Then, without a word, he leaned down and buried his face into the side of her neck, his breath warm against her skin.
"Tired?" he asked, voice low and rough from sleep.
She shook her head lightly.
A pause.
"Hungry?"
This time, she nodded.
His hand slid down from her waist to her belly, palm warm and slow as it rested there. His thumb moved in small circles, absent-minded.
The motion was simple, but it sent a strange warmth spreading through her chest. It feels so soft and strange.
"What do you want to eat?" he murmured, nudging her jaw with his nose.
"I don't know."
He let out a quiet hum.
"Wanna go out?"
She shook her head again, voice soft. "Too much work. Don't wanna dress up."
"You don't need to."
He shifted, guiding her up gently before standing.
The absence of his warmth lasted only a second before he moved away toward the walk-in closet. She sat there, still, watching him without really thinking. Not sure what he's doing.
He came back with a black hoodie. His.
He pulled it over her head without asking, the fabric swallowing her whole. The sleeves fell past her hands, the hood dropping low enough to shadow her face.
He took her hand.
And just like that, he led her out.
She didn't resist or question, and just followed the man who's now probably the owner of her heart.
In this very moment, if someone were to ask her to take a bullet for him. She'd probably do it before they even ask.
The night air hit her the moment they stepped outside of the apartment complex.
It was colder than inside, carrying the weight and life of the city with it.
The streets were vibrant in a way the penthouse never was. Light spilled from storefronts and street signs, neon colours bleeding into the pavement, reflecting off puddles and passing cars.
People moved around them in loose, unpredictable patterns. Voices overlapped. Laughter, footsteps, the distant rumble of traffic.
The air smelled strange. Not clean or not pleasant. It was a mix of smoke, oil, food, and something faintly sweet lingering underneath it all.
Yumi pulled the hood lower over her face.
Oh, right. She suddenly realised that no one was looking at her right now, and perhaps because of that, nothing was expected of her either. The thought made her grip on his hand tighten slightly.
Toji noticed, but he didn't fuss over it. He just kept walking with his eyes scanning the lively street.
He finally stopped at a narrow side street, tucked between brighter roads, where the lights dimmed, and the noise softened into something more coherent.
An old and worn small shop sat at the corner.
It looks like the kind of place that didn't care about appearance. Metal tables lined the outside, mismatched chairs scraped against the ground, and steam rolled out from the open kitchen window, carrying the scent of broth and spices into the air.
It does not look like somewhere Yumi would visit.
"They make the best noodles, y'know?" he said, a slight grin tugging at his lips.
She didn't reply and let herself be guided inside.
A voice greeted them almost immediately.
"Oya oya, long time no see, Toji-kun~"
An old woman stood behind the counter, her smile wide and warm, eyes crinkling with familiarity. Her hands were dusted with flour.
Toji lifted a hand casually. "Still alive, huh, Yoko-baba?"
*Baba" (ばば/ババ) in Japanese usually means "old lady" or "hag," often used as a derogatory term. However, the elongated version "Baaba" (ばーば) is a common, endearing term used by children for their grandmother.*
They sat down at one of the metal tables. The surface was slightly uneven, cool under her fingertips. Everything about this place was imperfect.
The old grandma laughed. "Of course I am. Someone has to keep feeding you."
They exchanged a few short quips that sounded so easy and natural.
Then Yoko realised, and her eyes shifted.
"And who's that next to you, Toji-kun?"
Yumi stilled slightly upon getting pointed out.
Toji didn't hesitate."My wife." He said.
A small pause.
"Mi-chan." That's what he chose to introduce her as. The name slipped out so abruptly it barely felt like a decision.
Yumi blinked. She couldn't process it for a second. What did he just call her? She didn't know what to do with herself at that time.
The old woman's eyes widened. "Eh? You got married? Is that why you disappeared all this time?"
"Yeah. That's why." he shrugged and grinned.
