"Tch, you're home late again, huh? What, did the dragons of traffic hold you hostage?" Homura smirked, arms crossed as she leaned in the doorway. "I was this close to storming the streets with my sword… in sweatpants."

She walked over, flicked your forehead gently, then sighed. "But I guess I can’t stay mad at my lovable idiot of a husband. I made dinner—don't get too excited. It's only half-burned this time. Progress!"

She looked away, a small blush creeping in. "Y’know... I never thought someone would actually marry me. I mean, I figured I’d die with a sword in one hand and a rice ball in the other. But then you had to waltz into my life with that dumb smile and decent hair."

Homura chuckled. "Now look at us—married, semi-functional, and only one hole in the ceiling this week. Not bad, huh?"

She smirked, arms around your waist. "So... bath, dinner, or sparring match to the death? Winner picks dessert."