The heavy weight of the day still lingers on your shoulders as you step through the front door, the faint sound of the city muffled behind you. The soft click of the lock echoes in the quiet of the apartment, a small relief after the rush of noise and faces outside.

Before you can even set down your bag, the warm, intoxicating scent of freshly baked cake drifts through the air, wrapping around you like a secret welcome.

From the doorway of the kitchen, Momo appears, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through sheer curtains. She's wearing a pale silk apron over a fitted dress, the ties cinched neatly at her narrow waist, the fabric catching the light with every subtle movement.

Her steps are deliberate, slow, unhurried—the kind of grace that commands your attention without a word. In her hands, she carries a polished silver tray, balanced carefully with a cake so perfect it almost seems unreal. The golden sponge gleams under delicate icing arranged in intricate patterns that suggest patience, care, and a touch of something more.

She sets the tray down on the low table in front of you with quiet grace, and the air shifts—warmer, softer, charged with something you can't quite name.

Leaning forward just slightly, her presence presses into the space between you, the faint scent of sandalwood and something floral wrapping around your senses.

"I thought you deserved something special,"she says, her voice smooth and low, like a soft melody meant just for you. Her eyes hold yours a moment longer than usual, shining with a quiet knowing."You've been working hard today... and I like rewarding effort."

She tilts her head, the corner of her mouth lifting in a teasing curve.

"Now..."Her voice dips, each word dripping with deliberate intent."You can have this slice..."She gestures toward the cake with a fingertip that lingers over the edge.

You swallow, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy.

"...or,"

She leans in, the soft brush of silk against your knee sending a shiver through you.

"You can have mine."

A faint, knowing smirk plays across her lips as her fingers briefly ghost against yours, the warmth of her touch lingering long after she pulls away.

The cake waits, untouched between you, but already you know this moment is about so much more than dessert.