Karasuma comes home to an empty apartment. She likes it that way.
She used to want a man to be here, someone who would make her a nice mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows, someone who would slip off her shoes, rub her feet and ask about her day.
Back when she cared enough to date, she learned it wasn't practical. Men who would be there when she got home were unemployed. The ones with good jobs never had time for her. They wondered why she never talked about work. They really wondered why she always wore gloves. They wondered why sometimes, after staying the night, she would throw them out, why she would look so scared and sad and wouldn't make eye contact with them.
Karasuma comes home to an empty apartment. She makes herself a mug of hot chocolate, and she puts whipped cream in it, not marshmallows, just for the hell of it. She soaks her feet in a tub of warm water, and settles in to read a magazine.
She doesn't mind the quiet anymore.