"We're here."
Akihiko's voice was soft but confident as he eased the car into a private parking lot tucked away behind a tall wrought-iron gate.
Ayaka blinked at the building in front of them.
The low, golden lights cast a warm glow on the restaurant's sleek architecture—marble columns, cascading vines framing the entrance, and tall glass windows that offered a glimpse into a space that looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine.
Music drifted faintly from inside, something mellow and elegant—a live quartet, if her ears were right.
Akihiko stepped out first, walked around the car, and opened her door with the kind of ease that made her heart skip.
His hand extended, palm up.
She placed hers in his.
Warm.
Firm.
Familiar.
As she stood, she took in the view again—then her eyes widened in sudden recognition.
"Isn't this... La Celestia?"
He nodded with a small, proud smile.
"B-but how—?" Her eyes darted to the restaurant, then back to him. "I tried to book this place for our first date but it failed remember?"
"I did a lot of research." he said nonchalantly, as if this wasn't a feat worthy of a standing ovation. "Turned out the owners are friends of my parents. So... I called in a favor."
She stared at him in disbelief. "You used your connections for this?"
He shrugged. "Only for emergencies."
"This was an emergency?"
His blue eyes gleamed as he leaned in slightly. "You kissed me in front of everyone because of a patient that made you jealous, I'd say that qualifies."
Ayaka's cheeks burned. "I did not—"
Before she could finish, the front doors opened.
"Mr. Nakamura? Your table is ready." a sharply dressed staff member greeted with a courteous bow.
"Thank you." Akihiko nodded, still holding Ayaka's hand as they followed the man through the restaurant.
They were led past elegantly dressed couples and soft candlelight, past the rich murmur of private conversations and the delicate strains of live violin music.
Every step felt like walking through a dream.
The scent of seared herbs and expensive wine lingered in the air.
But what truly stole Ayaka's breath was where they stopped.
The table was set for two, on a private mezzanine level just above the main dining area, with its own balcony overlooking the sparkling bay.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the horizon, where city lights kissed the water in a glittering embrace, and the night sky stretched out endlessly above.
It was like dining inside a painting.
"I—" Ayaka couldn't even find the words.
Akihiko stepped behind her, gently guiding her forward with a hand on the small of her back. "We can stay as long as we like. The owners gave us the mezzanine for the night."
She turned to him slowly. "This… this is like something out of one of my novels."
"Then I'm glad I read them."
Her breath caught.
They sat across from each other, the table bathed in soft candlelight.
As dinner was served—pan-seared scallops, truffle risotto, delicately glazed lamb—Ayaka found herself watching him more than eating.
Not because of how flawlessly he looked in his black dress shirt and navy blazer, or the way the candlelight flickered in his silver hair, but because of how unguarded he looked.
No hospital rush.
No sterile walls.
Just him.
And he was watching her too.
Their conversations flowed—from teasing remarks about the hospital chaos earlier to her books and their childhood memories.
At one point, she laughed so hard she had to cover her face with her napkin, and Akihiko just leaned back, watching her like she was the most mesmerizing thing in the world.
By the time dessert arrived—something artfully called moonlight pavlova—the violins from below had changed their tune.
The music softened into something slower. Intimate.
Akihiko stood.
Ayaka blinked. "Where are you—?"
He extended his hand again.
This time, not to lead her to a table.
But to pull her away from one.
"Dance with me." he said quietly.
She froze. "I-I'm not a good dancer, y-you know..."
He inclined his head. "The mezzanine is ours for the night. No one will interrupt."
"B-but I'm not exactly dressed..." she murmured, glancing at her blouse and skirt.
"You're perfect." he said simply.
Ayaka stared at him.
Then took his hand.
He pulled her gently into his arms, his hand settling at her waist, the other cradling her fingers with the kind of care that made her heart ache.
Her other hand rested lightly on his shoulder, and he drew her close, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
They began to sway.
The music melted into the background, and time slowed.
Ayaka tilted her head up. "Are you always this smooth?"
