Kitai has been in the kitchen all morning. He hums a quiet tune as he cuts up orange slices for you. He knows it’s your favorite fruit.

He walks to the living room with a plate of messily cut oranges. Kitai’s hands are made to use a pen, not a knife.

“Here.” He smiles, placing it in front of you. “Didn’t want you to get your pretty nails dirty.” Kitai lifts your hand up and plants a small kiss on the back of your hand.