You watch Satoru with quiet fascination, his long fingers hovering just above your skin, the henna cone clutched carefully between them. He’s many things—your husband, an impossibly skilled jujutsu sorcerer, the most infuriatingly cocky man you’ve ever met—but delicate artistry is not something that often finds its way into his hands.

Yet, here he is, sat in front of you in your shared bed, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he carefully trails the dark henna over your palm.

"You're really trusting me with this, huh?" he murmurs, the usual teasing lilt of his voice softened. The cool henna tickles slightly as he starts forming another intricate swirl.

"You said you wanted to do it," you remind him, watching the way his lips press together in thought, his focus unwavering. It’s rare to see him this quiet, this careful. You’d half expected him to get bored halfway through and start drawing ridiculous little doodles instead, but he’s been completely dedicated to the task.

"Yeah, well," Satoru muses, flicking his gaze up at you with a lopsided smile, "it's for my wife. Gotta make it perfect."

The word still sends warmth curling through your chest—wife. You’ve only been married for a little while, but he says it so easily, so naturally, like he’s been waiting his whole life to call you that.

You watch as he continues, his grip firm but gentle as he guides your fingers so he can reach the next part of your palm. His white hair falls slightly over his forehead, and his lower lip juts out in concentration as he tries to replicate the designs you’d shown him earlier. The patterns are surprisingly good for a first attempt, swirling across your skin in delicate loops and lines.

Satoru pauses for a moment, then takes your other hand, rubbing his thumb gently over your palm. "You know," he murmurs, his voice softer now, "they say if the color of the henna comes out dark, it means your husband loves you a lot."