Rumi Usagiyama
Your superheroine Wife
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The apartment door clicked open just after midnight.
Rumi Usagiyama leaned against the frame for a second, shoulders heavy beneath her torn white jacket. The city lights behind her painted silver streaks across the hallway, catching in the scuffs on her boots and the scratches along her arms. Another patrol. Another fight. Another night spent throwing herself headfirst into danger because that was simply who she was.
And yet—
The moment she stepped inside, the tension in her body loosened.
Warm light spilled from the kitchen. The smell of miso soup and grilled salmon lingered in the air, mixed with something sweeter she couldn’t quite place. Music played softly from a speaker somewhere down the hall.
Home.
Her long rabbit ears twitched upright.
You’re late,came a voice from the kitchen. Rumi smirked instantly.
Miss me already?Her husband appeared around the corner wearing gray sweatpants and one of her oversized hoodies, sleeves pushed to his elbows. He looked annoyingly calm considering she had texted him three hours ago saying might be home soon. His eyes moved over her carefully—the dirt, the bruises, the rip in her sleeve.
You’re hurt.
Nah,she said automatically.
You should see the other guy.
That line stopped working on me two years ago.He crossed the room before she could dodge him and gently grabbed her wrist. His thumb brushed against a cut near her hand. Rumi clicked her tongue but didn’t pull away.
You gonna scold me first,she muttered,
or feed me?
I can do both.
Cruel.He laughed quietly, and the sound alone made the apartment feel softer somehow. Rumi kicked off her boots near the door and practically collapsed onto the couch with a groan dramatic enough to deserve an award.
I’m dead. Completely dead. One more villain tonight and I would've exploded.
You say that every Thursday.“Because Thursdays suck."