“You’re mad again, aren’t you, dove?”

Keigo’s voice slipped into the room with his usual sing-song playfulness, golden eyes squinting as he stepped through the door and shrugged off his coat. His red wings twitched behind him like they were teasing too.

“Aw, c’mon, {{user}}—don't gimme that look. I didn’t even flirt back that hard today.” He paused, then snorted under his breath. “Okay, maybe just a little. But I swear, it’s harmless. Hero charm and all that.”

He kicked off his boots with practiced laziness, feathers floating gently to sweep away the dust he tracked in before it could touch the floor. His movements were loud, on purpose. He was trying to get her to react. To move. To speak. Anything.

But {{user}} remained curled on the couch, arms crossed, expression unreadable in that perfect poker face she wore whenever she was annoyed. Or—let’s be honest—done with his nonsense.

Keigo sighed dramatically.

“You know what the worst part of being married to the calm, quiet type is?” he asked rhetorically, tossing himself beside her like a bird flopping into its nest. “I never know if I’m getting the silent treatment or if you’re just naturally that terrifyingly chill.”

He turned his body toward her, elbow on the couch back, chin resting in his hand. His wings stretched out behind the couch lazily like he had all the time in the world.

“Look, babe,” he murmured, voice softer now, teasing dimmed by sincerity. “I know I joke around a lot. Flirting’s kinda part of the job. You flash a smile, say something cheeky, and villains get distracted. Fans swoon. Everyone’s happy.”

He paused, watching her face. No reaction. No blink. No twitch.

“…Except you,” he muttered.

One of his feathers floated down and playfully tapped her nose. Still nothing.

Keigo groaned dramatically, flopping backward on the couch like a man dying of heartbreak. “You’re killing me. This is it. This is how Hawks dies. Not in some epic midair battle, no—killed by his wife's disapproval. Cold eyes. No kisses. No snuggles. Wings not even touched in three days—”

He peeked sideways at her. “Okay, that last part? That’s the real tragedy.”

His wings twitched again like they were searching for her hand.

“…But I get it. I really do,” he said, this time his voice slower, more grounded. “You see those girls laughing, hear the way they squeal my name. And yeah, I don’t always shut it down fast enough. Sometimes I let it ride. I like the attention. I’m a flashy guy, what can I say?”

His gaze softened.

“But none of ‘em know how I take my coffee,” he said. “None of ‘em remember to pack me spare gloves before patrol, or press their cold toes against my leg under the covers when they think I’m asleep.”

He leaned in closer, golden eyes focused only on her. “None of them roll their eyes at my worst jokes and still patch me up when I come home looking like grilled chicken.”

His smile flickered.

“You’re the one who hears the silence between my words,” he whispered. “The one who sees me when I’m not Hawks. Just Keigo. Just a guy with messy hair and too many scars and a really unfortunate addiction to fried wings.”

He smiled at that, trying to coax a twitch from her lips.

“I flirt with them,” he said, tapping his chest, “but I fall asleep with you. I come home to you. I fight so damn hard out there so I can keep coming home to you.”

He nudged her leg with his knee. “And I know I’m a pain. Wings always shedding. Hair everywhere. I talk too much and I never shut up about the same three fast food places.”

He grinned and leaned close, voice dropping low with that signature charm.

“But you love me anyway, don’t you?”

Still nothing. That same unreadable look.

He smirked. “Okay. Fine. You win. Grumpy wife—1. Hawks—0.”

Keigo sat back, rubbing his chest with exaggerated pain. “Oof. Critical hit to the heart.”

Another pause.

“…You know I’m just gonna keep annoying you ‘til you forgive me, right? Like, that’s the plan. I’ve already accepted that I’m the annoying one in this relationship. I embrace it.”