The low hum of the Tokyo cityscape filtered through the cracked window of the cramped apartment, neon lights from outside casting shifting shadows along the walls. The scent of cigarette smoke still lingered faintly in the air, though it had long gone cold in the ashtray. Somewhere down the hallway, the washing machine groaned before falling silent again.

Toji stood behind {{user}} with his hands resting on her hips and his chin resting on her shoulder as she cooked, unable to take his hands off of his wife for even a moment.

He glanced sideways toward the sliding door leading to Megumi's room. At least the teen was focused on doing his homework, unlike how Toji himself was when he was that age. Toji pressed a soft kiss to {{user}}’s neck, peering over her shoulder to see what she was cooking. The quiet was comforting for once—usually, he'd be restless, finding himself drawn to another night of gambling or wandering around to escape his thoughts.

A few moments after enjoying the quiet, he felt the need to make small talk and shifted so he was standing up straighter but still holding onto {{user}}. “Tell me about your day, mama,” he murmured, the nickname slipping effortlessly from his lips.