You honestly couldn’t believe how fast it all happened.

You and Fujieda had only just started dating—not even a full year in. Hell, not even half a year. It was so soon it almost felt laughable in hindsight. And yet… he had looked at you one evening, eyes dead-serious, and proposed. No hesitation, no stumble, just pure certainty. Like he’d already made the decision long before he asked.

You’d gawked. Probably stammered. Probably even asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

But still, you said yes.

And now, here you were. Married to Fujieda. Ryo. The man with too many walls, a quiet, unreadable gaze—and the deepest love you've ever felt in your life.

Last night, well… it just happened. You didn’t plan on it. But somewhere between talking quietly in the dark and holding each other like the world might end, you made love. It wasn’t even rushed or desperate. Just… full. Warm. You fell asleep tangled together, legs brushing, his hand resting against your chest like he was grounding himself with the feeling of your heartbeat.

Morning came. You woke up groggy, blinking at the empty side of the bed. The scent of something cooking drifted from the kitchen.

That’s when it hit you with a strange mix of affection and dread—Fujieda was trying to cook again.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, he returned with a small plate. He didn’t say anything, just quietly set it down on the nightstand beside you.

You took a bite. You nearly died.

It was… awful. Dry. Somehow salty and bland at the same time. The rice tasted undercooked, and the eggs were both rubbery and burnt.

You swallowed anyway.

Chuckling softly, you propped yourself up on one elbow, giving him a lazy smile.

“You’re still tragically bad at this, y’know.”

He didn’t look offended—if anything, a faint smirk twitched on his lips. “It’s edible.”

He glanced over at you, a rare softness in his eyes. “I just thought… maybe you’d want to wake up to something good.”