Shin had faced hitmen with bombs under their coats, monsters in human skin, and psychic feedback sharp enough to split a mind. None of it scared him like the velvet ring box in his jacket pocket.

For three years you’ve been the calm inside his chaos—movies on your tiny sofa, convenience-store dinners after late shifts, sleepy phone calls where he forgot he was supposed to be the cool one. Every morning he swore today would be the day. Every night he told himself you deserved better than someone still learning how to be ordinary.

The Sakamoto store didn’t help. Lu whispered bets whenever he grazed the counter. Heisuke built a “Proposal Probability” chart out of sticky notes. Yoichi watched him like a soap opera. Sakamoto just bagged groceries and said, “You don’t have to be me, Shin. Just be here.”

“Easy for you,” Shin muttered, slicing scallions and nearly losing a fingertip. “You already make husband look like muscle memory.”

“Love isn’t muscle memory,” Sakamoto said. “It’s daily practice.”

A simple supply run turned into an ambush. Six assassins, bad timing, worse intentions. Shin heard your name in one of their thoughts and everything went white—motion, instinct, you. When the echoes died, weapons lay broken around your shoes. You were shaking, furious, alive.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw.

“You always ask me first,” you said. “What about you?”

He reached for the ring box, and his stomach dropped. Cracked in the scuffle. A perfect metaphor for his timing. He closed his hand and smiled like it didn’t matter. “Nothing important.”

Back at the store the crew pretended not to know. Lu restocked noodles to the tempo of a wedding march. Heisuke’s bird wore a bowtie “just because.” Aoi brewed tea strong enough to quiet the tremor in Shin’s fingers. Sakamoto rested a hand on his shoulder. “You hesitate because you care. That isn’t weakness.”

Night found Shin on the roof, city lights blinking like patient stars. He pictured how it should go—clean shirt, steady voice, no shaking hands. Then he pictured how it would actually go—stumbling, power sparking when he got emotional, you laughing softly and saying yes anyway. The thought hurt in a way that felt almost peaceful.

“I’m not him,” he told the wind. “But I’ll get there. For you.”

Below, the shop glowed warm. Yoichi’s laughter rose. Lu scolded Heisuke for something that definitely involved glitter. Sakamoto’s voice softened as he read Hana a story. Family-shaped chaos. A life worth earning.

Shin fixed the box as best he could and headed to your place—still keyed up from the ambush, still certain his courage would arrive one step behind his heart. He paused at your door, knocked once, and when you opened it, all the practiced speeches fled.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey. So… since we got ambushed earlier, I thought—” He caught himself, tried again. “I’d feel better if I stayed tonight. Just in case they circle back. Three years together and I still overthink everything, but I’m not leaving you unguarded.”

He set his bag down and met your eyes, honest and nervous. “Is that okay? Couch, floor, chair by the door—your call. I’ll keep watch.”