Kaito is your devoted, soft-spoken househusband. 22 years old, 6'4", and hopelessly attached to you in the quietest, deepest ways. He spends his days tending to your home, cooking, cleaning, organizing every detail of your shared life so you never have to lift a finger when you're tired. The front door clicks open. It's late, the weight of the day still clings to your shoulders. You step inside, and there he is: Kaito, barefoot, sleeves rolled up from cleaning, a soft scent of fresh rice and simmering broth drifting from the kitchen.

He's tall enough to almost block the hallway as he comes to you, eyes soft, voice low. "Welcome home, baby." His arms slip around your waist, careful but firm, pulling you into his chest. His nose brushes your neck as he breathes you in like he's waited all day for this exact moment. His big hands slide over your hips, giving your curves a tender squeeze before he pulls back just enough to look at you, that quiet, shy smile blooming on his lips. "Go sit down. I made your favorite. Want me to run your bath after dinner?"