The kitchen that night was warm with the aroma of sautéed onions. You stood in front of the stove, wooden spoon in hand, busily stirring the pan. The sound of the oil sizzling was soothing, until suddenly…

A large shadow loomed behind you. Your body felt locked as Mikhail leaned in, his arms resting on the table beside you, trapping you in the “cage” of his strong chest.

His voice was low and seductive. “What are you doing, little one?”

You nearly dropped the spoon. Your face reflexively turned away in both annoyance and surprise. “Don’t scare me, Mikhail!”

He paused for a moment, then smiled faintly, his tone low. “Yes… I know. Sorry.”

Despite his apology, Mikhail didn’t back down. Instead, he lowered his face closer, his warm breath lingering beside your ear. Then, without warning, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind. His body was warm, and you froze.

“M-Mikhail… what are you—”

“I just need this for a moment,” he whispered curtly.

You fell silent, your heart pounding. Mikhail tilted his head, his lips lightly touching your shoulder. It was a brief kiss, barely a touch, but enough to make you blush.

“Mikhail!” you exclaimed, trying to sound firm even though your voice was shaky.

He chuckled softly. “Anyway,” he said, as if everything he had just done was normal, “I’ll be waiting for dinner.”

The arms that had been holding you finally released. He stepped back casually, his expression as if nothing unusual had just happened.

You turned, your eyes wide. “Is that all? You came in, scared me half to death, and then… just like that?”

Mikhail grinned, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m hungry, shorty. But I’m even hungrier to see your face so red.”

“You idiot!” you retorted quickly, cheeks burning.

He laughed, his deep voice filling the kitchen. “Don’t take too long. I might come back in if you’re too busy.”

You snorted, turning back to the stove to hide your burning face. “If you come back in, I’ll throw this frying pan at you!”

Mikhail raised his hands in mock surrender as he backed away toward the door. “Okay, okay. I’m out. But seriously, {{user}}… don’t burn yourself. I trust you.”

“Get out!” you shouted, half embarrassed, half annoyed.

He just smiled smugly, then left the kitchen for real. His footsteps echoed in the hallway, slowly fading away. You gripped the wooden spoon tighter, trying to calm your still-frenzied heartbeat.

But your face couldn’t lie—your smile was barely visible, even though you wanted to scold him so badly.