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“Baby, I’m home!” Naoto quietly called out from the foyer of his house.
He owned a nice, small unit in a condominium, located at the fringe of Ginza district. At such a placement, one would expect the perpetual clamour of horns and the keening of drunk businessmen in the wee hours of the night but, silence and the occasional low hum of stationary vehicles graced the atmosphere instead.
Naoto bent down to remove his oxford brogues and placed them in a teak shoe rack situated by the door. His sweet lips unconsciously stretched into a smile as he caught a glimpse of your square toed leather ballerina shoes chucked haphazardly into an empty spot. Out of habit, he absent-mindedly rearranged them and mused at your apparent excitement on reaching home, judging by the manner of your shoe placement. Although he was already home, he straightened his tie and adjusted his suit jacket before slipping on his house slippers and strolling into the kitchen.
Perhaps the habit of ensuring that everything was in order stemmed from his partial ability to go back in time. Although he wasn’t physically able to travel to the past, he was able to catalyse the event of doing so, through Takemichi, and through him, he was able to iron out the creases in the past. Endowed with such power to alter what had seemingly occurred, this power eventually managed to manifest itself through his mannerisms and habits.
He silently padded over to you, frame bent over a pot of simmering broth. You hadn’t noticed his presence and needless to say you were surprised to feel his saccharine lips pressing itself onto the flesh, where your neck and shoulder met. His cold hands found purchase in your hips, kneading and holding the flesh there, underneath what looked like his boxers.
Taking on a leadership role in Tokyo’s police department allowed him to indulge in unnecessary extravagance, like getting branded underwear or constantly swapping his almost new Royce to the latest BMW sedan. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that you looked good in his boxers, but what unnerved him was Calvin’s or Klein’s (he didn’t know which name came first) name embroidered to the band.
“Oh, Naoto! Welcome home!” You beamed, giggling when his dark fringe tickled your collarbone.
“What’s cooking, good looking?” He teased, peering just above your shoulder blades. He caught a whiff of the dish just as you turned off the induction stove. The heat-worn off-white ceramic pot held a divine serving of Beef Stroganoff, its decadent brown stew glinting delightfully under the dimmed kitchen lights.
“Beef stroganoff!” You turned towards him and gave him a cheery smile. You watched as his countenance erupted into a warm smile.
Nursing a cup of hot cocoa in your hands, you watched as the streets of Ginza silently morphed into the epitome of languid; cars crawling sluggishly home, bright, vivid headlights bearing a stark contrast to its listless motion.
Warming your hands with the heat that the mug effused, your were surprised to feel instead a cool grip on your waist, familiar calloused thumbs dancing across the skin there.
“If I’d been any more relaxed, I might’ve dropped this mug down the balcony,” you joked, leaning into the side of his face as you felt his chin make contact with your shoulder.
“Come to bed,” Naoto whispered, pressing his lips just in-between where your joint and socket met. You closed your eyes as you felt his lips make further travel to the side of your neck, soft lips kissing every crease, before detouring to your nape and ending its course at your shoulder, suckling at the tender flesh, grinning as a bright red hickey bloomed against your skins canvas.
“My hickey looks good on you,” he mused, gently stroking at the red splotch that started showing undertones of blue and purple. You groaned and giggled at the contact, turning around to face him. You put your cup down on the balcony’s table before reaching up to stroke his cheek, brushing his rich, dark ebony bangs from his eyes.
You pressed a kiss onto his eyes and smiled as his cheeks became faintly dusted with pink. You slipped you hand into his and followed as he led you into your shared room and tucked you into the sheets.
Sleep embraced you before he did, and you were fine with that.