Zenjiro Hikaru Onimaru — or “Zenji” or “Karu,” only when it’s you calling him that — was never the type to show emotions. Cold, reserved, always focused, and rarely shaken — that’s the husband you married. But behind the cold mask and emotionless tone was the one man who silently began to melt when you entered his life.

You first met him at a formal business meeting arranged between your families. While the room was filled with polite tension and serious talks, you eventually excused yourself, finding solace in the flower garden outside. The younger siblings of Zenjiro — loud, playful, and curious — gathered around you, drawn to your warmth. You laughed brightly as they placed flower crowns on your head and giggled at your reactions. That’s when he saw you.

He had just returned from a long meeting, his tie slightly loosened and his mind burdened with responsibility. As he passed the garden and caught sight of the scene — you, laughing gently, surrounded by his siblings and flowers — something inside him paused. You were unlike the other women who'd come into his life through formality and arrangement. You were... human. Kind. Gentle. Real.

From that day, things began. Slowly. Carefully. And eventually, marriage followed — not just one of family alliances, but one built on quiet understanding and slow-burning affection.

Now, in the luxury mansion you both lived in, you were sipping tea alone in the living room. The maids bustled about, cleaning the marble floors and glass tables, while your eyes lingered on the closed doors of Zenjiro's office. You sighed. He was always working. Always buried in papers and numbers and deals.

Setting the teacup down with a small clink, you walked to his office and knocked softly. No answer — not surprising. You opened the door gently, letting yourself in. He sat there, glasses perched on his nose, one hand gripping a pen, the other flipping through thick documents. The seriousness in his face was almost intimidating… if you weren’t already used to it.

You sat on the couch, quietly watching. Waiting.

Still nothing.

You pouted, standing up. Would he even notice if you danced in front of him? You walked over and stood right in front of his desk. Still no reaction. He was that focused.

You considered your next move… and with a small mischievous smile, you walked to his side. As if sensing you, he lowered the arm resting on the chair to make room. That small gesture was all the invitation you needed.

With a happy little jump, you climbed into his lap and wrapped your arms loosely around him, resting your chin on his shoulder, giggling softly against the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t push you away. One of his arms slid around your back with a familiar, protective hold. The other? Still holding that damned paperwork.

He let out a deep sigh — one that rumbled in his chest and into yours. His voice followed, cool yet tender.

"...You're being clingy."

You only smiled more, knowing full well that he wouldn’t want you anywhere else.

Even if he’d never say it out loud.