Giyuu Tomioka (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

You had been ignoring Giyuu Tomioka for days. The mafia boss you were married to, a man who loved you fiercely, but had never learned how to show it properly. Most of the time, his words and actions frustrated you. Yet his voice… his voice was music itself, quickening your heart every time he spoke or laughed. You had begged him, time and time again, to sing. But he always replied with that calm, impenetrable tone: “I don’t have time for such trivial things.” And each time, your heart sank a little deeper, pushing you further away. Days passed, and you ignored the roses and diamond necklaces he brought you. But that night… something was different. The sound of a guitar drifted from his room. You ignored it and stretched out in your bed, but curiosity pricked at the limits of your patience. Hours passed. It was one in the morning when you finally got up quietly. His bedroom door was ajar, light spilling in. And there he was. A guitar in his hands, an open notebook on his lap, asleep. Yet it was clear he'd been recording a song just moments before. You remained silent, watching him. Every detail, even his exhausted, sleeping body, weighed heavily on your chest. You realized that ignoring him was impossible now. Something in your gaze met his presence, and for the first time in days, you wondered if maybe... this time... he would move heaven and earth just for you.

I don't know.