Sheena Fujibayashi, my dearest honey, I love you.

I've said those words to countless girls because it was what they wanted to hear, but believe me, I've never been so sincere as when I say them to you. I've told them I love their skin, their hair, their eyes, their lips, their curves—so it's understandable that you'd be a little skeptical about whether or not I'm really giving up my old lifestyle to be with you and you alone.

But I really do love your skin in all its cherry-blossom-scented smoothness, and the way you blush and stammer at my compliments. You're strong and muscular, too—but it somehow accentuates your feminine softness, instead of detracting from it.

I honestly love your hair, especially when it's down (but also the way you tie it back when you're taking the lead in bed). I love helping you comb it on busy mornings when you don't have time, or in quiet evenings when I have nothing better to do… on those rare days when you let me.

I genuinely love the way you glance at me and smile slightly when you think I'm not looking, and the the way your eyes sparkle when you're enthusiastic is particularly alluring. I also love the intensity burning in your gaze when you want me right now.

I certainly love your rose-petal lips… especially when you let me borrow them for awhile, or brush them against mine teasingly. Even if you pull back before I can take them, you always come back around and surprise me with a kiss anyway.

And, I truly love your every curve, and how sometimes you'll let me run my fingers lightly over all your contours—and how you'll shiver and blush as I skim your more sensitive areas.

Simply telling you the same things as I told all the other girls, even if it's true this time, probably isn't going to persuade you. So I'm going to tell you everything I love about you—just so you believe me.

I love your independence and intelligence, and your ability to hold your own. You've always been an incredibly strong and sharp individual—they're some of your many defining features—and no one can change them.

I love your laugh, rare though it is to hear—though getting less so as time wears on, I find—and I love it even more if I'm the one to provoke it.

I love all your quirky little expressions, even the ones you use to make fun of me. (Raising an eyebrow and rolling your eyes come to mind, both of which you do very often with me.)

I love how you get bossy and persistent about the littlest trivialities, even if we end up arguing about them in the end. It shows your attention to detail, after all.

I love your caring side, even if it doesn't come out very often… especially when you help someone out without any expectation of a reward. It's befitting of the future Chief of Mizuho, true, but I refuse to believe that's the only reason.

I love the little happy sounds you make when you eat something you love, especially if I was the one to cook it for you. Even if you tell me I have to wear something more than just an apron while doing so.

I love working out with you, even if we end up fighting one another just to get some exercise in. I'm sorry for the times I've accidentally hurt you. I think I still owe you a couple days of silence.

I love the way you sing in that hoarse, off-key contralto, particularly when you don't know I can hear you or forget how loud you are.

I love the way you say my name—demanding, with my first and last together; softly, when you're pleading; in a harsh growl, if you're angry at me; or in a passionate gasp, late at night.

I love how sometimes, on rainy days when you're free to do whatever you please, you just curl up on the couch with a book and read for hours. Sometimes, I'll read the book you're reading too, just so we can talk about it later.

I love how you'll occasionally tidy up the house in Mizuho just for me and put everything away, where I can never find it—even if I don't always admit I like it. You have exquisite taste in decorations, even if half of them are lethal as the Igaguri style apparently dictates.

I love your sheepish apologies whenever you realize I was innocent all along—even though you're usually angry that I'm right, and hit me for no real reason (albeit with a tender kiss afterwards).

I love it when you stand up for me to others, even if you're usually the one accosting me in the first place. It's sort of hypocritical, but I'm not going to complain.

I love how you keep me in line when everyone else lets me do whatever I want. Even if your punishments are sometimes a little harsh, you never fail to make it up to me.

I love how you take care of me when I'm feeling sick and miserable, even though you might catch whatever I have. I promise to return the favor if your immune system ever weakens enough to let me.

I love the encouragement you give whenever I'm feeling lost. Even though you can sometimes be unsympathetic, you provide me directions to follow, and they always lead me through.

I love it when you ask me for advice and let me help you with your problems, or occasionally come with you on your missions. (I apologize for ruining things a couple times, but being with you in a small space and keeping a clear head isn't exactly easy.)

I love how you get jealous and possessive of me whenever we go walking in Meltokio, especially when you get into fights for my sake. (You know, they're all scared of you now.)

I love the way you make my heart race at your every touch, and sometimes by not even touching me at all. You don't even have to be in the same place as me for my heart to speed up imagining what I would do with you if you were there beside me.

I love it when you come up with nicknames for me, but you're laughing too hard to tell me what they are. (I'm honestly curious. This has happened, what, four times now? It can't be Idiot Chosen because you already call me that.)

I love it when you're sweet and tease me, even if you turn into a violent demonic banshee again the next moment—because every time you do it, your heart gets a little bit softer at its core.

I love it when you somehow manage to sweet-talk yourself into getting exactly what you want, even if it's not me you're persuading. (You've learned from the best, after all.)

I love it when you show the world I'm yours, with your hand snugly in the crook of my elbow and standing only five inches shorter than me. That smug smile that you try to hide from me while you lord it over all the poor jealous ladies is priceless.

I love the way your fingertips graze mine whenever we're sitting next to one another, and then dart away again before I can catch and hold them—all the while with that teasing smile touching your lips.

