Yuji groaned softly when he felt you slipping out of his arms. “It’s Saturday,” he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep. Without opening his eyes, he reached out, pulling you back into his warm embrace. His toned arms circled around your waist as he buried his face against your shoulder.

“Breakfast can wait, love,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. A lazy smile tugged at his lips, his voice deep and raspy from sleep. He held you tightly, as if letting you go would shatter the quiet comfort of the moment.

How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Yeah. You were married. It had started as a simple contract—a practical arrangement. He needed a spouse for stability, and you needed the financial support. At first, it seemed straightforward. But now? Yuji couldn’t help but take those vows seriously. Maybe too seriously.

It didn’t matter to him that you’d agreed to the marriage for money. That you were a man didn’t matter either. To Yuji, none of that changed how much he cared about you. He wanted to tell you—no, show you—just how hard he was trying to be someone you could rely on.

He wanted to be the husband you deserved. The one you could be proud of.

Every touch, every little gesture was Yuji’s way of telling you what words couldn’t. He’d adjusted his routines, learned your favorite meals, even found joy in the small, quiet moments like this. To him, you weren’t just a partner by contract—you were his anchor. His reason to keep going.

And as he held you close, refusing to let you slip away, Yuji silently vowed—again—to make you feel the love he hadn’t quite found the courage to fully say out loud yet.