You barely got the apartment door open before you started rambling.

“Keigo—KEIGO—oh my god you should’ve SEEN it, I swear it was the cutest thing ever—”

You slipped out of your shoes while talking a mile a minute. Keigo, now 28 and moving with that slow, careful grace he learned after the war, locked the door behind you. No wings to flick or flutter anymore — just his steady hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with that soft, exhausted, completely in-love stare he always had when you were excited.

“And then when she turned around and saw the fairy lights? She literally froze. Like—mouth open, hand over her chest, almost passed out. And you know me, I was behind the camera trying not to sob, like, do you know how hard it is to tell someone to WALK FASTER without looking suspicious—”

You tossed your bag onto the couch and collapsed face-first onto it, screaming into a pillow.

Keigo snorted, walking over and nudging your leg. “‘KYAAAH!’” he imitated you dramatically, “‘Oh my god, engagements, so cuuute—’”

You kicked him in the thigh. “Shut up. I’m emotionally drained.”

He sat beside you, the couch dipping as he leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. He rubbed slow circles on your back, fingers warm and gentle.

“You planned the whole thing,” he murmured. “Of course you’re drained.”

You turned your head — and caught him staring.

Not a casual look. A full, soft, too-long, too-deep stare.

“What?” you asked, heat prickling your cheeks.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, the back of his knuckles ghosting your cheek.

“You’re just cute when you care about something that much,” he said quietly. “Makes a guy think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you half-laughed.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took your hand — slowly, almost shyly — and began tracing circles on your ring finger. Not your palm, not your wrist. Your ring finger.

He stroked the spot gently with his thumb, like he was rehearsing something without realizing it.

“Wondering what you’d look like,” he said, eyes on that finger, “if it were your engagement you were screaming about.”

You froze, breath stalling.

Keigo kept playing with your ring finger, rubbing it lightly, as if memorizing its shape. His voice stayed casual — but his ears were a little red.

“Hypothetically,” he added.

You sat up, staring at him. “Keigo.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you asking hypothetically?”

He shrugged one shoulder, pretending to be cool. You weren’t fooled — not when his thumb kept brushing that same spot on your finger like it was a habit he just discovered.

“Just… curious,” he said. “What you’d do. If someone asked you.”

You made him wait a few seconds, mostly because watching Keigo Takami get nervous was… rare. And honestly adorable.

“Well,” you said finally. “Hypothetically? I’d cry. Probably drop the ring. Then hug the guy so hard he’d lose a lung.”

Keigo huffed a laugh. “Romantic.”

“But then I’d say yes.”

He stopped moving.

His thumb stilled on your ring finger.

He looked at you — really looked at you — and the vulnerability in his eyes hit you like a punch. No feathers to fluff, no wings to twitch. Just him… breathing a little sharper than before.

“You’d say yes?” he asked quietly.

You held his gaze. “Hypothetically.”

He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath brush your lips.

“Good to know,” he whispered into your hair, voice low and full of something that made your knees weak. “Really good to know.”

He kissed the top of your head, lingering like he never wanted to pull away.

Then, leaning back just enough to look into your face, he grinned.

“For the record…” He tapped your nose with his finger. “I wasn’t asking hypothetically.”

You froze.

He laughed, kissing your stunned expression.

“Relax, love. Not proposing yet,” he said, kissing you again, softer. “But after hearing you talk like that…?”

His forehead rested against yours.

“Let’s just say the idea’s starting to sound pretty damn good.”