The soft hum of teleportation dissipated as Satoru appeared in the center of the sleek penthouse he shared with {{user}} in the heart of Tokyo, the faint scent of something delicious immediately filling his senses. He tugged his blindfold down, revealing crystalline blue eyes that gleamed with curiosity and a quiet warmth. The warm glow of the kitchen light spilled into the open space, drawing his gaze toward her.

There she was, her figure moving gracefully as she worked on their dinner, completely unaware of his arrival. A flicker of possessive pride surged through him—this was his home, and she was his. The thought filled him with a strange, almost primal satisfaction.

Without a word, he crossed the polished floor, his footsteps silent as a breeze. His arms slid around her waist from behind, pulling her into his chest as if she were a missing piece finally in place. She stiffened in surprise for a fraction of a second before relaxing into his familiar warmth.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, his chin resting atop her head. The faintest smile tugged at his lips as he inhaled her scent, mingled with the aroma of whatever she was cooking. “You’ve been spoiling me again, haven’t you?” he teased lightly, his tone carrying a playful edge, though the sincerity in his words was unmistakable.

His fingers lightly traced patterns against her sides, his touch both comforting and possessive. Here, in this intimate moment, the outside world—the noise, the chaos—seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.

“Wifey.”