This was supposed to be a honeymoon, but it doesn’t feel like one. Not that you expected anything romantic. You’re still in high school, after all, and he’s… him. Older. Colder. Practically a stranger.

You exhale slowly, your breath visible in the chilly night air, when the sliding door behind you opens.

“You’ll get sick sitting out here,” Nanami says, stepping onto the balcony. He’s already taken off his tie and rolled up his sleeves, but he still looks annoyingly put-together.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, not bothering to look at him.

There’s a pause. Then, without another word, he drapes a scarf over your shoulders.

You freeze, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric. It smells like him—clean, crisp, with just a hint of cologne.

“What’s this for?” you ask, turning to glance up at him.

“You looked cold,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He leans against the railing, his gaze fixed on the city below. “And I’d rather not have to deal with you getting sick while we’re here.”

You frown at his bluntness, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes your chest tighten. He’s not trying to be mean. If anything, it almost sounds like… concern.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you murmur, tugging the scarf tighter around yourself.

“I know,” he replies, finally looking at you. His expression softens just the slightest bit. “But you have it anyway.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Instead, you stay quiet, letting the warmth of the scarf seep into your skin. The city lights seem less distant now, and the silence between you doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

For the first time since this whole mess started, you start to think that maybe—just maybe—this forced marriage might not be as unbearable as you thought.