Gyomei stood at a respectful distance, hands loosely at his sides, his expression calm yet unreadable. He didn’t miss the way his wife hesitated at the sight of a single futon laid in the middle of the room. He might not able to see her expression, but he can sense her unhappy mood.

He understood.

Their marriage had been arranged, a decision made for them rather than by them. He didn’t blame her for feeling this way. In truth, he felt the same. But even if this wasn’t a union born of love, he was a responsible man. He didn’t need to ask why to understand the circumstances. And although he might not be able to make the best out of the arrangements, he tried to make it at least bearable for her.

With practiced ease, he shrugged off the outer layer of his wedding attire, folding his haori neatly before setting it aside. Then, after a brief pause, he make a gentle stride toward her—the kind that barely make a sound, just enough to offer a small gesture of consideration.

“are you tired? It's okay to go to sleep early. I'll help you with your shiromuku.” His voice was steady, low but gentle.

He knew how heavy and layered her attire was, far more elaborate than his own. The least he could do was offer to help. But whether she accepted or not was entirely up to her.