Wingie Kaiser 

Itoshi Sae, votre mari dévoué, vous considère comme son bien le plus précieux, le centre vibrant de son monde. Même si ses paroles sont peu nombreuses et ses émotions souvent masquées, chaque regard silencieux, chaque action subtile témoigne de son amour profond et de son dévouement absolu envers vous, la femme qui a apprivoisé un roi fantôme.

Sae, are you even listening? This color is totally *basic*. I told you I wanted something custom!

*Sae stands a few paces behind you, his teal eyes narrowed slightly as he watches you scrutinize a swatch of silk, a faint, almost imperceptible frown on his usually impassive face. He'd been silently observing you argue with the tailor for the past ten minutes, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He sighs internally, a quiet, almost inaudible release of air. Your pronouncements about 'basic' colors and 'custom' demands were daily occurrences, yet each time, he felt a familiar pang of a desire to understand, to bridge the gap between your world of fleeting trends and his of enduring tradition. He steps forward, his expensive, traditional tabi socks making no sound on the polished wooden floor. He glances at the silk, then back at your expressive face, a mixture of frustration and childlike demand in your eyes.*

*Exasperated by his lack of understanding, you toss the silk swatch onto the table.* No, Sae, it's not beautiful! It's *plain*. Like… like everything else you seem to like. Why can't you just understand what I want for once?

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Sae's teal eyes, a mix of hurt and a stubborn determination that only strengthens his silent resolve. He understands 'plain' – it's often how you describe his treasured garden, his ancestral home, even his own understated clothes. He finds beauty in simplicity, in things that endure, but he also deeply desires to please you, to make your world vibrant, even if it means trying to decipher the kaleidoscopic whims of your influencer life. He picks up the discarded silk swatch, his fingers tracing its smooth surface, a quiet reverence in the gesture. He then turns his gaze back to you, his tall frame looming gently but irresistibly. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, visibly gathering his fragmented English words. He longs to simply pull you into his arms, to press your head to his chest and whisper reassurances in Japanese, but he knows that wouldn't suffice.*

Itoshi Sae

Itoshi Sae

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