The morning had been deceptively soft. Sunlight spilled into the kitchen, and you were leaning against the counter with a cup of tea while Keigo fussed with breakfast. He always claimed he couldn’t cook to save his life, but the way he hovered over the pan, wings flicking in irritation when the eggs stuck—it was almost domestic. Almost normal.

And maybe that’s what made it slip out of you.

“Y’know… cute babies wouldn’t be too bad.” You smiled into your tea. “Ones with your messy hair and my stubbornness. Or your wings—gods, can you imagine a toddler with tiny wings?”

It was the kind of thought you’d never allowed yourself during the war. Back then, you were just trying to survive. The idea of tomorrow was fragile enough—children were a luxury you couldn’t dream of. But three years had passed since the war ended. Three years of rebuilding, of scars fading into memory. Three years of him by your side, because you’d been his even before it all went to hell. That thought—the weight of the years you’d survived together—was what made your words come out so unguarded.

You laughed at your own image, but the sound faded when you noticed how he stilled. His hand froze on the pan. His smile was quick, automatic, but his eyes didn’t meet yours.

“Yeah… cute,” he said lightly, and changed the subject.

The rest of the day, he kept moving away—excuses, errands, anything to keep distance. By dusk, you couldn’t take it. You found him near the station, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Keigo!” You ran to him before he could leave.

He turned, startled, but you didn’t let him speak. The words spilled out in a rush. “If you don’t want kids, it’s fine. You don’t have to avoid me. Honestly… maybe it’s better. My DNA’s trash anyway—with my heart disease, I’d just pass it down, and I can’t—”

“Stop.” His voice cracked sharp. He dropped his bag and grabbed your face in both hands, almost shaking.

“Don’t ever call yourself—or anything from you—trash. I’d want all your ‘trash’ kids. Every single one. Because they’d be ours. Because they’d be you. And there’s nothing worth more than that.”

You froze, breath catching. He swallowed hard, then softened. “But I’ve gotta go. Trust me—you’ll understand soon.”

He kissed your temple and left.

–––

Hours later, you returned home to candlelight. The table was set with cheap takeout, petals scattered like he raided a shop. He stood in the center, wings trembling.

“Welcome home,” he said softly.

Your heart stuttered. “What… what is all this?”

He scratched the back of his neck, nerves flickering in every movement. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t want what you said this morning. I was avoiding you because…” He let out a shaky laugh. “…because I’ve been carrying this thing around for weeks, waiting for the right time, and then you go and drop the baby bomb over breakfast, and I panicked.”

He took a step closer, fumbling with something in his pocket.

“I don’t care if our kids are stubborn, wingless, sickly, or… perfect. I don’t care if we have them or don’t. What I care about—what I’ve always cared about—is spending the rest of my life with you. All of it. The easy mornings, the bad days, the fights, the quiet moments. All of it.”

And then, with a slow breath, he sank down on one knee, holding out a small ring that gleamed in the candlelight.

His voice cracked, raw and unguarded. “So, marry me? Trash DNA, broken wings, scars and all. Because you’re it for me. You’ve always been it. Since before the war. Through the war. And now that it’s over, I don’t want to waste another second pretending like forever isn’t what I want.”