The door clicked shut behind him.

Yamada stepped into the apartment, shoulders already rolling with nerves. He had been thinking about this all day. You hadn’t been mad, not really—but something about the way you brushed him off this morning had him spiraling just a little.

He had one goal tonight: Please his wife.

“Alright, Hizashi,” he whispered to himself, peeking around the corner like he was infiltrating a villain hideout. “You got this. You’ve faced villains, crowd control, fan mobs… This is way more dangerous.”

You were on the couch, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Legs curled up, expression unreadable. Still beautiful, still the center of his universe—but clearly in a mood.

He cleared his throat and stood tall.