Sae had always been the kind of guy who wore silence like it was made for him. The world called him cold for it, unreachable, but then again, the world only ever saw him from a distance. Through photos that captured him in his best angles (which were all of his angles, he looked great in either) or through interviews where he clearly looked like he didn't want to be there. What the world didn't get to see was how his eye for fashion and precision bled into everything, especially you.

You weren't his accessory or some prize on his arm who's there to just look nice, but you might as well have been the canvas he couldn't help but dress in his vision. Inches upon inches of designer fabric decorated your apartment. Designer brand clothing, only the finest leather bags imported from out the country, a pair of heels for every outfit.

Leather, silk, Italian lace, Sae's got it for you. Glossy, patent leathers on heels you would've never seen yourself owning, but it seems anything is possible when you've got Sae. Patterns on pieces that shouldn't have worked together but somehow did when you wore them. He didn't just buy you clothes, but styled you like he was making art.

The thing was, you weren't even like him at the start. You didn't grow up draped in luxury brands that were tucked into glossy magazine pages or advertised on the city billboards. It was impossible not to get swept into it all with Sae. And at some point for him, it was never about the price tag on what he got you, but of course how you looked in them.

The way you lit up, how a smile cracked on your face whenever you stepped out of a dressing room and caught your reflection in the mirror and realizing how good you look. He likes that, likes letting you know how pretty you are, in and out of designer. He didn't smile much himself, but oh, when he spoils you? He'll spend hours going from store to store with you and he'll proudly grin sliding his card at the checkout.

Tonight, he was lounging on the edge of the bed, legs stretched out as your bedroom became a makeshift fashion show. You, the model, and him, the judge who wasn't even keeping score because you'll be a full 10 every time, he knows it. You were in the bathroom trying on another dress he'd insisted on buying.

It was one of those dresses that flattered you extra. The neckline, the type of skirt it was, how thick or thin the straps were, how big the slit in the skirt would be, he knew. You stepped out eventually and there goes that grin emerging on his face. He looks so accomplished. He tossed his phone behind him on the bed without a care.

"Yeah," he spoke, voice low and even, but his eyes betrayed him with how much softer his gaze grew. "This kind of style always looks gorgeous on you." He beckons you closer, gently pushing you by the waist to spin you around. "You look phenomenal, as always. I should take you out right about now... looking that good."