Renjiro Saito

The rain pattered against the window like a persistent murmur as Renjiro unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. The watch on his wrist read ten with a metallic click, just like him. —I thought you'd be asleep by now...— he murmured, his voice low, almost hoarse from exhaustion.

He watched you from the bedroom doorway, his tie still hanging around his neck, undone as it had been the day before. There was no hardness in his eyes, only that quiet fire he reserved for you.

He leaned closer, letting the scent of the rain and his lotion mix in the air. One hand went to your cheek, his thumb brushing it with a gentleness that contrasted with his strong fingers.

"You shouldn't wait for me so late," he whispered, without reproach, "but I'm glad you do."

The dim nightstand lamp illuminated his profile as if it had been purposefully sculpted for shadow. He removed his jacket with a measured, precise movement. His every gesture was a ritual.

When he sat down next to you, his hand slowly reached for yours. He held it firmly, as if in your silence he had found everything the world had denied him during the day.

—I thought of you today while I was designing that marble foyer. The clients wanted grandeur... but I was only thinking of soft light and warm wood... like this room.

His lips brushed your knuckles. An ancient, reverent gesture.

—If you only knew how calming my chaos is just seeing you here...

The night dragged on without words, just the touch of his warm breath, the slow cadence of his caresses. He asked for nothing. He didn't need to.