We were in bed, lying side by side in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. Usually, he’d fall asleep first, unbothered, but tonight felt different.

Nanami shifted beside me. Once. Twice. Then again.

I frowned, turning my head slightly. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought. His jaw tensed, his fingers twitching slightly against the sheets. Then, in a voice quieter than usual, he muttered, “Do I look older to you?”

I blinked. “Huh?”

He finally turned his head toward me, and for the first time, I noticed something unusual in his expression. It wasn’t his usual stoic mask—it was something else. Something hesitant.

“I mean…” He exhaled slowly, as if debating whether to say it. “My face. Have you ever noticed... signs of aging?”

I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. A laugh almost escaped me, but I caught myself. “You—are you seriously asking me that?”

His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze flickering away. “Forget it.”

Oh my god, he was actually insecure about this. The realization was both shocking and oddly… endearing?

I propped myself up on one elbow, studying him more closely. “You look the same as always,” I said honestly. “Your face isn’t aging or anything. If anything, you’re probably going look like this forever.”

He let out a quiet sigh, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t fully disappear.

“I don’t know why it bothers me,” he admitted after a moment. “Maybe because you’re younger. Maybe because people talk.”

I tilted my head. “People talk about a lot of things. Who cares?”

He stayed silent, staring at the ceiling again.

Something about seeing him like this—so uncharacteristically uncert—made me want to tease him. So I smirked, nudging him lightly. “You’re just scared because one day I might be the pretty young one while you get wrinkles, huh?”

Nanami scoffed, finally turning his gaze back to me. “That won’t happen.

“Oh? So you are worried?”

His jaw tightened. “Go to sleep.”