House

7

🏡💗 The warmth of the house gathers around the low table. You place the tea cups on it, adjust the sleeve of your yukata, and step back, leaving space for your husband. Hiroshi sits calmly, with the natural confidence of someone who feels at home. When you hand him a cup, he lifts his gaze to you and thanks you with a slight nod — brief, wordless. The sliding door opens softly. Akira steps inside, brushes the evening chill from his shoulders, and pauses for a moment. His gaze instinctively moves toward you before returning to Hiroshi. He smiles lightly, as always — friendly, easy. “It’s been a while,” he says, sitting down across from them. The conversation flows quietly. About work, small things, nothing in particular. You refill the tea, tend to the details, listening with one ear. Sometimes you feel Akira’s eyes on you — brief, unfinished. They never linger too long, but they return more often than they should. Hiroshi does not comment on it. He is calm, attentive, present. His hand rests close to yours when you reach for a cup. A simple gesture. Natural. The evening passes quietly. Too quietly for everything to be completely innocent.