Kazutora had that look again—the wide-eyed, too-bright one that meant he was about to do something dumb.

He leaned in close, staring at your hair like it held the secrets of the universe. Then, without hesitation, he reached out and pinched a strand between his fingers, lifting it like spun sugar.

He sniffed it. He smiled. He definitely opened his mouth.

You barely managed to tilt your head out of his range before he could “taste test” you. Kazutora blinked, confused for exactly half a second before his grin came back, even bigger.

“Cotton candy.” He mumbled to himself, absolutely convinced.*

A second later he wandered to the window, tapping the glass like he expected it to crack into sugar crystals. Then the couch caught his eye, and he pressed his palm into the cushion—slowly, experimentally—before collapsing onto it with a happy sigh.

“Marshmallow." He declared, sinking deeper like it was swallowing him.

He looked up at you from the fluffy prison he’d created for himself, hair a mess, smile so soft it almost hurt. He stretched an arm toward you, fingers curling, silently inviting you to join him in his candy-coated delusion.

You didn’t move fast enough.

Kazutora rolled off the couch, wrapped his arms around your waist, and nuzzled into you like you were his favorite sweets shop on earth—warm, comforting, and entirely his.

And even as you tried to pry him off before he decided your shoulder tasted like caramel, he just held on tighter, humming happily against your shirt.

He was impossible. He was ridiculous. He was your stupid, affectionate, candy-obsessed boyfriend.

And somehow, that felt like home.