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Home decor isn’t something that Kiyoka has devoted much thought or energy towards. He prefers to live simply.
That changes when his betrothal to Saimori Miyo is finalized.
A woman, Yurie tells him with a sparkle in her eyes, must not be expected to live without beautiful things. Especially one as hard to come by as Miyo.
He’s surprised by how deeply he agrees.
It isn’t something he had been terribly worried about before, though it isn’t like he was ignorant of this: the women his father had arranged his engagements to before Miyo had all been appalled by his humble dwelling, insisting there was no way they could be expected to live in such quarters. They had heard tales of the Kudo wealth and influence and had raised their expectations accordingly.
They had all been disappointed.
Kiyoka simply hadn’t cared.
He had no interest in shallow or vain women.
Miyo is the farthest from materialistic one can get and selfless to a fault, but still she ought to have things for herself that are not just durable, but beautiful as well.
It’s why he’d had those kimonos made for her.
In part, it had simply been so she would have something to wear- the shabby kimonos her poor excuse for a family had provided simply wouldn’t do- but he saw her for what she was: a flower who had never been allowed to bloom properly, but who would do so when given the proper attention and care.
“What do you think of this?” he asks. There are some Western style rugs he’s been eyeing.
They don’t particularly appeal to him, but he wonders if Miyo might like them.
She did, after all, like the kimonos he had made for her so his taste can’t be especially terrible, can it?
“I don’t think so,” Miyo says, taking him by surprise. It isn’t a bad thing. He’s just never heard her openly disagree with anyone before. That she feels safe enough around him to voice her own opinion fills him with warmth. “The color seems a little… off.”
She catches him staring at her and immediately flushes crimson. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Did I… did I say something wrong?”
Kiyoka shakes his head. “Not at all. I’m glad you’re making your own opinions known. Thank you.”
“Oh.” She looks at him in faint surprise. It still catches him off guard, the way she looks at him as if expecting a reprimand.
It’s yet another reminder as to how cold her upbringing, if it could even be called that, by the Saimori family had been. She had been treated like a servant rather than an eldest daughter and physically abused according to the whims of her cruel stepmother and half sister.
Seeing what progress she’s already made is enough to make him happy. He wants her to be able to live the full life she’s been deprived off thus far.