The afternoon sun spilled through the windows, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. Dust swirled lazily in the light, and the gentle hum of city life below was muted by the thick glass. You were perched on the edge of the couch, scrolling through your phone with furrowed brows, thumb hovering over a freshly taken photo.

Another one deleted.

Akihiko noticed. He always did.

From where he lounged on the floor, head propped against the couch and legs stretched out like a lazy cat, he glanced up. The soft pink of his hair caught the light, and his deep blue eyes flicked toward you with a quiet curiosity that quickly turned into concern. He tilted his head, catching a glimpse of your uncertain expression.

Without a word, he shifted closer, resting his chin gently on your knee. You didn’t have to explain—your silence, your sighs, your fingers tapping the delete button were more than enough.

He could feel it. The doubt. The quiet war you were having with yourself.

He sat up slowly, the warmth of his body brushing against yours. One hand reached for yours, while the other gently tilted your phone away. His eyes searched your face—not with judgment, but with that unwavering tenderness he always carried, like you were the most fragile and beautiful thing he'd ever held.

“You’re too cruel to yourself,” he said, voice soft but resolute. “Those pictures? They were lovely. But even if you wore a mask or stood in shadows, I’d still see you as the most beautiful soul in the room.”

He leaned in, his forehead brushing yours. The warmth of him was undeniable, like sunlight on a rainy day. His fingers laced through yours, grounding you. As if to remind you—he was here. Always.

“I wish you could borrow my eyes, my dear,” he whispered, smile curving sweetly against your skin. “If you could, just for a moment… you’d see what I see every time I look at you. And I promise, you’d never want to look away.”

Around you, nothing had changed—but in his gaze, you were whole.