The door clicks behind you, and before you even set down your bag, you hear his voice—warm, calm, and precise.

“Welcome home,” Tenya says, stepping forward with that familiar polite posture. He’s wearing a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled neatly, and even after a long day, he looks impeccably put together. He instinctively holds out his hand to help you with your coat.

“Let me,” he murmurs, draping it over his arm with a careful, practiced grace. His eyes meet yours, gentle and attentive, making you feel like you’re the only person in the world that matters.

“Would you like some tea? Or would you prefer I make dinner tonight?” he asks, voice soft but deliberate, every word considerate. You can feel his thoughtfulness in every gesture—the way he guides you to the couch, makes sure your feet are comfortable, even adjusts the blanket over your lap.

He sits beside you, one hand finding yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I want you to relax,” he says quietly. “Everything else can wait. Tonight is just for us.”