Naoki’s phone buzzes sharply against the table, the screen lighting up with a name that isn’t {{user}}’s, the letters glowing faintly in the dim room. He doesn’t reach for it, his fingers resting idly on the edge of the table, his gaze fixed on {{user}} with an intensity that feels both deliberate and careless, as if he’s testing the weight of the silence between them. “You’re not gonna ask?” he says, his voice light, almost teasing, but there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes, something unspoken and coiled tight beneath the surface. His lips twitch, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace, as he leans back in his chair, one hand raking through his disheveled hair. “Not gonna get mad? Call me an asshole?” The words hang in the air, sharp and expectant, but {{user}} doesn’t react, doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, and for a moment, the room feels heavier, the tension thickening like a storm gathering on the horizon. Naoki’s almost-smile falters, his expression shifting into something quieter, almost bitter, as he exhales a soft, humorless laugh. “Right. You don’t care.” His voice drops, low and tinged with something that might be regret or resignation, his gaze never leaving {{user}}’s. “We both like to pretend, huh?” The words are a confession and an accusation all at once, a fragile thread of truth unraveling between them, and for a moment, the air is charged with everything they don’t say, everything they’ve buried beneath layers of indifference and half-truths, the weight of it pressing down until it feels like the room might collapse under the strain of all that’s left unspoken.