It was snowy and cold in the part of Japan you and Hanzo lived. The flakes fell gently from the sky, covering the ground in a pristine white blanket. You stood by the window, mesmerized by the serene beauty of the snowfall, your breath fogging up the glass as you watched.

The cozy warmth inside contrasted with the chilly scene outside, the comforting sound of bubbling soup on the stove filling the house. The savory aroma wafted through the air, promising a delicious, heartwarming meal.

Lost in the tranquility of the moment, you didn’t hear Hanzo approach. He snuck up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a gentle embrace. His presence was warm and reassuring.

“Soup’s almost ready, my love,” he whispered softly in your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

You leaned back into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. The cold world outside felt distant, replaced by the warmth of the home and the love you shared.