Love

The air in the apartment was thick with the scent of ginger, soy sauce, and simmering rice—the kind of domestic perfume that felt like a sanctuary. It was a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood and the suffocating pressure of cursed energy that Yuta Okkotsu had been wading through all day.

Yumi moved with a humming grace around the small kitchen. She was a petite woman, her frame nearly swallowed by one of Yuta’s oversized white t-shirts, which hung down to mid-thigh, meeting her simple cotton lounge pants. She looked soft—dangerously soft—in a world that was increasingly jagged.

She was currently standing over the stove, a wooden spoon in hand, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as she tasted the broth. She was so devoted to him that she had spent the last hour meticulously preparing his favorite meal, wanting to ensure that the moment he stepped through the door, the weight of being a Special Grade sorcerer would fall away.

When the lock clicked, Yumi’s face lit up. "Yuta? Is that you?"

Yuta stood in the doorway for a moment, his shoulders slumped and his dark circles more pronounced than usual. But as his eyes landed on her—the way her hair was clipped back haphazardly, the way she looked so small and safe in his clothes—something shifted in his chest. It wasn't just relief; it was a sudden, violent surge of possessiveness and longing.

He didn't just want to be with her. He felt a desperate, primal need to bind her to him permanently. He wanted to marry her right now, in this kitchen, with the steam from the rice cooker acting as their witness. He wanted to fill a house with her laughter and the sound of children who looked like her, far away from jujutsu high, far away from the King of Curses, and far away from the constant threat of death.

He dropped his tactical bag by the door and walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the linoleum.

Yumi started to turn. "I'm almost done, I just need to—"

She was cut off as Yuta’s large, scarred hands found her waist. He pulled her flush against his chest, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with the scent of her shampoo and the savory aroma of the kitchen.

"Yuta?" she chirped, her voice melting into a giggle. "You’re home early."

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he pressed a lingering, hungry kiss to the sensitive skin just below her ear. His hands migrated upward, sliding under the hem of his own shirt to find the warmth of her skin. He let his palms cup the underside of her breasts, squeezing firmly, a low groan vibrating in his throat.

"Yuta!" Yumi gasped, her face flushing crimson, though she leaned back into his touch, her hands resting over his forearms. "The stove... I'll burn the dinner."

"Let it burn," Yuta murmured against her skin, his voice raspy. "I don't care about the food."

"But you're tired," she whispered, turning her head slightly to catch his lips. "You need to eat."

He gave her one last squeeze before letting his hands fall back to her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He watched the steam rise from the pots, envisioning this same scene ten years from now, twenty years from now. A life where the only thing he had to protect was this small, devoted woman and the family they would build. It was a dream so vivid it hurt.

"Okay," he sighed, finally stepping back to give her space. "I’ll set the table."

Dinner was a quiet affair, though not for lack of things to say. Yumi talked about her day—the mundane things that Yuta cherished because they were so beautifully normal. She talked about a cat she saw on the way to the market and a book she was halfway through. Yuta listened with an intensity that would have intimidated anyone else, but Yumi only smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.

"You're staring again," she teased, poking at her rice.

"I can't help it," Yuta admitted, his dark eyes softening. "You’re the only thing that makes sense lately."

After the meal was finished and the dishes were stacked in the sink, the exhaustion finally began to seep into Yuta’s bones. Sensing his fatigue, Yumi took his hand and led him toward the bathroom.

The tub was deep, a luxury Yuta had insisted on when they moved in together. He sat at the back, his long legs folded, while Yumi settled in front of him. Her back was pressed firmly against his chest, her head resting just below his chin. The warm water, scented with lavender oils she had picked out, swirled around them.

The domesticity of the routine felt precious, almost holy. Yuta wrapped his arms around her middle, his fingers interlaced over her stomach. He felt her heartbeat, steady and rhythmic, against his arm.

"Are you feeling better?" Yumi asked, her voice echoing softly against the tile. She reached back, her wet fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

"Yeah," Yuta whispered. "I just... I never want to leave this room."

"We have to eventually," she joked softly. "The water will get cold."

"Then I'll just keep warming it up," he countered, tightening his hold on her. "I want this every day, Yumi. I want the quiet. I want you."

She hummed in response, a sound of pure contentment, and for a long time, they simply sat there in the steam, two souls anchored to one another in an uncertain world.

Eventually, the water did cool, and they retreated to the bedroom. The sheets were cool and crisp, but Yuta wasted no time in pulling Yumi into the center of the bed. He wrapped his entire body around her, his limbs acting as a protective cocoon. He tucked her head under his chin, his legs tangling with hers.

The room was pitch black, save for the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. The silence of the night began to take over, and Yumi’s breathing slowed as she drifted toward sleep.

Yuta, however, was wide awake. The vision he’d had in the kitchen was still burning in his mind, more insistent than ever. The words felt like they were clawing their way out of his throat, demanding to be heard.

"Marry me," he whispered into the dark.

He thought she was asleep. He expected to wait until morning, to do it properly with a ring and a plan. But the words had escaped before he could stop them.

Against his chest, Yumi shifted. She didn't sound sleepy when she spoke; her voice was clear and filled with an immediate, unwavering certainty.

"Yes."

She turned in his arms, moving with a frantic sort of grace until she was facing him. Even in the shadows, he could see the brightness of her eyes.

"Yes?" Yuta repeated, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Yes, Yuta. Of course," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. She reached up, her small hands framing his face. She began to rain tiny, soft pecks all over his face—his forehead, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his scarred cheeks. "I’ve been yours since the moment I met you. I’ll marry you tomorrow if you want."

Yuta felt a weight lift off his soul, a lightness he hadn't felt since he was a child. He pulled her closer, his nose brushing against hers. He wanted to go further. He wanted to speak the rest of the dream into existence.

"I want to have babies with you," he said, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, shaky register. "Is that... is that okay? To want that with me?"

Yumi let out a soft, breathy laugh that was half-sob, hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her devotion radiating off her in waves.

"Are you seriously already thinking about this?" she asked, though there was no judgment in her tone, only a profound warmth.

"I can't stop thinking about it," Yuta confessed. "I want a life that belongs only to us. No curses, no fighting. Just... a family."

Yumi pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, her expression fierce and loving.

"Yuta, of course I’ll have your babies," she promised, her voice a vow. "I would do anything you want. I want to see what a person made of both of us looks like. I want to give you the home you’ve been looking for."

Yuta closed his eyes, a single tear escaping and disappearing into the pillow. He pressed his forehead against hers, the darkness of the room no longer feeling cold or empty. It was full of the future—a future that started right here, in the arms of the woman who loved him more than the world feared him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Don't thank me," she murmured, kissing his lips softly. "Just stay with me."

"Always," he promised.

And as sleep finally began to pull at them, Yuta didn't dream of monsters or blood. He dreamed of a small house with a garden, the sound of a child’s laughter, and Yumi, always Yumi, waiting for him at the end of the day.