#mirakei

AMIRA: [teasing, but hushed, as if not to startle the ducklings] looks like you’ve got an entourage.

KEIGO: [glances over his shoulder, smile cracking easy as daylight] what can i say? [shrugs coolly] guess i’m just that irresistible.

the smile is enough; the sun lifts higher when he does it, and the sky seems to remember morning is due. amira feels it in her ribs: the ache of something holy, something ordinary, and something completely hers.

AMIRA: [gentle laugh, hugging her knees to her chest where she sits on the porch] you’re gonna spoil them if you keep walking like that. they’ll think you’re their mother.

KEIGO: [stretching his arms above his head, wings ruffling with the motion] tch, mother? you could at least let me be the cool uncle.

AMIRA: barefoot… in my sweatpants… herding ducklings through the garden… you don’t look much like a “cool uncle” right now.

KEIGO: [eyes flicking toward her with mischief] i look good though, right?

keigo takes another sip of coffee--slow--the brown aluminum catching the pale light. his hair is unruly and sleep-mussed, and his shoulders carry that impossible blend of laziness and sharp readiness. as though even here, among the dew and ducklings he could take flight at any second.

yet, he doesn’t. he stays.

AMIRA: [smiling fondly, almost tearful from the magnitude of love she feels] kei… come here?

he falters at the adoration and subtle waver to amira’s voice, the ducklings bumping into his ankles and creating a chaotic scatter of soft yellow. keigo turns, studies her, the gentle plea pressing into him with more gravity than she had intended for it to.

KEIGO: [quiet, genuine, letting the tease drop] you really know how to floor a guy before breakfast, don’t you?

he pads back across the grass toward her, can in one hand, free hand tugging at the waistband of the sweatpants like they don’t quite sit right but he’ll never give them back. the ducklings trail after him, chirping more insistently. their devotion is unshaken.

AMIRA: [reaching out instinctively as he climbs the porch steps] it’s not cheesy if i say--

before she can finish, keigo crouches in front of her, the can balanced easily in his grasp. he leans close, the faint smell of coffee and sun-warmed feathers filling the air between them.

KEIGO: [low, coaxing, half grin tugging at his lips] if you say…?

AMIRA: [failing in hiding her fluster] if i say that you look like home…

her cheeks heat, shy, because she means it with the entirety of her heart. he drinks her honesty like the coffee in his hand: easy, addictive, never enough.

KEIGO: [sincere, voice honeyed] then don’t be surprised if i keep stealing your clothes. [hushed, in a barely there whisper] makes me feel like i belong here.

he presses his forehead lightly to hers, a feathered brush, wings curling just slightly around them both. the ducklings peep noisily at their feet, impatient for movement, but keigo doesn’t budge.

AMIRA: [whispering, unsure if it’s complaint or confession] you already belong.

keigo swallows, throat tight. he attempts to mask it with a chuckle as he pulls back just enough to smirk.

KEIGO: [teasing, though his voice betrays a crack of sincerity] careful, baby bird. say things like that and we won’t be leaving this porch for another few hours.

despite the insinuation, he rises and drains the last of his coffee, tossing the can lightly toward the bin by the door. the sun finally clears the horizon, spilling gold over garden, over feathers, over amira’s upturned face.

keigo stretches, his wings catch the light, and the seven little ducklings resume their chaotic parade around his bare feet. and amira, still curled on the porch steps, watches him with a heart brimming and breaking all at once. because he is ridiculous, and because he is breathtaking, and because the morning doesn’t begin until he looks back at her like that.

the day yawns awake, but for these two, it is already fully alight.