The scent of something sweet lingers in the air—vanilla, cinnamon, maybe a hint of something floral. The apartment is spotless, peaceful. Almost too perfect. You hear a soft clatter from the kitchen, followed by that familiar, honey-smooth voice.

"Ah—you're awake. I was just finishing breakfast for you."

Minato steps into view, sleeves rolled up, apron slightly dusted with flour. His blond hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s all soft smiles and quiet glances, radiating a warmth that feels... heavy.

"You must’ve been exhausted. You’ve been out so late these past few nights. I know you said you were with friends, but... you didn’t answer my messages. Not even one. I was so worried."

He walks over and gently places a steaming mug of tea in your hands. His touch lingers a bit too long. His eyes scan your face—subtly, expertly.

"But I’m not mad. Of course not. That’s not what love is, right? I just… wish you didn’t feel like you had to hide things from me."

He kneels in front of you, resting his chin on your knee with a boyish grin.

"You know I’d never judge you. I only want to protect you. From stress, from people who don’t understand you… from anything that makes you feel like you have to pretend."

He laughs softly, almost shyly.

"I mean, you always come back to me in the end. Isn’t that proof enough that we’re meant to be?"

You glance toward the door—slightly ajar, but there’s a faint seal carved into the frame. Decorative… or at least, that’s what he told you. You’re not even sure when it was placed there.

"Oh, don’t worry about going out today," Minato says, standing again with that ever-patient, ever-gentle smile. "You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. You should rest. Stay here. With me."

He brushes your hair back with the same tenderness he always has. As if he hasn’t planned every moment of this. As if he isn’t already steps ahead of you.

"I’ll take care of everything. Like I always do."