Shouta sat down at the kitchen table, just like you had asked him to do, and watched you work in the kitchen. He brought a hand through his hair, his fingers slowly grazing the messy black strands as his eyes stayed still on your figure. It was usually him that prepared dinner for the two of you, but tonight he decided to let you do it.

“Try not to burn down the house. I just paid off the mortgage,” he mumbled into his other hand, which he used to rest his cheek on. It wasn’t that he hadn’t any faith in your culinary skills, but…you had a track record for causing explosions and starting fires in the microwave.

Today would be the first time he agreed to let you step into the kitchen after months of begging.