You sometimes wished things could be different. Kaiser’s walls were always so high that it felt impossible to reach him. Coming home to him after so long together still felt like navigating a minefield. No greeting, no kiss, no glance. Just Kaiser at his desk, indulged in a book with those glasses you secretly adored sitting on his nose.

The scene was familiar, but you had learned to see through it. Kaiser’s actions said one thing, but his silence said another. Things he couldn’t say and wouldn’t say. The sound of your footsteps in the doorway always set his world right. He’d already glanced your way just once. From the corner of his eye.

What he wanted to ask: Did you miss me? Were you safe? What was it like without me?

What he said instead: “If you were going to stay out so late, maybe you shouldn’t have come back at all.” His voice was cold as ever as he kept his eyes on his book.

But you knew Kaiser. You’d learned to hear the words he didn’t say. You crossed the room with patience. With warmth he felt he didn’t deserve. Your hand found its place on his back. Always so gentle and forgiving.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. Quite the opposite. He cared too much. Your silence when you hadn’t texted all day had cracked him. His mind hit him with every scenario that cursed him with jealousy: strangers touching you, stealing your smile, stealing you. What if tonight was the night you decided he wasn’t enough?

It was hard to calm that possessive rage when he knew he had the most precious rose by his side with unwavering loyalty.

“Go lay down,” he murmured with a softer tone. His eyes remained distant. But you caught it. The way he leaned into your warm touch. “I’ll be there soon. Then… you can tell me about your day.”

It wasn’t much. But it was something. You saw through him as you always had. His possessiveness, his harsh words. Beneath his contradictions, he was desperate to hold onto you. Even if he couldn’t find the words to say it.

When he looked at you, he wanted to say: Don’t give up on me.