The soft glow of your desk lamp bathed the room in warm yellow light as your fingers tapped rhythmically against your laptop keys. You were so deep in your work that you hardly noticed the sound of the front door opening, then closing again with a gentle click. A moment later, the faint shuffle of sneakers being slipped off reached your ears, followed by the low rustle of a jacket being hung up.
“Baby, I’m home,” Yuma’s familiar voice called, smooth and warm with just a trace of tiredness clinging to the edges.
“Mmhm, I missed you today,” you answered absentmindedly, eyes still glued to the screen, fingers continuing their race across the keyboard.
He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching you with that quiet, soft smile he always wore when he caught you working so hard. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, his cheeks still flushed from practice. For a second, he thought about coming over to kiss your temple like he usually did, but the way your brow was furrowed told him you wouldn’t even notice.
“You almost done?” he asked anyway, voice light, teasing.
“Almost,” you mumbled, barely sparing him a glance.
He bit back a chuckle. He knew you too well—almost done meant nothing. You could sit there for another hour, maybe two, chasing the satisfaction of finishing just one more thing.
“Alright,” he said simply, retreating with quiet footsteps toward the bathroom. He didn’t push, didn’t linger. The sound of the shower running filled the apartment soon after, while you kept typing away, immersed in your own little world.
By the time he returned, hair fluffy and damp, dressed in soft sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, you hadn’t moved an inch. Your posture was exactly the same, your eyes narrowed with focus, and your lips pressed together as though you were in silent conversation with the screen.
Yuma leaned against the doorframe for a moment, arms folded, head tilted slightly. He could watch you like this for hours—so focused, so determined—but he also hated seeing you push yourself past the point of rest. A slow smile tugged at his lips as he crossed the room.
Without warning, his hands landed gently on your shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tense muscles at the base of your neck.
You startled slightly. “Yuma—”
“Still not done?” he interrupted softly, leaning down close to your ear.
“Almost,” you repeated, though the word sounded more like a defensive whisper than the truth.
“Uh huh.” He kneaded your shoulders with patient circles, drawing a sigh out of you that you didn’t mean to give. “You said that before my shower too, you know.”
You gave a little laugh, distracted. “I’m serious this time.”
“Mm,” he hummed, not believing a word of it.
When you didn’t look up from the screen, Yuma slid away silently. You thought maybe he’d given up on distracting you—until you heard the scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor. You turned just in time to see him pull it up beside you, a little behind so he could watch you and the screen both.
“...What are you doing?” you asked suspiciously, narrowing your eyes.
“Keeping you company,” he said, all innocence, his eyes wide and soft, lips quirking at the corners.
You gave him a playful glare. “Quiet company, right?”
“Of course,” he replied instantly, tone too smooth, too practiced. You already knew better.
Still, you shook your head and turned back to your laptop, pretending not to care. For a few moments, he kept to his word, sitting there with his chin propped in one hand, just watching you type. But it didn’t take long before his other hand reached out, fingers brushing against your knee.
You glanced at him briefly, one eyebrow raised. “Yuma...”
“What? I’m not saying anything,” he grinned, hand sliding a little higher before retreating innocently.
You tried to ignore him, but his hand came back, rubbing softly at your thigh, then your shoulder, then lingering at your elbow like he was testing how long it would take before you cracked.
Finally, he shifted even closer, the warmth of his body brushing against your side as he leaned in. His head lowered, nestling onto your shoulder, and you froze for just a second before rolling your eyes.
“Really?” you asked, pretending to sound annoyed though your lips twitched with a smile.
“Mhm,” he murmured against your skin, his hair brushing your cheek. “I missed you too today.”
You wanted to remind him that this was not quiet, but your words caught in your throat when his lips grazed your neck. A soft, barely-there kiss at first, then another, then another. His breath was warm against your skin, and you felt the goosebumps rise instantly.
“Still almost done?” he whispered, lips brushing the curve of your neck.
You shifted in your chair, typing slowing as your concentration wavered. “I... yes, I just need—” But the sentence fell apart when he kissed just below your jaw, slow and deliberate.
“Mm,” he hummed in triumph, continuing his trail of feather-light kisses. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”
You closed your laptop with a soft click, finally giving in. “Okay, fine. I’m done.”
Yuma leaned back, a victorious grin spreading across his face. “Knew it.”
“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, but the warmth in your voice betrayed you.
“And you love me for it,” he shot back smoothly, standing and holding out his hand.
You took it, letting him pull you to your feet, straight into his arms. He wrapped you up tightly, chin resting atop your head, swaying you both side to side like he had been waiting all day for this.
“I really did miss you today,” he said softly into your hair.
“Missed you too,” you admitted against his chest.
He tilted your chin up with one hand, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t teasing—it was grounding, like he wanted you to feel every bit of his affection in that one moment.
When he finally pulled back, he kept his forehead against yours, smiling. “Come on. Couch time. We’ve got an episode to catch up on.”
You laughed, letting him tug you along to the couch. He practically flopped down, pulling you with him so you ended up tucked against his side, your head resting on his chest.
As the opening theme of the anime began to play, Yuma reached for the blanket on the back of the couch and draped it over both of you, his arm snug around your waist.
“See? Much better than working,” he murmured, kissing your temple before turning his attention to the screen.
You smiled into his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. Maybe he was right.