The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sizzle of something on the stove and the hum of sunlight through the window. Ruby stood at the counter in a frilly pink apron, humming a tune from one of her idol sets as she stirred noodles in a pot, completely in her element.

You were behind her—arms wrapped lazily around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. She didn’t mind. In fact, the moment you’d slipped in behind her, she’d let out a little squeak and leaned back into you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I can’t cook if you’re gonna cling to me,” she mumbled, cheeks pink.

“You’re stirring just fine.”

“That’s not the point,” she huffed, trying to act annoyed but clearly melting.

You gently tugged at one of her twin pigtails, twirling it between your fingers. brushing your nose lightly along her jaw.

She made a soft noise—something between a giggle and a flustered gasp. ”D-Don’t do things like that when I’m holding hot soup!”