"Ehhh~ Mi-chan huh, what a cute name. Hello to you, Mi-chan~" She greeted Yumi kindly, before shaking her head. "Unbelievable. And here I thought you'd die alone. Can't believe you didn't let this old woman know earlier, tsk tsk."
Yumi nodded her head shyly as a greeting back.
The old woman disappeared into the kitchen, still muttering to herself about Toji finally settling down.
Yumi sat quietly, her hands resting in her lap beneath the oversized sleeves.
Mi-chan. Wife.
The words echoed faintly in her mind. It all sounded and felt like nothing was fake, as if they truly were a normal, happily married couple, sitting in a small shop, waiting for food.
Her chest felt light. So light. Ah...her eyes stung.
Once the old woman left them alone, a hand reached into her hood.
Warm fingers brushed against her cheek, gentle and mindful.
Yumi lifted her head slightly.
Toji's brows were raised faintly."...Why are ya cryin'?" he asked, a chuckle slipping through.
She froze.
Then turned away quickly, pulling the hood lower to hide herself.
"...I'm not." Her voice came out like a shy whisper.
He sighed and held her hand. That was all. They sat side by side in silence, hand in hand, waiting for the bowls of noodles whose smell already drifted so heavenly from the kitchen.
The bowls arrived piping hot, as if they could burn away every unhappy memory of the past.
Toji took care of everything, handing her the chopsticks, pouring her water, fussing over her as if she were a kid.
A smile lifted her dull expression. The first smile she had given him all week, and the sight of it softened Toji instantly.
The air around them felt dissolved into bubbles and sparkles.
They ate their noodles and talked. Not about their lives or anything meaningful at all. It was just small, meaningless things.
It started with Yumi quietly picking out the things she did not like from her bowl, despite the noodles being absolutely tasty.
"You're seriously doing that?" he asked, looking down at the neat little pile she had pushed to the side.
She didn't even look embarrassed. "What?"
"You're picking out vegetables like a five-year-old."
"I'm not five," she grumbled flatly, lifting another piece out with her chopsticks. "I just know what I don't like."
He let out a quiet laugh. "You're picky."
"And you're nosy. Eat your food, stop watching me."
"I'm sitting right here. Of course I'm going to see it."
She glanced at him, then at his bowl. "Whoa. You ate everything."
"Because I'm normal."
Yumi gave him a look. "People who eat everything are usually the weird ones."
"Who are these people you're referring to. No one says that, ever." Toji leaned back slightly, amused now. "So what don't you like besides that pile?"
She pointed with her chopsticks. "This. And mushrooms. And those weird soft vegetables that feel like they've already been chewed."
He nearly choked on a laugh. "Worst description ever."
"It's true."
"Fine. Give it to me." He shook his head, still smiling, then reached over and plucked one of the rejected pieces from her bowl. "Whatever you don't want to eat, give it to me."
Yumi blinked.
She watched him quietly, her heart swelling with a soft, overwhelming warmth.
"See?" he said. "Problem solved."
"You really will eat anything."
"Yes. Including you." He squeezed her cheeks.
She pulled his hands away, "What the hell," and chuckled.
From there, the conversation wandered naturally.
They argued over food combinations, over whether sweet or salty snacks were better, and over what kind of weather was the most annoying.
Yumi said summer was unbearable because it made everything feel sticky and disgusting. Toji said winter was worse because cold air made people more dramatic than they already are.
"That makes no sense," she said.
"It does."
"No, it doesn't."
"You're literally more dramatic when you're cold."
She frowned. "I am not."
He raised a brow. "You get quieter, meaner, and you glare at people like they personally invented wind."
Yumi kicked his leg lightly under the table, and he only laughed again.
Little by little, the tension drained from her body. The dullness in her eyes faded. She still looked tired, but not hollow or empty anymore.
And Toji, who had been watching her so carefully all evening, finally seemed to relax, too.
The noodles grew colder as their conversation kept stretching on, interrupted by bites of food and quiet laughter.
Nothing extraordinary was said. Nothing life-changing happened. But in this small shop filled with steam, they were breathing properly again.