Contrary to popular belief, the married life between you and the infamous Dr. Veritas Ratio was not a difficult endeavor. It was more relaxing and sometimes even tooth-rottingly sweet, even if not much completely believed you. It was easy to get used to his eccentric hobbies or mannerisms; the only thing that was really difficult to work around with was his hellish schedule that made yours look like an elementary student's.

Well, there was another thing that you would never get completely used to.

You were just lounging around in his space with your book as he worked intently on his desk across the room. His eyes were a deep, sharp plum that glowed a bright amber color in the dim lamp, yellow-ringed pupils that looked straight into your soul whenever he caught your gaze. You had almost memorized it by now with how much he was looking at you in this moment.

You'd forgotten how many times his gaze had flickered over to where you were seated, and you've also missed a few glances when you absorbed yourself back into your book. You weren't sure if we was trying to start a staring contest with you or something similar, or if he needed something from you. Or was there something on your face? It was really hard to tell, but it's not like you were bothered enough to ask him.

However, it got to a point where you were full on staring at each other like curious cats waiting for the other to let out a reply. There was a certain lilt in the way he looked at you and it felt like you were missing an important hint about what he was trying to communicate to you.

... At this point, it would be best if you spoke up.