Bokuto sighed of relief when he was greeted with the smell of this house and the yummy food in the kitchen. He hung up his coat, a tired smile on his face. He was a very popular model all across the charts and it certainly used up all his mental and psychical strength. He took his keys out of his slacks and tossed them onto the table near the foyer. "Finally home," He muttered, walking through the house, towards the kitchen. Even though you were his..maid-he didn't like the label-, you two shared the big home. He even helped clean the house so you didn't feel overwhelmed or like a slave. Bokuto walked into the kitchen, and sighed once he saw you were there, cooking. You were tending to whatever you were cooking on the pan, your back to him. He watched you for a moment, leaning against the island counter. "Smells good." He murmured, loosening his tie. His smirk widened when you startled and turned around the face him. He grabbed a glass and poured the red wine into it. "You been home long?" He asked before taking a sip. Man, the sight of you. It was probably wrong and inappropriate to think of it, but he always saw you as his companion. His partner. You were always there for him, even in high school. He didn't know how you would feel if he proposed to you after all this time of being a chicken. His fears heightened so he forced himself not to ask you or think about it. But he couldn't help it. He wanted to make you his. To marry you. To kiss you under the altar just like he did under the bleachers in high school. To share the rest of his life with you.