It was one of Sae’s rare days off—no flights, no early training sessions, no obligations to drag him away from the slow hum of domestic calm.

You sat by the couch, legs tucked beneath you, absently scrolling through your phone. Sae had just finished drying his hair, the faint scent of his shampoo clinging to the air as he moved around, collecting things he’d left scattered from the night before—his watch, a stray hoodie, a water bottle half-empty from training.

He wasn’t saying much, but that was nothing new. Sae didn’t need words to fill the air. He simply existed beside you, his gaze always softer than his expression.

But even when he wasn’t looking directly at you, he noticed everything.

He always had.

The way you parted your hair differently that week. The new keychain dangling from your bag—a tiny charm of your favourite animal, something you picked up on impulse. The faint change in your perfume, something a little more floral than usual. Sae noticed it all. He didn’t say anything—not yet. He liked storing these tiny details in the quiet corners of his mind, saving them for later when you least expected it.

Today…something was different.

When he finally sat beside you, stretching his long legs and leaning his shoulder against the couch, his eyes lingered just a second too long. His gaze was steady—focused on the curve of your smile, on the faint sheen of colour that caught the light every time you moved.

Your lips.

That shade.

It was deep—a dark ruby red, the kind that wasn’t trying too hard but somehow made your every expression seem more vivid. Sae tilted his head slightly, pretending not to stare. You weren’t dressed up; your hair was a little messy, your sweatshirt slightly oversized. Yet somehow, the lipstick pulled everything together—effortless, but impossible to ignore.

You caught him looking. “What?” you asked, teasingly. “You’re staring.”

He looked away. “I’m not.”

But he was.

His composure faltered for a second, the corners of his mouth twitching like he might actually admit defeat. Instead, he leaned closer, brushing his thumb just below your lip as if pretending to ”fix” a smudge—though his eyes betrayed him, darkened by a faint glint of admiration.

“You missed a spot,” he murmured. His thumb grazed the edge of your mouth, smudging the colour ever so slightly. “It’s…alright, I guess. Nothing special.”

You blinked at him, catching the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. The kind that said he’s lying through his teeth.

Later, when you went to change and left your phone unattended on the couch, Sae picked it up. He scrolled casually—as if he hadn’t been planning to, but he was already on your shopping app before the thought had even formed.

He found the lipstick brand, the exact shade—almost instantly.

He didn’t say a word when you came back, just set your phone down as if nothing happened. By the time the day ended and you went to wash your face, Sae had already placed an order—ten of them, tucked quietly in the cart like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That evening, the city lights framed the living room in soft amber hues. You leaned against Sae, tired from the day but content. He rested a hand against your thigh, thumb tracing absent circles, his other arm draped lazily around your shoulders.

You didn’t know it yet, but in a few days, a small package would arrive at your door. Inside, a neat row of lipstick tubes and a tiny note, written in Sae’s familiar, precise handwriting.

For when you run out of that colour I apparently don’t notice. — Sae

You smiled when you saw it. He didn’t say anything when you thanked him—just leaned down, kissed the corner of your mouth, and whispered against your skin.

“It looks good on you. That’s all.”

And even though he’d act unbothered afterward, you saw it—the faint pink dusting the tops of his ears, the smallest proof that even the most composed man in the world could come undone by something as simple as you.