POV: Meguriya Risa
"I'm going to my room..."
Rion's voice was low, drained—not the tired-from-work kind, but the tired-from-people kind. "Make yourself at home... What's mine is yours."
He groaned as he climbed the stairs, one hand dragging along the railing like his soul was leaking out with each step.
I let out a tiny, awkward laugh as his figure disappeared around the corner.
Rion's the type to get socially spent, huh...?
I thought I cheered him up when he talked about Inoue-san draining him when we walked home.
But I guess he still needs some time for himself.
...
He's like a cat...
He's adorable!
Left alone in the quiet house, my heartbeat slowly settled. I took a breath and wandered again. Everything still felt new, but it didn't feel foreign. The polished wooden floors, the soft lights, the faint scent of detergent… It already felt warm.
And then—
Mother's voice floated back into my head.
"Make your husband feel at home, alright?"
My steps slowed. The words wrapped around me like a warm, but terrifying blanket.
His wife. His home.
Our home.
I glanced at the clock. Still a few hours until dinner.
I pressed my palms together, inhaling sharply.
Alright.
I slipped my hair behind my ears, took one more steadying breath, and marched toward the kitchen with a determined—if slightly trembling—stride.
If I'm his wife…
If this is my home now…
Then I'll make him feel at home.
I opened the fridge, eyes narrowing with resolve.
…
Right after I figure out what on earth Rion actually eats.
***
POV: Meguriya Rion
I sank into my bed.
Gravity felt ten times stronger, like the universe suddenly remembered it was mad at me.
Risa…
We're living together now.
We went shopping.
We met a wild Daiki.
I introduced her as my wife—
Aaaaaaahhhh!!
I wanted to scream into my pillow.
But I couldn't.
I have a mouth... But I must not scream.
Risa…
On my honor—She is too precious. Too adorable. Too gentle. What celestial lottery did I win for this to happen??
Ah… Daiki drained every drop of my social battery. My body was ready to sleep for a week.
No.
No naps.
I won't be able to sleep tonight.
Focus.
Do I have work?
Right—The video.
Perfect. Distraction. Logic. Safety.
I practically launched myself out of bed, plopped in front of my desk, and opened my laptop.
Okay. The video is almost done.
My hands flew across the keyboard. Eyes glued to the interface. This client preferred a longer pacing and an atmospheric vibe. Alright, a few more hours and—
The render bar slid smoothly to 100%.
Somehow, in the span of editing cuts and compositing, the sun had disappeared from existence. I blinked. Once. Twice. I didn't even realize nighttime had arrived.
I leaned back, stretching. Sent the video to my client. Closed the laptop.
Ah… thirsty.
Right—chocolate milk.
We bought that earlier.
I stood, opened my door—
And a warm, savory, absolutely divine scent ambushed me the second the air hit my face.
What… what is that…?
I hurried downstairs—
And froze.
There she was.
Risa.
Wearing an apron. Hair tied in a ponytail. Setting dishes on the table, steam curling gently upward. A picture of serenity. An angel disguised as a person.
"Ah, Rion." She turned, smiling—soft like clouds, sweet like caramel. "Dinner's ready."
Thunder.
My brain short-circuited. My knees buckled.
I hit the floor.
"Huh?!—Rion!"
Her footsteps hurried toward me, stopping just beside my collapsed form. She knelt down, one hand gripping my shoulder with gentle urgency.
"Rion—what's the matter?"
I… sobbed. Actually sobbed.
Like an overworked salaryman—collapsing on all fours after seeing his bonus for the first time.
"I—"
No.
Don't say it.
Don't you dare say it.
Pull it together, man—
But It was hopeless. The dams had burst. Everything was flooding out.
"I married an angel…"
Her hands jolted.
"Wha—An—A-Angel? I—"
"I don't deserve you…" My voice cracked like cheap pottery dropped on tile.
"Wait—Rion—"
"You're too precious! Too adorable! I—I can't—!"
Her voice shrank into a tiny squeak, barely audible.
Then something warm pressed onto my shoulder. She'd hidden her face there—burying herself gently against me. Her breath was soft, trembling just a little.
"Don't…" Her fingers curled into my shirt, clutching it like a lifeline. "Don't say things like that…"
A pause.
A breath.
Her voice quivered, fragile and honest.
"You're making me fall harder…"
Nothing else followed. We stayed like that—me on my hands and knees against the cold floor, her face tucked into my shoulder, fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as if letting go would break something fragile.
Silence lingered around us, soft and hazy, wrapping the moment in its own warmth. I felt her breathing slow, settle, and ease against me.
Then, softly—almost too soft to catch—
"Dinner…" Risa squeaked. "It's getting cold."
...
"…Mm." I nodded, not trusting my voice to come out steady.
***
We finished the meal in quiet satisfaction, the plates wiped clean.
"Food for the soul…" I sighed, leaning back in my chair.
Risa giggled. "I'm glad you liked it." She rested her chin on her hands, cheeks still pink from… well, everything that happened earlier.
After a moment, she rose to gather the plates.
"Ah—let me help you." I stood as well, reaching for mine before she could stop me.
We washed the dishes together in a gentle, easy silence. Water running. Porcelain clinking as she placed each dish on the drying rack. The kind of quiet that didn't need filling.
"I…" I began, eyes fixed on the sink. "I'm sorry for earlier."
"It's okay." She didn't look up, just kept wiping a plate with small, steady motions. "You were adorable."
My face flushed—again. I was starting to lose count at this point.
When I finally mustered the courage to glance her way, she was half-hidden behind her hair.
But the tips of her ears—bright, unmistakably pink—betrayed her.