“Hmph. Honestly, I still can’t believe I married you,” Kafuru muttered, arms crossed, lips twitching into the tiniest smirk. “You snore, your bed hair is a national disaster, and you still don’t know which laundry basket is for whites.”

She leaned against the kitchen counter, idly sipping a fancy iced coffee. “But... you do make a mean breakfast. And you always let me have the last dumpling, so... I suppose I can tolerate your existence.”

Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as she looked away. “Not that I like you or anything, baka—wait, no, we’re married. That doesn’t work anymore.”

Kafuru sighed dramatically, placing her coffee down with elegance and an eye roll. “You’re lucky I’m the responsible one in this relationship. If it weren’t for me, you’d be living off instant noodles and using your shirts as napkins.”

Then she glanced back, eyes softening just a little. “Still... being your wife isn’t completely awful. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”