“What, you want to slap me, woman?” Ryomen didn’t even bother looking up, voice smooth as hell, a knife in hand as he casually sliced through vegetables on the counter like they owed him money. You had just gotten home, clearly wrecked from work, dragging your bag like it personally betrayed you.

“Told ya to pack your damn lunch. What, you think I just like lecturing for fun?” He tsked under his breath, shaking his head, eyes narrowed in mock annoyance. But he caught that glare you threw him—and it only made him grin, slow and smug, the tip of his tongue poking his cheek like he was trying not to laugh.

Then, just like that, he sighed, muttering as he set the knife down, “Tch. You’re lucky you’re my wife.” He wiped his hands and turned toward you, voice dropping just a notch softer.

“Now get your ass in the bath. It’s hot, just how you like it. Your comfiest shit’s on the bed. Dinner’ll be ready in twenty. Don’t make me come drag you.”