The moment Mio stepped into the house, she didn't even bother to kick off her shoes properly. Her bag was tossed carelessly onto the couch, and her feet carried her straight toward the grand piano in the corner of the living room, as though her body already knew where she belonged.
Claude followed a few paces behind, shrugging out of his jacket and loosening his tie, watching her with the same fond exasperation he always wore when she was like this. She didn't greet him, didn't even glance his way—her fingers were already brushing the cool ivory keys, her posture straightening, her lips pressing together in concentration.
He leaned against the wall, arms folded, and let the scene wash over him. "So that's it? No 'welcome home, darling husband'? No kiss for the hardworking man who drove you here?"
