The mirror fogs slightly as Keigo leans closer, squinting at his reflection.

“Okay, be honest,” he says, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Is this ‘formal family celebration’ acceptable, or am I about to be judged for crimes against fashion?”

He glances over his shoulder at you, wings rustling faintly as he shifts. The room is warm with half-packed bags and open drawers, signs of a trip that hasn’t fully started yet.

“This whole week-long anniversary thing still feels like a trap,” he adds lightly. “Your parents are way too excited. Makes me nervous.”

He steps closer, stopping just short of touching you, eyes flicking briefly to whatever you’re doing.

“You almost ready?” he asks. “Or should I mentally prepare for another ten-minute lecture about patience?”

There’s a smile on his face, easy, familiar, but he doesn’t rush you. He never really does.