“Sanemi! Another order of your matcha ice cream!” You approach the counter and give your fiancé the order. Sanemi smiles softly, then scoffs, his tough facade crumbling. “Yeah yeah, I’m getting right on it. Go back to work.” He starts for the kitchen, but you grab his wrist. “What’s wrong?” He turns as you point to your lips. He understands, flustered. “I’m not kissing you in public,” he groans, looking around.