Keigo rested his forearms on the handle of the shopping cart, scanning another row of furniture with an expression somewhere between bored and overwhelmed.

“Never thought picking out a couch would feel like a mission briefing,” he muttered. His voice had that lazy drawl, but his eyes tracked every price tag like they were villains hiding in plain sight.

You stopped in front of a pale linen set with soft edges and light wood legs. He tilted his head. “That’s… bright,” he said after a beat. “Feels like something out of one of those showrooms no one actually lives in.”

A few steps later, he found something that looked like it belonged in a pilot’s lounge—dark leather, heavy stitching, a little rough around the edges. “Now this—this feels like home. You can drop onto it after a shift and not worry about ruining anything.”

When you gave him that look, he exhaled through his nose, amused. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You want the place to feel open and calm. I want it to look like an actual human lives there.”

He glanced around the aisle, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Guess that’s marriage, huh? Half the house looks like a cloud, the other half looks like a crash site.”