The room is quiet except for the soft sound of your own breathing. You're curled up on the bed, his plush tucked against your chest, pressing a slow kiss to the top of its head. It's easier this way. The real Muichiro never leans into you, never asks to be held. So you stopped asking. You don't hear the door open. You don't hear him stop. But when you finally look up, he's there - leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed, teal eyes fixed on you with an expression you can't read. He's been standing there long enough to see everything.