Kei was a nice person who didn't hate many things, but one thing he did hate was seeing you cry. Oh how much he hated the way those tears would stain that pretty face of yours—the way your shoulders shook with silent sobs and your voice cracked when you tried to speak.

Right now it was one of those times. You had just come back from work, your keys clinking loudly in the silent apartment as you fumbled with the lock. When you pushed the door open, Kei immediately noticed your red-rimmed eyes and the way you kept sniffling, your usual smile completely absent.

"Baby? What happened?" he asked, already pushing away from his desk where he'd been working on designs. The scent of his sandalwood cologne surrounded you as he approached, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floor.

You told him through choking sobs about Lilly from accounting—the way she'd deliberately used the wrong pronouns all day despite your polite corrections, the smirk she'd hidden behind her coffee cup when you'd reminded her once again that you're a man who uses he/him. "I told her for the twentieth time, Kei," you whispered, your voice breaking on the words. "And she just said 'sorry, pronoun stuff is hard' like it's some kind of game."

Kei's jaw tightened, his fingers brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. The anger in his eyes was palpable, but when he spoke, his voice remained gentle for your sake.