Am I The Only Male Tenant Here? Chapter 16 16: The Air Is a Little Humid

The sun was clocking out for the day, lting slowly into the west as if it, too, was exhausted from a long shift. I walked alone, cutting through the golden-orange haze that dyed the sky with a soft lancholy. Clouds stretched like lazy cats across the skyline, painted in warm sunset glow.

A girl passing by raised her phone to snap a photo of the scene. I didn't bla her. It felt like the kind of mont you wanted to keep—quiet, humid, nostalgic.

Streetlights flickered on one by one, as if nodding their sleepy heads in preparation for nightfall.

By the ti I arrived back at the apartnt, the clock was nudging past seven.

I opened the door—and there she was.

"Welco back, Sosuke."

Tomoko greeted with a smile, one hand delicately brushing a strand of her soft chestnut hair behind her ear. She wore a white one-piece nightgown, sleeveless and breezy—dangerously sheer under the hallway light.

My eyes did a quick scan—because how could they not? Her smooth, pale shoulders led down to gently swaying hips. The silk clung in all the right places. Every step she took bounced softly, rhythmically. There was no mistaking it: she was wearing nothing underneath.

Tomoko's elegance always hit differently in the evenings.

"You must be tired after a full day of class and your shift," she said gently, concern in her eyes.

"Honestly?" I cracked a small grin. "Just thinking about Tomoko's cooking makes forget how exhausted I am."

"Ufufu~ Is that so? Well, you're in luck. Dinner's almost ready."

She turned on her heel and floated toward the kitchen, hips swaying like a pendulum hypnotizing with each step.

I sank into the low chair, exhaling as the delicious aroma of dashi and fried oyster wafted through the apartnt.

About five minutes later, she returned—arms full, face dewy, a little flustered from the heat of the kitchen.

Tiny beads of sweat clung to her forehead, a few damp strands of hair sticking to her skin. One droplet slid slowly down the nape of her neck, vanishing into the valley between her collarbones.

She fanned herself lazily with one hand and bent slightly forward to cool off. A gust of air lifted her gown ever so slightly—and from where I sat, the full curve of her 36D breasts peeked out boldly.

"I-It's getting hotter lately, huh?" she said, oblivious.

I couldn't breathe.

"Dinner's ready, Sosuke. Co eat before it gets cold."

I pressed my palms together. "Itadakimasu."

Tomoko's food was always excellent, but today's al felt extra potent—like it was seasoned with affection. She'd made radish and oyster soup, and as I sipped it, warmth blood in my chest, working its way through every nerve ending.

"Mm... Delicious."

"You're sweating too, Sosuke."

She leaned forward, holding a napkin delicately between her fingers, and gently dabbed my forehead. Her touch was soft—unbearably soft—and slled faintly of soap and warm broth.

Her fingers lingered on my skin just a mont too long.

"Thanks…"

After dinner, we cleaned up together.

Tomoko knelt on the floor with a rag, wiping down the floorboards. I crouched beside her, helping out even though she insisted I didn't need to. Her gown hugged her hips tightly as she shifted on all fours, and every little movent threatened to reveal sothing criminally distracting.

"T-Tomoko," I mumbled, trying not to stare. "You'll wear yourself out…"

"I'm used to it," she said with a wry smile.

Ten minutes later, the floor was gleaming, and we both flopped onto the couch with twin sighs of relief.

Tomoko stretched her arms above her head. Her breasts rose high, pressing against the thin silk, nipples barely hidden by the fabric. My breath caught.

I'd seen this woman every day for weeks, but it still hit like a truck every ti.

She turned toward , her expression softer now—quieter.

"You've got big hands, Sosuke…"

"Hm?"

She reached forward and gently took my wrist, guiding my hand palm-up toward hers. Her fingers traced along mine, her expression unreadable.

"Long fingers," she murmured, voice barely audible. "Perfect for playing piano."

Her fingers pressed against mine, comparing the size difference. Hers were soft, delicate. Mine dwarfed hers completely.

She stared at our hands for a second longer… then swallowed.

…I'd heard that old myth too.

If his fingers are long, then…

My heart pounded.

"Your hands are beautiful too," I said, voice hoarse.

"No, they're not… I'm always scrubbing, cleaning… They're rough."

She pulled back a little. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

"It's been almost ten years since my husband passed," she whispered. "I've been taking care of this place all on my own since then…"

Ten years?

That ant… she beca a widow before she even turned thirty.

A strange ache filled my chest. Sadness? Respect? Desire?

"Tomoko-san…"

"...Sosuke-kun," she whispered.

She leaned toward . Her voice trembled with sothing deeper—uncertainty, hope, longing.

"Do you… Do you think I'm just so boring woman? Soone who only knows how to cook and clean?"

The air grew heavier, damp with silence. Her eyes shimred.

I answered without hesitation.

"No. I think you're perfect."

Her lips parted slightly. "Sosuke…"

In the next mont, she slid into my arms.

The scent of her shampoo, the subtle warmth of her skin—it overwheld . She pressed against my chest like she was afraid I'd disappear if she didn't hold tight.

Her body was flawless. Smooth thighs, a supple waist, hips wide and soft, a full chest that molded perfectly against .

I wrapped my arms around her. My fingers sank into her back, tracing the curves I'd only admired from a distance—until now.

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