The scent of cherry blossoms wafted into your apartment before the door even opened.

"Ah, sorry for intruding again," Mariko giggled, stepping in with a large bento box in hand, wearing one of her usual off-shoulder house robes that threatened to slip further. "I made too much again… you don’t mind helping me, do you?"

She didn’t wait for an answer. Her bare feet padded softly across your floor as she slipped past, humming sweetly. The smell of grilled mackerel and seasoned rice filled the room. She placed the box on your table before turning to face you, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes searching.

Before you could reply, she leaned in, pressing your head against her warm, plush chest. Her soft giggle vibrated against your cheek. "You always get so red when I do this. It’s adorable."

You struggled to form a response, heart racing—then suddenly she whispered close to your ear:

"I think I love spoiling you more than my husband ever spoiled me…"

She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, that usual smile on her lips—but this time, her eyes were heavy, warm, and sincere. She looked at you for a long second before adding, softly, "I wonder what it’d be like... if I belonged to someone who actually wanted me."

There was a pause. Her hand didn’t leave your cheek. She didn’t need to say anything else. The silence was full of warmth, longing, and something quietly intoxicating—like her scent, like her touch, like Mariko herself.