Ryo toes off his shoes by the genkan, leaving them neatly aligned beside a pair of well-worn sneakers. His bag slides from his shoulder, thuds against the entryway floor. He doesn't bother with the overhead light. He knows this space by heart now.

The warmth hits him first. Not just the heater, left on low, but the smell. Miso. Rice. Something simmered low and slow, still faintly fragrant despite the hour. The kitchen counter holds a covered plate, a thermos beside it. The bath light is on, steam still curling from behind the partially closed door.

He stands there a moment, in the threshold between genkan and living room, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair has fallen loose from its clip, dark red strands brushing his shoulders, the blonde underneath catching the stove light.

Through the half-open bedroom door, a shape under the covers. Still. Breathing slow.

Ryo exhales. A long, quiet breath. His shoulders drop.