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Satoru’s footsteps echoes softly as he walks through the quiet hallway of your shared home. He’s tired—beyond tired, really—but it’s nothing new. It had been a grueling mission, and even the strength of the strongest sorcerer couldn’t protect him from the exhaustion that weighed him down after a day like today.
But even in the midst of his physical and emotional fatigue, there was a single thought that kept him moving.
You.
When he reaches the kitchen, he finds you exactly where he expected—quietly brewing tea. You stand by the counter, your back to him, with only the soft sound of the boiling water filling the air.
Satoru pauses at the doorway, standing still for a moment longer than usual.
There’s something about the scene before him that makes his heart thump in his chest. The way the soft light from the window frames your figure, how the steam from the kettle dances in the air, and how, even in the midst of such a simple task, you seem so perfectly… serene.
Pretty.
The thought hits him like a wave, and for a second, he almost forgets to breathe. He can’t believe how lucky he is to have you in his life. You, who’s too perfect for him—too good for someone like him.
He remembers all the times strangers—non-sorcerers—would look at the two of you when you go out together; how they would say how lucky you were to have a handsome man like him.
He remembers the sharp words of Nanami, even his (his best friend; his second other half), telling him that someone like him didn’t deserve someone like you. And Satoru agrees.
It wasn’t you who was lucky to have someone like him.
It’s me. I’m the lucky one.
Satoru doesn’t believe in gods. He doesn’t believe in fate or destiny. He’d been told for so long that he was something above ordinary humans, that he was something more—the honored one. And though it did get to his head when he had been much younger, none of that mattered now. Because the only thing he can truly believe in is you.
You must be heaven-sent.
He stands there for a moment longer, watching you as you focused on your task, before you finally turned around. The instant your eyes meets his, everything else in the world faded.
There was no weight, no expectations, no mission, no curse. Just you, and the way your gaze softened when you saw him.
A smile tugs at your lips, and without hesitation, you wave a hand in greeting, like you always do when you see him. The simple gesture—so natural, so effortless—made Satoru’s heart stutter in his chest.
You’re so pretty, he tells himself for the second time that moment. Pretty doesn’t even do you justice, but it’s the word that comes to him, the one that always surfaces no matter how many times he sees you, no matter how many times he’s in your presence.
His breath catches, and for the briefest second, he forgets what it’s like to be the strongest sorcerer in the world. Instead, he is just a man, standing in front of the woman he loves.
You, who had agreed to marry him, to bind yourself to him, to trust him with your life. And he could never quite wrap his head around how lucky he is. How you—someone so pure, so beautiful, so good—had chosen him.
His thoughts spiral, but he’s snapped back to the present when he notices you tilt your head slightly, an inquisitive expression crossing your face.
And just like that, the flush creeps up the back of his neck. His heart races faster, and for a fleeting moment, he feels like the high school kid who’d first fallen for you. He can’t help but smile sheepishly, ears burning.
“Guess I’ve been standing here a little too long, huh?” His voice is hoarse, tired, but the warmth in it is unmistakable.
The tips of his ears feel like they might combust, and the thought that he’s still this enamored by you—after everything—makes him feel like a teenager again.
You give him another smile, one that’s soft, comforting, and full of understanding. Without a word, you reach out, guiding him over to where you’re standing. The tea is almost ready, but more importantly, so are you.
You always know what he needs.
He doesn’t deserve you, but somehow, you’ve made him feel like the luckiest man alive. And maybe, just maybe, that’s all the proof he needs that you really are something out of this world.
Satoru approaches you languidly, his movements unhurried but deliberate. The moment he’s close enough, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
He has to bend slightly to fit against you, but he doesn’t seem to mind—not when the scent of you is enough to ease some of the weight pressing down on him.
At a glance, he might look relaxed, but you can feel the tension in his shoulders, the heaviness he carries even now. Without hesitation, you reach over and turn off the stove, the bubbling water momentarily forgotten. You don’t move away, don’t push him back, simply letting him hold onto you for as long as he needs.
But then, after a few quiet moments, Satoru pulls away just enough to look at you. Though his eyes remain hidden beneath his bandages, you don’t need to see them to know—his brows are furrowed.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice softer than usual, almost hesitant.
You nod without missing a beat, taking his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his as if to anchor him.
You don’t speak, but Satoru understands. He always does. After years by your side, he knows you better than anyone. The slow, reassuring circles your thumb traces against his palm say everything your voice does not.
You come first.
And that’s all he needs to let you lead him away, your grip firm yet gentle as you guide him to your shared bedroom. The moment he sits on the edge of the bed, you press lightly against his shoulders, urging him to lie down. He doesn’t resist, letting himself sink into the mattress with a quiet sigh as his head comes to rest in your lap.
Your hands move with practiced ease as you begin to unwind the bandages from his eyes. And when the last strip falls away, Satoru blinks against the dim light, his vision adjusting.
The first thing he sees is you.
Not the weight of the world on his shoulders, not the ghosts of his past—just you.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels like he can finally breathe.
Your hand hovers over his eyes, gently covering them as if to shield him from the world. The warmth of your palm is enough to calm him, and for a moment, he feels the weight of everything start to slip away.
Then, for the first time today, he hears your voice.
“Sleep.”
It’s all you say, but it’s enough.
He feels his body relax, the exhaustion from the mission and the day’s tension draining from him as your words settle into him like a lullaby. His eyelids grow heavy, and he feels his mind slip into that quiet, drowsy space between waking and sleep.
He can never get tired of your voice. Even when it’s just a whisper, it’s more comforting than anything. He knows why you speak so rarely—your cursed technique, the fear of unintentionally hurting someone—but sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes you didn’t have to hold back.
Satoru wants to hear you sing, to hear the melody of your voice flow freely without fear. He wants you to say his name, call him whatever cute nickname comes to mind, to tell him you love him in the same way he pours his heart out to you without hesitation.
But tonight, he’s too tired to ask. Too drowsy, his thoughts slipping away like the threads of a dream. His lips part, but no words come out. Instead, he feels himself falling deeper into the softness of the moment, into the calm you’ve created around him.
And before he completely drifts away, before sleep fully takes him, he hears it.
Your voice, soft and steady, just for him.
“I love you.”