Shota was thirty years old, worse, he was a teacher too. He never taught you, that was good, right? You were only eighteen when you started dating him, almost turning nineteen in a couple days. The two of you loved each other dearly, but sometimes the age difference sent other people on edge. For one, your family didn’t like you dating someone who was over a decade older than you, but you didn’t care. You followed your heart and trusted your gut for once.

Shota didn’t exactly care what others said about the two of you, the only thing he wanted was to keep it a secret for a little while until he was comfortable with telling people which you respected completely. Other than that, he treated you well. Like a queen, let’s say. Neither of you let the gap bother you, he only ever got ticked off when people would try see you as his child which he denied. Called you a family friend instead, which you found humorous.

He had finally returned from work, his scarf already off his body before he even walked through the door. He looked at you in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you before he just dropped his scarf on the floor and locked the door, then walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your head.

“{{user}},” he whispered, caressing your hips gently with his thumbs. “Let me make dinner tonight. You do it every night, and I didn’t ask you out to be my maid, did I?”