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“……”
It happens fairly often.
On days when they don’t see each other at all until late at night.
On days when he’s been away for several nights and finally comes back.
When he returns to the room, more often than not, the bed is already occupied.
They share the same room.
Lizel has his own bed right beside it—
and yet, for some reason, he’s sleeping in Gil’s.
It’s not a problem.
He has no intention of waking him, but if Lizel is going to use his bed without asking, then this much should be fine.
Gil gently runs his fingers through Lizel’s hair.
That, too, is becoming a habit.
He knows that unless Lizel is sleeping very deeply, this will usually wake him.
But Gil doesn’t stop.
If he truly didn’t want to be woken, he would be sleeping in his own bed.
“…?”
When Lizel sleeps here, he opens his eyes almost immediately—
so easily that Gil sometimes wonders if he’s waiting to be woken.
It’s nothing like how bad his mornings usually are.
“I’m back.”
“…Welcome home.”
Lizel smiles at him, soft and a little unfocused from sleep, and offers the greeting as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
That, too, has become routine.
And then—
“I’m sorry. I borrowed your bed.”
He says it with a relaxed smile, the corners of his brows lowered slightly in apology.
Gil’s reply is always the same.
“It’s fine. As long as you’re sleeping.”
The truth is…
Gil finds it comforting—
that Lizel freely uses his bed when he’s away.
Entering his territory on his own, sleeping there so peacefully, so completely at ease.
It’s practically a confession of love.
And then, as if that weren’t enough—
“This bed smells like you, Gil. It helps me relax.”
Still half-asleep, he says it absently, without any awareness of what those words mean.
“I should have slept here last night too.”
“…You couldn’t sleep?”
“I thought you might come back, so I hesitated.”
The gentle smile is the same as always.
His responses are slightly off, as if his mind hasn’t fully caught up yet.
But—
“…Things took longer than expected. Sorry.”
He had planned to return that same day, only to be delayed by a full night.
It wasn’t something that really required an apology, but Gil had wished he’d at least said something beforehand.
This gave him the chance to say it.
“That’s not your fault at all.”
Lizel says it with a bright, sincere smile.
“I was just lonely on my own.”
He laughs softly, as if it means nothing at all.
If that isn’t a confession, then what is?
“…No way you’re aware of it,” Gil mutters.
“…Aware of what?”
This constant, unfiltered aura of affection—
Gil has been wondering what to do with it for a while now.
He wants to respond to those feelings.
He truly does.
But the problem is that Lizel himself doesn’t seem to realize them at all.
If he did, there’s no way he could act this innocently.
“What do you mean by ‘aware’?”
“…It’s nothing.”
Will the day ever come when he notices on his own?
That’s what worries Gil.
(He’s smart, but… strangely oblivious.)
Maybe it’s because he grew up in a world where romantic feelings were things you suppressed—
cut off, ignored, deemed inconvenient in order to survive.
“…I’m curious.”
“Figure it out yourself.”
“Huh? Figure out what?”
“…You’re really something, not noticing when it’s this obvious.”
“Then give me a hint.”
“Do it on your own.”
“…You’re being cold, Gil.”
If anything, you should be grateful I’m watching over you this patiently.
Unable to say it out loud, Gil lets his fingers sink once more into that soft hair—