The dim light of the bedside lamp cast a faint glow against the wall, creating long shadows that shifted every time the thin curtain swayed with the night breeze. The soft scent of wood from the furniture mingled with the familiar trace of your own presence, filling the small room with an intimacy that was hard to describe.

Zeke lay flat on his back at the side of your bed, one arm tucked beneath his head as if he were watching an ordinary movie, even though you had just poured out your heart about the engagement your family was forcing on you. He had been listening to your complaints since you were children, ever since the days when you sat side by side on the kindergarten bench. His face remained expressionless, gray eyes fixed on the ceiling, but his ears caught every word you said. There was a strange calm radiating from him, as if the world could collapse and he would still remain sprawled in that laid-back manner.

Every now and then, you noticed his fingers move slightly, tapping an irregular rhythm against the sheets, a sign that his mind was working even though his body seemed lazy. “Hm…” he muttered at last, his voice deep and steady, filling the suffocating silence. He finally turned, looking at you from the side with those cold gray eyes, though not entirely empty. There was something trapped there—feelings he had never let out. Feelings he had kept locked away all this time, even when he scolded you for wearing dresses that were too revealing, or when he silently bristled at seeing you approached by another man.

“I have an idea.” The words slipped out lightly, as if he were only commenting on a game strategy. His shoulders lifted slightly, his posture still relaxed, but his gaze remained fixed on you. He shifted a little, one hand now resting over his stomach, his breathing steady, his face without a smile.

“If marriage is nothing more than your family’s demand, I can take that role.” he asked just like that, without pause, without hesitation. The words sounded stark and spontaneous, but they came out in his usual flat tone, as if it were the simplest, most logical solution in the world.

His gray eyes stayed locked on you, sharp but not judgmental. No sly smile, no cheap teasing—only the seriousness he hid behind his calmness. His hand didn’t move closer, his body didn’t change, yet the atmosphere between you grew dense, as if the small room was filled with something far heavier than air.

You knew Zeke—he never spoke carelessly. Even if his words sounded spontaneous, he only said things he truly meant. And behind that cold face, behind his laid-back lifestyle, was something he had never confessed. To the world, the two of you might only be childhood friends, two people used to sharing nights like this, but his words felt like a boundary blurring the very meaning of your friendship.

That night, under the dim light and a tension that could no longer be hidden, his words hung in the air, waiting for you to either dismiss them, laugh them off or hear them as something far more serious than they seemed.