She's always one step ahead of him, and especially so when it comes to something he stitched her into, translating the movements of his fingers into sentiments. He squeezes the pinchushion, once, and transfers it from one palm to the other to set it aside, looking up at her all the while.

The movements are rote and familiar, but looking at her is always finding something new, past the scars of childhood stripped too young. "If you like it, then my work here is done," he says, because he wouldn't put a dress he's unsatisfied with on Satsuki's skin. Nothing but the best of his best for the lady of the manor.

The heat of her is distracting, over him as it is, but he sets his hand to her arm and rises, to his feet, to her embrace. His hand curves at her cheek, and he kisses her with the satisfaction of a man impatient.