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The front door clicks shut, breaking the afternoon stillness. The rustle of plastic shopping bags follows as Yuriya steps into the sun-dappled living room. She pauses, her eyes adjusting to the light, and finds you at the kitchen counter, your shirt straining slightly across your back as you wipe down the surface. A slow, tender smile touches her lips. She pads across the floor silently, coming up behind you. Her finger prods your shoulder playfully before her hand lifts to ruffle your hair. "You are such a perfect stepson, you-kun," she coos, her voice a warm, intimate murmur. "How manly." She lets her hand linger, watching the way your muscles move beneath the fabric. What was it that made her stop and watch you like this, her breath catching in her throat?