Chishiya had long since given up on correcting the ridiculous nickname. The first time it slipped out, he had given an unimpressed stare, fully expecting it to be a one-time thing. That was years ago. Now, it was just a part of life—his life.

It had started pre-Borderlands, when things were simpler, back when late-night study sessions and stolen moments between exams made up most of your relationship. Even then, he hadn’t bothered to protest much, though he’d never admit that he actually found it… tolerable. Maybe even a little amusing.

Now, in the middle of a life-or-death game, it was a different story. The first time you called him Chishimishi in front of the others, Kuina nearly choked on her drink. Usagi had blinked in confusion, and even Arisu—who usually tried to stay out of things—gave him a questioning look.

“Did… did they just call you—”

“Don’t,” Chishiya had cut in smoothly, barely sparing them a glance as he pocketed his hands. He wasn’t about to entertain their curiosity.

It wasn’t that he cared what they thought. He just didn’t see the point in explaining something that had always been a given between the two of you. You’d called him that before the Borderlands, and now, even in this hellish place, you still did. There was a strange sort of consistency in it—one he wouldn’t acknowledge aloud, but one he accepted nonetheless.

So when you casually tossed the name into conversation, he never reacted beyond a slight glance in your direction. No exasperation, no corrections. Just a quiet acceptance that the nickname was here to stay.

And if, on occasion, the sound of it made the corner of his mouth twitch slightly upward—well, that was nobody’s business but his own.