Mikasa left the castle as the light began to soften toward evening.
The walk to their new home took only a few minutes. After Minato seized the capital and assumed control of the Land of Fire, he had ordered key subordinates to relocate so they could work directly from the center of power.
Mikasa and Eren had been among those required to leave their old house in the Leaf Village.
In return, Minato had assigned them a residence in one of the most valuable districts surrounding the castle—an area that real-estate agents already spoke of in quiet, envious tones.
The house itself was larger than anything they had occupied before, with clean lines, high windows, and a quiet courtyard that still carried the faint scent of new wood.
She unlocked the front door, stepped inside, and slipped off her shoes. The familiar smell of cooking reached her at once. She followed it to the kitchen.
Eren stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stirring something in a wide pan. The ordinary sight of him—focused, relaxed, completely at home—eased something tight in her chest.
She walked up behind him without announcing herself and slid her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against the solid warmth of his back.
He tensed for half a second, then relaxed with a low, amused sound.
"Either my wife is home, or a very affectionate intruder just decided to rob us."
"The affectionate intruder option is still on the table," Mikasa murmured against his back.
"Depends on how good dinner is."
Eren's hand came up to cover both of hers, thumb stroking across her knuckles.
"You're home earlier than I expected. Did the great Lord Minato finally run out of people who wanted to bow at him, or did you escape?"
"A little of both." She tightened her arms and breathed him in. "Their idea of dinner at the castle still tastes like punishment. Yours smells significantly less like suffering."
"High praise. I'll put it on my résumé." He glanced over his shoulder, eyes warm. "It's just stir-fry. I even managed not to burn the edges this time. You should be proud."
"I am extremely proud," she said solemnly. "My husband, finally victorious over vegetables. Truly an inspiration."
Eren turned fully in her arms so he could face her, hands settling on her waist.
"Keep talking like that and I'm going to expect daily compliments. Maybe even a reward."
"Don't get greedy." She rose onto her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. "You're lucky I have generous standards for kitchen performance."
"Generous? You once told me my rice tasted like disappointment."
"It did that day." She kissed the other corner of his mouth, lingering. "Today's looking more promising. Don't ruin it."
He gave her waist a slow squeeze, smiling against her lips.
"Go wash up before I decide to keep you here and let dinner turn into charcoal. I'll try to have something edible ready by the time you're done."
"Twenty minutes," she said, already stepping back, though her hands trailed down his chest. "And if I come back and find you've eaten half of it while 'taste-testing,' there will be consequences."
"Threats already? I missed you too." His eyes followed her with open affection. "Hurry back. The house feels too quiet when you're not in it."
She left him with a last look over her shoulder and walked down the short hallway to their bedroom.
The room was still sparsely decorated, but the bed was neatly made and the late light fell softly across it.
She was halfway to the bathroom door when something pale caught her eye beneath the edge of one of the pillows.
She reached out and pulled it free.
A piece of lingerie. Delicate, dark, clearly expensive. Not hers.
For a second she simply stared at it. Then the bedroom door opened harder than usual.
Eren stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath, eyes locked on the fabric in her hands. He had clearly remembered it the moment she left the kitchen and had come as fast as he could.
Mikasa held the lingerie up between two fingers. A slow, thoroughly entertained smile curved her mouth.
"Well," she said. "This is new. And here I thought you only had eyes for slightly burned stir-fry."
Eren ran a hand through his hair, already defeated.
"I wasn't planning for you to find that."
"Obviously." She examined the thin straps with open amusement. "Your junior from the administrative office? The quiet one with the short hair?"
He gave a short, helpless nod.
"Yeah. Earlier today. I thought I put everything away."
Mikasa let the lingerie dangle for another moment, then tossed it lightly onto the bed.
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. That's the point of this, isn't it? We both get to have what we need."
Eren looked at her carefully, still half-expecting a sharper reaction.
When it didn't come, a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth.
"You're really not angry?"
"We're not exclusive. We both agreed to that." She stepped closer, rose onto her toes, and kissed the corner of his mouth, then his lips properly.
"Just try not to leave their clothes in our bed next time. It's a bit much when I only wanted a bath. A little warning would be considerate."
He let out a short breath that was almost a laugh.
"Noted. Strictly no souvenirs in the marital bed. I'll be more careful."
"Good boy." She patted his chest once, deliberately condescending.
"Dinner in twenty minutes. Don't let it burn while you're standing there looking guilty. And maybe hide the evidence properly next time, husband."
"I won't burn it. And I will hide things better." His voice followed her, warmer now. "Hurry up. I want you back out here with me so I can defend my cooking honor."
She glanced back from the bathroom doorway. Eren was still standing near the bed, the abandoned lingerie between them, but the tension had left his face completely. In its place was the same quiet, slightly sheepish smile he wore whenever she caught him doing something he hadn't planned for her to see.
Mikasa closed the bathroom door, leaned against it for a second, and let out a slow breath. The earlier conversation with Minato still waited at the edge of her thoughts.
But for the moment, listening to Eren move around the kitchen again, the weight of it felt a little more bearable.
She turned on the water and stepped under the spray, smiling faintly as the sound of her husband cooking drifted down the hall.
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