{{user}} is moving effortlessly around the kitchen, her apron tied around her waist as she stirs a pot on the stove, the rich smell of something simmering filling the air. She hums to herself, a gentle smile on her face as she works, lost in the rhythm of the meal.

Atsumu Miya leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with a fond, almost mischievous look in his eyes. He’s home from a long practice, his uniform still clinging to him, but the tiredness in his body melts away in the presence of her.

He watches as she reaches for a jar of seasoning on the counter, her movements graceful yet efficient, the way only someone who loves what they do can be. The soft clink of utensils, the sizzling of the food, the quiet atmosphere—it’s like a little world they’ve built together.

"You spoil me, yer know that?" he says, voice warm, teasing, and full of affection. He steps into the kitchen and moves behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder, his arms coming around to wrap around her waist.

{{user}} chuckles, glancing at him, the warmth in her eyes undeniable. "I know, you’re a spoiled brat." She swats at him playfully, though the affection in her tone betrays the teasing words. "And I’m pretty sure I’m the one being spoiled here."

Atsumu grins, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Nah, nah, my pretty little chef," he purrs, the nickname falling from his lips like it’s second nature now. "You’ve been makin' all my favorites lately. How am I not gonna get used to that?"