I love it when you hold hands with me, our fingers interlacing. Feeling your aliveness, your hand stirring faintly beneath mine—it's a simple pleasure I've never had with any but you.

I love the gentleness of your hand caressing my face, but no more than I love the roughness of the occasional slap; you follow almost every stinging strike with a rousing kiss.

I love the way you brush past me, just barely touching me, with that sly smirk gracing your lips as I helplessly turn to watch you stride past.

I love dancing with you, even if you pretend not to like it. I see those several secret smiles, and your pride when we pull off a difficult twirl or series of steps. You adore traditional Tethe'allan dances just as much as I do, even if you hate the events we must attend.

I love the times when you get back from being away on a mission without me, because it makes your presence all the sweeter once you're wrapped safely in my arms again.

I love when you run up behind me and hug me unexpectedly, even if the tightness of your hold squeezes all the air out of my lungs.

I love when you're relaxed enough to show me your vulnerable side and reveal some of your worries or ask for advice, and let me comfort you through a gentle embrace.

I love how, when I come to you feeling weak and lost, you run your hands through my hair and up and down the length of my back. Just your touch makes me feel so much stronger.

I love how you can somehow reassure me without words whenever I'm depressed, and let me rest my head on your chest as you play with my hair absentmindedly.

I love the way your sweet breath flutters my hair and tickles my ear whenever you whisper to me.

I love how you stretch out to give me a hasty peck on the cheek when you're in a hurry and saying goodbye, particularly when you reach up to pull my face closer to yours.

I love the more lingering kisses you give me when you're not in as much of a hurry, and the slow half-smile you toss me as you sashay out the door.

I love kissing you deeply on the rooftop, under the stars glowing high above.

I love the shimmering little smile you give me as you're still in my arms after I kiss you, even if it vanishes quickly (to be replaced by an adorable, self-conscious blush).

I love wrestling with you playfully, either to prove a point or just because we can, especially when you let me kiss your neck and chest if I pin you down. You don't giggle very often, but hearing you laugh like that is a dream come true.

I love how good you look in my clothes, whenever you decide you want to wear them and snuggle up to me when I'm in my underwear. You look especially attractive in just my jacket.

I love when you reach over and tickle me just as I'm dropping off to sleep, even if I grouch at you for waking me. (It's a good opportunity to get back at you later.)

I love the clumsy, weaving way you walk when you slip out of bed first thing in the morning, yawning and stretching with those adorable, involuntary squeals. (It's cute—as well as a sign that I'm doing my job well.)

I love it when I see you change, and you're wearing sexy underwear just for me, even though we didn't originally have anything planned. That changes as soon as I see you, believe me.

I love watching you check yourself out in the mirror without any clothes on, especially when you just use your hands to cover up. (Can I help with that sometime?)

I love taking baths with you, and feel your soapy hands run all over my body. (Cleanliness and dirtiness go surprisingly well together at times.)

I love the way you look when you get out of the bath, with your hair dripping down around your shoulders and a towel wrapped around your chest. It reminds me of the hot spring days.

I love the way you sometimes massage me if I've had a stressful day. The feeling of your soft hands on my bare back, the light scent of the oils you rub into my skin, and the pressure of your weight on my thighs, never fail to elevate my mood.

I love the feeling of your hand between my waistband and my skin when we kiss and you're bold enough to suggest we take things further. I love it when you're the one to start seducing me, after all.

I love that time of the month because you usually let me make everything better instead of hiding away. It's also a good indication that we're not going to become a family of three just yet.

I love fighting with you, because the way you get so close to me in an argument, kiss me so passionately when I try to defend my point, pin me down on the floor, and mumble an apology makes me want you even more.

I love the feeling of your weight on my lap as you lean back against my folded legs—particularly if we ditch our clothes and I can surround you with my embrace.

I love how loud and ornery you get whenever you're drunk, and your forwardness as you make me more and more eager to get home, and your sloppy kisses, and most of all your insistence that I stop pretending to protest and tear your clothes off now.

I love it when you slip into bed wearing only your pink ribbon tied in a bow for my birthday after pretending you forgot it all day. (Okay, so this might only have happened once, but I still love it.)

I love it when you use your teeth and fingernails in bed, trailing nibbles and scratches along my whole body as I try to subdue you. No girl knows how to use that technique better than you.

I love it when you guide my face down, far away from yours, and knot your fingers in my hair as I gift you with the most intimate possible kiss. Your delight is contagious, after all.

I love your quick, hot, moist breaths on my neck and your flustered, half-voluntary exclamations as I press myself against and into you.

I love the way your wandering hands feel on my skin when we lie in bed together, listening to the night surround us as we breathe heavily in happy exhaustion. I love your husky murmur as you tell me how good I am.

I love how sometimes you breathe in my ear to wake me in the middle of the night for round two.

I love the way you grin when you're playing games with the kids in Mizuho and you think no one's watching. Someday, we'll have some of our own.

But of all the things you are, do, or say, I love it most of all when you tell me you love me.

Ever yours, and no one else's,

Zelos Wilder

Thanks to Lovepanky for the inspiration. Specifically, I used "35 Not-So-Obvious Things Your Guy Loves About You!", but also borrowed from several other articles.

Dedicated, as with most of my Sheelos stuff, to my friend Viisauden, in the hopes of cheering him up—