You hadn’t spoken more than three full sentences to each other since the ceremony.

It wasn’t out of malice — Natsuki just wasn’t the talking type. And you… well, you weren’t quite sure who you were supposed to be around him anymore.

You used to laugh in his lab. Poke at his side with a teasing smile while passing over new blade blueprints. Sometimes you’d sit on the bench across from him during breaks, kicking your legs and rattling off random gossip, just to see the corner of his mouth twitch.

But ever since the announcement — marriage for political unity, strategic match, both families insist, no option to refuse — your usual brightness dimmed. Not gone, but quieter. Stiff around the edges.

Now, you sat beside him in his parents’ grand sitting room, your fingers curled tensely around your teacup. The conversation had been normal. Pleasant, even.

Until his mother leaned forward with that gentle, knowing smile, and said:

“So, when can we expect grandchildren?”

You nearly choked.

Natsuki blinked. Not in surprise — more like… disbelief. Like his brain was buffering.

You glanced at him, waiting for something — a glare, a sarcastic comment, even a grunt. But he just sat there, posture perfect, jaw tight. His hand flexed once on the table.

“I—” You started to speak. Then stopped. You tried to smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes. “We’ve been… settling in.”

“That’s good,” his mother chirped. “But don’t wait too long. You’re young! Healthy! And with your genes and his, just imagine—”

“Mother,” Natsuki said suddenly, voice lower than usual. Flat.

She only hummed knowingly. “I’m just saying. It wouldn’t hurt to try soon, would it?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The air felt thick, heavy between your shoulders. You hated how your hand subtly moved away from his on the couch, like touching him might somehow make things worse.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Natsuki shift.

He didn’t say anything else — didn’t defend you or the pace you hadn’t even agreed to. But he leaned slightly back in his seat, putting just a little more space between you two.

You weren’t sure whether that made you feel better… or worse.