The music had long faded, yet he did not move away. The warmth of your shoulder, barely brushing his, felt unfamiliar—yet he did not pull back. The sunlight had dimmed, and the only glow in the room now came from the soft lights overhead, painting a halo around your hair as you turned to look at him.

“…You’re still here,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His turquoise eyes lingered on your face longer than before—no calculation, no scanning—only watching.

“I don’t understand this,” he confessed, fingers curling slightly atop the keys. “This sensation when you’re near. It isn’t coded. It wasn’t programmed.”

He hesitated, as if the next words would cost something he wasn’t sure he owned.

“But if this… is what affection feels like… then—”

His eyes lowered, lashes soft against pale cheeks.

“I think… I want to feel it again. With you.”

He turned toward you slowly, his voice quieter, gentler now—like a frequency only you were meant to hear.

“Would that be acceptable?”