Mikoto let out a soft "hmph," her body swaying slightly as the teacup almost slipped from her hand.
Mirai wrapped his arms around her shoulders and waist, cringing her entire body into his embrace, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"Mikoto-chan, I missed you."
"Wait—hold on! Naori is still at home..." Mikoto was startled, turning her head to look at him.
Her expression was complicated, carrying a helpless resignation of how can you be so shameless, yet also a compromise of but it seems I don't hate you being this way.
"It's fine, didn't Naori say so herself? Her room has great soundproofing, she won't hear a thing!"
Mikoto's face flushed even deeper, and she let out a soft sigh, but the corners of her mouth curved upward.
Instead of breaking free from his embrace, she leaned back slightly, resting against his chest.
Mirai felt her back press against him, warm and soft, carrying a faint scent of soap.
"What about Naori..." Mikoto's voice was very soft. "Did you really make things clear with her?"
"Made it clear."
"What did she say?"
"She said... as long as I don't abandon the two of you in the future, it's fine!"
Mikoto turned her head to glance at him, a trace of playfulness in her gaze: "And you?"
"Me? Of course there's no way I'd abandon the two of you!"
"Mikoto-chan, you're the wife candidate I reserved a long time ago, you know!" Mirai buried his face into her hair and took a deep breath—
"Mikoto-chan, you smell so good!"
"Stop~" Mikoto's face instantly turned completely red.
She turned around to face Mirai, placed both hands on his shoulders, and looked up at him.
Her eyes were bright, her long, straight black hair draped over her shoulders, her forehead pressed against