Nifuji stepped out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam trailing behind him. He felt scrubbed raw, the hot water having washed away the physical grime of the subway, though the deep-seated fatigue still clung to his bones. He was dressed in loose lounge wear she had left for him—soft gray cotton that smelled faintly of lavender detergent.
He walked toward the LDK, drawn by a scent that was savory, oceanic, and deeply grounding.
At the kitchen island, Fuji was in motion. She had traded her oversized shirt for a crisp, linen apron in a muted charcoal tone. Her movements were different now; the frenetic energy of her writing phase had smoothed into a rhythmic, meditative precision. She treated cooking much like her prose: nothing wasted, everything essential, executed with deliberate intent.
She wasn't making a heavy, greasy meal that would send him back to sleep. She was preparing a Teishoku—a set meal designed for balance and restoration. It was the kind of lunch that required patience and timing, traits she possessed in abundance.
On the stove, she was finishing a Dashimaki Tamago (Japanese rolled omelet). She wielded the rectangular pan with a practiced wrist, folding the egg layers over each other. It wasn't a rushed scramble; it was a uniform, golden block, infused with dashi stock—complex, savory, yet gentle on a tired stomach.
A small pot simmered on the back burner. It was Shijimi Miso Soup (freshwater clam soup). She knew, perhaps from research or intuition, that the ornithine in the clams was the ultimate remedy for a body broken by stress and exhaustion. The aroma was rich and salty, promising to replenish the electrolytes he'd sweat out in the nightmare of his work week.
On the white quartz counter, she was arranging small, ceramic dishes. She used chopsticks to place Ohitashi (blanched spinach in broth) into a small bowl, topping it with a precise sprinkle of bonito flakes. Next to it sat a small dish of homemade nukazuke (brined-pickled cucumbers), their snap and acidity intended to wake up his dulled palate.
She didn't just dump the food on a plate. She plated it as if formatting a manuscript—paying attention to the margins and the flow.
She placed the golden omelet on a rectangular plate of dark, unglazed pottery (likely a piece picked up from a local Setagaya artisan), creating a striking visual contrast. The rice, cooked in a heavy clay pot (donabe) rather than an electric cooker, glistened like pearls in a simple wooden bowl.
Nifuji could only stare at this scene in a daze, completely baffled at how high-level this woman was, and sighed inwardly at his other women. While most of his women were careless, and he even sometimes made the food himself, Fuji prepared him a five-star hotel level of cuisine, or those chefs who dedicated all of their lives to the craft.
As expected of a writer, he thought.
Did she have a lot of time to decide to learn many things?
Yet, this was also probably the perk of being a writer, as they had a lot of time, which they could use for many things.
Yet, without a doubt, as he was in a daze, staring at her back, Fuji quickly noticed him. She didn't turn around when he entered the room, but her voice cut through the sound of the simmering soup—calm, low, and matter-of-fact.
"Your hair is dripping on the floor," she said, though there was no malice in it. She slid the tray toward the empty seat at the table. "Sit. It's light. It won't weigh you down."
"...thank you."
Nifuji sat down as he looked at the food that was prepared by Fuji, looking at it, thinking which one he should taste first before he chose the soup, which he sipped gently.
"Ahh...."
The salty taste, the warm broth, everything was perfect for his exhausted body, and by then, he didn't talk anymore and started to devour his food as his hands kept moving without stopping.
"Don't be in a hurry. There are a lot of them."
"Thank you."
Instead of being troubled, Fuji enjoyed watching his figure, who kept eating the food that she prepared.
Me too! Me too!
Naturally, the tanuki also felt hungry and asked its master for lunch, too.
"Okay, okay. Sit there, I will prepare you lunch, too."
While Fuji sighed, her expression didn't show annoyance, but instead a light, gentle smile as if this was something that she had sought the most. It wasn't something grand like her novel, where they discovered the treasures during a long adventure, or even defeating the Demon King, after being chosen as a hero. Instead, it was plain and simple, as she just wished for a little time of his time, so he could be by her side, eating like this with the three of them.
Foolish?
It might be, especially when she had chosen a scumbag as someone she wished to be with, yet she couldn't change her mind.
She had tried, but she knew that it was impossible.
So, she accepted it, and it was better, and the result?
She loved it.
Instead, sometimes her scary, creative mind thought of putting a sedative in her food, making him sleep, then locking Nifuji in her room. But even if she loved him, she didn't want to hurt him, so she would just enjoy the current situation.
Then again, instead of him, who hurt her, it was he who hurt her, though.
Yet, without a doubt, this afternoon spent together was enjoyable, but it was impossible for him to be there forever, especially when he needed to go back to his office.
Yup, even though it was the afternoon, Nifuji had to return since he had to do something in his office, considering his project was still in the middle of the process.
If possible, he wanted everything to be automatic, where he made the plan, directed it, then left everything to his subordinates, making the system work instead of himself, the one who worked, but unfortunately, while he had made the system, it wasn't perfect, so he needed to be there to oversee everything.
"Let me help you."
Fuji didn't stop him; instead, she went to help him put on his tie as he fixed his cuffs and put on his watch.
This was perfect, he thought, except for the part where Fuji's breathing started to grow heavy.
Was she tired?
Or was it something else?
Yet, her beautiful face that was tainted with a rosy color and slightly distorted expression made him feel helpless, as it was natural that he showed a reaction that he shouldn't have, which made her face become even more embarrassed, yet eager for something.
Unfortunately—
"I am not here! I am going to sleep!"
The tanuki made such a note in front of the two before it returned to the room, leaving the two alone.
"....." Nifuji and Fuji.
"I will go back later."
Nifuji kissed Fuji's forehead, and she closed her eyes to enjoy it.
"Hmm~!"
Enjoying the warm, gentle kiss that he gave, Fuji sent him off to the entrance, seeing him off.
"I will go out to work."
"Do your best."
"I will." Nifuji nodded. "You do your best, too."
"I will."
The two stared at each other for a while before he kissed her lips, which she accepted, and clung to him for a while, before they parted away, as he left for work, yet once again, Fuji realized that she just couldn't get enough of him.