The smell of sizzling garlic filled the kitchen as you sat cross-legged on the counter, picking at a slice of fruit while Keigo worked at the stove. His hair was damp, tied back lazily, a few strands sticking to his forehead.

“You look like a househusband,” you teased, swinging your foot lightly against the cabinet.

He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifting. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say that,” you said, grinning. “Just saying it’s kinda hot.”

“‘Kinda?’” He turned fully this time, spatula in hand, smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s all I get?”

“Depends,” you said, voice playful. “Are you cooking for me or trying to impress me?”

“Both,” he said easily.

You snorted. “You can’t cook for me and flirt with me at the same time, birdbrain.”

“Sure I can,” he countered, flipping the food with unnecessary flair. “I multitask.”

“Yeah? What if it burns?”

“Then I’ll just order takeout and still get the flirting part right.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You’re so—ugh, you’re impossible.”

He laughed softly, stepping closer, his hands resting briefly on your knees as he leaned in. “And you love me for it.”

You swatted at his shoulder, trying not to smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Keigo chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling away. “And you’re lucky I’m feeding you.”

You leaned your cheek into your hand, watching him with that small, quiet smile that came without effort. “Maybe,” you murmured, voice low enough that he barely caught it, “maybe we’re both lucky.”

He turned to look at you, eyes soft in that way they only got when he thought you weren’t paying attention. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think so too.”