#mod cae

The sudden change in her husband’s demeanor is surprising and somewhat suspicious, but Shinobu Kawajiri has long since given up on trying to get him to come round. If he wants her love and affection to flow freely like it used to, he’ll have to try harder than that. (Though, she admits to herself, it’s nice to have such a loving husband, especially after so many years of cold. Perhaps she will make sekihan for dinner one of these nights.)

Shinobu is, first and foremost, her own woman. She loves her son but resents her marriage for its meaninglessness, its emptiness. Yet, her love for her husband has never faded. Yes, she thinks him useless, and yes, she does lash out at him sometimes, but deep down, she’s hoping for anything like a shred of his attention.

And so, waking up this morning to him, with his warm smile and gentle, loving hands, feels like something out of a dream.

“Hey,” she says, watching the early winter sunlight stream in through the window, onto the floor and over their bed, over his hands, clasped with hers. He is warm, much warmer than she remembers, but it’s not a bad thing. Shinobu thinks maybe they can fall in love, all over again.

“Hey yourself.” A soft chuckle and a hand pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “What’s for breakfast, dear?”

Dear. He’s never called her that before, in all their years of marriage. The word, the affection, and tenderness behind it, sends warmth flooding through her, gathering somewhere behind her chest.

“What would you like?”

They spend the morning quietly, him reading the newspaper at the dining table as he sips at his coffee, her bustling around the kitchen - frying eggs, buttering toast. Hayato had already left for school early, so it’s just the two of them, today. The windows are open since it’s a cool day, not too hot and not too cold. A slow breeze caresses her face. It’s comfortable and calming. Almost... domestic.

He thanks her for the food. Eats all of it. Even helps with the dishes, afterward. Shinobu can’t help but feel her heart skip a beat, from excitement or intrigue or perhaps, maybe, love.

Before he leaves, she catches him by the shoulder. As he turns, the dusty light illuminates the planes of his face, his neck, his broad shoulders. Today he is wearing a striped purple shirt and white pants, with a beautifully-patterned black tie. To her, he’s always been handsome, but they do say love blinds.

“Your tie,” she says, even though it’s already perfect, and adjusts it for him again.

“You could have just asked,” he quips. Leans down to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. Brushes hair out of her face, thumbs at her cheek lovingly.

She barely stops herself from giggling, dizzy like a schoolgirl. “Have a good day at work, honey,” she murmurs, unable to contain her elation in the grin on her face, the breathless laughter bubbling up in her.

He leaves for work, and she stays at home, smiling to herself and humming quietly as she goes about her day.