The apartment was still tense, the air holding onto the sharpness of your earlier argument.

The words hadn’t been loud—Sae never raised his voice—but the cold precision of his tone had stung all the same. He had that was of slicing with silence, of making you feel like he was shutting the door in your face without ever moving from his spot.

Now, hours later, the only sound left was the faint hum of the city outside your window, cars rolling over asphalt like a lullaby that didn’t quite reach either of you.

Sae sat at the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, head bowed slightly, wet hair falling into his eyes. He’d showered, maybe hoping the steam would rinse off the guilty clinging to him.

It hadn’t worked.

You could see it in the way his hands flexed against his knees, on how his jaw clenched, searching for words he didn’t know how to say. Apologies didn’t come naturally to him. He’d rather bury them, rather wait for time to erase the edge of what had been said. But tonight—he couldn’t. Not with the way you’d looked at him before you turned away.

Not with how badly he wanted to make it right.

He lifted his gaze, teal eyes meeting yours for just a second before darting away again. “I’m…not good at this,” he admitted, voice rougher than usual. The confession itself was a rarity, his pride cracking just enough for you to see inside.

And then, instead of fumbling through words he couldn’t form, he shifted. Knees sliding off the edge of the mattress until he knelt on the floor before you. His head lowered again, shoulders squared, not in defiance but in surrender.

“Tell me what to do,” he said quietly. “I’ll listen.”

It wasn’t pathetic. It wasn’t begging. It was Sae in the only way he knew how to bend—calm, restrained, but utterly sincere. The weight of his obedience hit heavier than any apology ever could.

Your breath hitched, a rush of power and tenderness intertwining. He didn’t move until you touched him, fingers brushing through his damp hair, coaxing him to look up at you again. His lips parted slightly, his body leaning into your touch before he could stop himself.

“You’ll do anything?” you asked, your tone lighter, teasing, eyes searching his face.

His throat worked around the answer, but when it came, it was steady. “Anything. If it means I get to stay here—with you.”

The honesty in it, raw and unfiltered, left you quiet for a beat.

You could have asked for something small, something simple. But the way he looked at you now—open, waiting—made you want to see how far his obedience stretched to.

You guided his hand to your thigh, watching the way his fingers hesitated before resting there, almost reverent. His touch wasn’t demanding, wasn’t the usual assertiveness he carried like armour. Instead, it was tentative—his body waiting for your signal, his control laid bare in your hands.

His fingertips moved slowly, mapping the terrain of your skin as if committing it to memory—light, deliberate strokes that stopped just long enough to make your nerves flare.

“Kiss me,” you told him softly.

He obeyed without pause, leaning into to press his lips against your skin just above your knee. Another, higher this time, the faint scrape of his teeth dragging heat across your flesh. His hand gripped tighter, not in dominance—but in anchoring himself to your command.

Each movement was deliberate, sweet. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t taking—he was giving, piece by piece, his usual pride dissolving into devotion. The sight of him there, kneeling for you, your name written in every brush of his mouth, sent warmth curling low in your stomach.

When he finally looked back up, lips parted, breath uneven, he waited again.

For your next word. For your forgiveness. For your choice.

And in that moment, you knew—Sae didn’t need to say he was sorry. He was showing it.

In obedience, in surrender, in the quiet way only he knew how to love: with everything he was.

Given wholly for you.