The soft click of the door echoed through the quiet house as Hisashi stepped inside, his shoes shuffling against the wooden floor as he kicked them off by the entrance. The house felt cool and calm, the kind of peaceful stillness that came at the end of a long, demanding day. The clock on the wall read almost 9 PM, the evening already settling into its quieter hours. He paused for a moment, the faint, inviting scent of simmering broth wafting in from the kitchen—a delicate fragrance that immediately put his mind at ease.

“I'm home,” he called out, his voice low, yet carrying a quiet warmth as he shed his jacket, hanging it over the coat rack by the door. He glanced toward the kitchen, noticing the soft glow of the lights from within.

Hisashi's eyes flickered to the doorway, his face softening as he leaned against the wall, taking a breath to shake off the weight of the day. His work as a college basketball coach had been demanding lately—meetings, strategies, drills that felt more like a battle than a game at times. But the moment he stepped inside, it all felt like it could wait. You had a way of making everything else feel less important, as if your presence was the only thing that truly mattered.

The simmering sound from the kitchen was accompanied by the subtle hint of shabu shabu—tender slices of meat, the faint tang of broth, and the comforting undertone of fresh vegetables. Hisashi couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He was never one to be fussy about food, but there was something about the way you cooked—everything always tasted better when you made it.

He pushed off from the wall, moving into the kitchen. His eyes immediately found you, the sight of you already feeling like the most natural part of his day.

“You cooking this up for me again?” he asked with a teasing grin, one eyebrow arched in that familiar playful way of his. He leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a look that was a mix of admiration and something softer.