Chapter Text
EPILOGUE
Morning comes, as it usually does.
Light filters in through the curtains, and a bright beam pulls Keigo from his sleep; he groans, knowing once he’s awake, he’ll remain awake. His hand pats the space next to him tentatively, finding the sheets cold; only then he realizes he can hear the faint sound of the coffee maker in the kitchen, the repetitive thump thump thump of a knife hitting the cutting board.
It’s early.
With a sigh, he sits up.
As he fully wakes, he lets his attention wander the bedroom: the dark gray sheets, the assortment of framed photographs littering the walls, his jacket and your dress thrown over the chair in the corner. You’ve put your roots deep in between the floorboards, you’ve twined yourself seamlessly into his life, a vine around a metal structure that blooms more and more every day.
On days like this one, when he’s got the time, he takes a few minutes and… breathes it in.
(He’s got more downtime than he used to, now. His wings have been changed permanently, regrowth being a slower and more painful process, forcing him to be more mindful of how he uses his quirk. What used to take three days now takes a week or longer, and he’s painfully aware of what a long time that feels like.
He jokes about being past his prime, endures the quiet, piercing stares he earns for his poor attempt at deflecting his insecurities. You let him share a familiar place with you, allow him to take refuge in usefulness: whenever he’s got downtime you make sure there’s things for him to do, put him to work hanging shelves or repotting plants or taking your lunch to your work whenever you happen to forget it. The cabin he’s recently bought needs plenty fixing still, new paint and covering spots where the wind sneaks in through cracks— there’s joy to be found in doing these things himself, in burning firewood he’s spent hours chopping, in seeing this nest he’s bought become warmer, cozier, nicer, by the effort of both your sets of hands. You’ll need to make another trip there soon.)
Keigo gets up.
Making sure he makes just enough noise not to startle you— and earn another earful on proper kitchen etiquette when someone is holding a sharp knife— he pads across the hardwood floors, barefoot and shirtless, shedding sleep’s sweet fingers off his skin, following the siren song of you quietly humming as you work.
Testament that you’re expecting the arms around your waist is the way you lean your weight back against him with a content sigh. You put down the knife on the cutting board as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek— you’ve been chopping mushrooms, he guesses they’re for an omelette.
“Good morning,” you say, “there’s fresh coffee.”
“Marry me.” It rolls off his tongue so, so easily.
“Yes.” You tilt your head to give him easier access when he presses a kiss to your neck. “Why do you keep asking me? Are you afraid I’ll change my mind?”
“No, no,” you’re not dressed yet, he loves when you wear his shirts, “I just like to hear you say yes.”
You turn in his arms and he wraps his wings around you, feathers finally long enough to do so. Another day, he estimates, and he’ll be back on active duty— the last day is the worst of them. You've learned if you take the day off too it is easier for him not to get so antsy.
“These are growing nicely,” you eye his feathers approvingly; run a finger delicately over the barbs. You can get yourself lost in his wings, preen them, admire them for hours, tell him how pretty pretty pretty they are until he can’t take any more of your affection without trembling.
His feathers puff up under your admiring gaze.
“Peacock,” you accuse.
He simply smiles at you in that way you adore: a little boyish, a little full of himself, and entirely too sweet.
“You know,” you say, “none of those actually count as real proposals until you get me a ring.”
“Ah, but, Dove, I already gave you a ring,” he lifts a hand to toy with it, to take it out from underneath your t-shirt.
“It’s not the same, Keigo. You can’t repurpose a ring.”
“Says who?”
“Your wife-to-be.” You keep your tone flat, unimpressed.
“So we are engaged.”
“No.”
“I’ll start reintroducing you to everyone as my fiancée.”
“< Keigo —”
“I’m looking for a ring” he says, “I just haven’t found the right one yet— don’t look at me like that, okay, I’m not being ridiculous, it just has to be the right one, right, not just any one. But I won’t reintroduce you to everyone as my fiancée.” You begin to relax, and truly, you should know better by now, “I’ll just say you’re my wife already. It’s as good as done anyways, isn’t it?”
You laugh despite yourself, wrap your arms around his neck. He’s warm. “You’re awful,” you say, but a smile curves your words.
“But you’ll marry me anyways?”
“Yeah.”