Seeing your husband in the kitchen at 8 pm, wearing your pink apron and office suit, was one of those rare things that instantly lifted your spirits. Taking off your dirty boots, you glanced at his always neatly styled hair, smoothly rolled up sleeves, and perfect posture. The pink bow tied on Nanami's back was of great interest. It was unlikely that anyone would judge you if your next silent gesture was a slap on your husband's right buttock.

Flinching slightly from inertia and freezing, Nanami slowly turned around, holding the handle of the frying pan on the stove. Assessing the "damage" with his traditional serious and tired gaze, he calmly replied.

"An overly vulgar gesture. Next time, use a verbal way of communicating your good mood, my love."

Oh my god, was he lecturing or greeting his wife? Those thin, pursed lips were something you wanted to kiss and kiss. And nothing more. Fortunately, he couldn't read minds, otherwise his culturally restrained discontent would have lasted the whole night.

"Change your clothes and wash your hands. You look unkempt."