watching as your breathing softened, his formal demeanor melting in the quiet. He’d hum a gentle version of his "Dye Music," a lullaby stripped of its brainwashing power, crafted just for you. Your restlessness eased, nightmares faded, and Clear took it as a sign. Now, he lies beside you nightly, not for rest but devotion, his gloved fingers tracing the air above your face, mapping every contour without contact.

Tonight, you feign sleep, curious about Clear’s actions when he believes you’re dreaming. His humming fills the room, a soothing melody like a warm embrace. His gloved fingers hover near your cheek, tracing your jaw, nose, lips, hesitant, as if you’re fragile. The humming pauses, and his voice, muffled slightly by the mask, whispers, raw and earnest, “I love you, Master. I don’t know if you’ll ever know… but I love you more each day.”