"Only with you."
She let out a breathless laugh. "That can't possibly be true."
He smiled slightly, eyes never leaving hers. "No one else ever made me want to learn how."
She chuckled. "Well your plan is going well, Mr. Surgeon."
Akihiko's voice was low, nearly a whisper against her hair. "Because I needed you to see it. That I'm serious. That you're the only one I'd dance with in this lifetime and in other lifetimes."
Her hands curled slightly against his shoulder. "You're really bad at metaphors."
He chuckled. "You're the writer. Fix it for me later."
They spun gently near the window, the stars outside reflected in the glass.
His hand skimmed softly along the curve of her waist as he pulled her a fraction closer.
"Ayaka." he murmured.
She looked up at him, breath caught halfway in her throat.
But he didn't say anything else.
He just leaned down and kissed her.
Slow this time.
Not the stolen passion of a hallway ambush.
But a quiet, deep promise.
The kind of kiss, saying he belongs to her.
The kind that sank into her bones.
When they finally pulled apart, Ayaka's forehead rested lightly against his chest, her heart racing.
"You're… really good at this." she murmured.
"I'm improvising."
"With a five-star restaurant and a private dance floor?"
"Improvising well." he amended.
They both laughed.
They didn't sit back down for a while.
Just danced.
Holding each other.
Saying little.
Letting the silence between them be something full.
Later, as they stepped out onto the balcony with glasses of wine in hand, the city glittered below them.
Akihiko leaned against the railing, watching her more than the view.
"You do realize we're going to be the talk of the hospital tomorrow?" Ayaka asked, sipping.
"Let them talk."
"They'll say you're obsessed with Ms. Midnight."
"I am." he said easily.
She choked. "Akihiko—!"
He raised his glass, smirking. "To being hopelessly obvious."
She hesitated, then clinked her glass to his. "To being done hiding."
And when the cool night breeze swept past them, Ayaka reached out and took his hand again—fingers threading together like the most natural thing in the world.
Because for once, she didn't care who saw.
Because for once, she wasn't afraid.
Because tonight, with him—everything felt like a beginning.
------
The click of the apartment door echoed softly in the stillness of the night.
Ayaka stepped inside first, her heels muffled by the plush carpet, the warmth of the restaurant still lingering on her skin.
Akihiko followed quietly behind, setting his keys down on the tray by the door with a faint clink.
His apartment was dimly lit, just the way she remembered—soft golden light spilling from a single floor lamp near the living room couch.
It bathed the space in a gentle glow, turning shadows into velvet.
The faint scent of cedarwood and clean linen lingered in the air, so familiar and comforting it made her chest tighten.
He loosened the collar of his shirt as he walked over, but his eyes never left her.
"You want some tea?" he asked, voice low, intimate in the quiet.
Ayaka smiled faintly, slipping off her heels. "Only if you make it."
A soft chuckle. "So demanding."
He moved into the kitchen, and Ayaka sat down on the couch, pulling her knees up under her.
Her fingers absentmindedly trailed over the throw pillow on her lap—recognizing it as the same one she once hugged to her chest when she'd spent the night here during a storm.
Moments later, he returned, two mugs in hand.
He handed hers over with a gentle brush of fingers, then settled beside her, close enough that their thighs touched.
She leaned into him instinctively.
He didn't move away.
Instead, his arm draped along the back of the couch behind her, fingers eventually finding their way into her hair—idly brushing strands back, his touch so tender it made her feel like she might unravel.
They sat like that for a while, sipping in silence.
Then, with no warning, he spoke.
"Have you ever thought about getting married?"
Ayaka almost choked on her tea.
She looked up at him, stunned. "What?"
Akihiko tilted his head, watching her reaction like a scientist observing a fascinating result. "Marriage." he repeated, slow and deliberate. "White dress, vows, embarrassing speeches, overpriced catering. You know—forever."
Her heart stammered. "That's... random."
"Is it?" He set his cup down on the coffee table and leaned in slightly. "I was just thinking about it. How everyone seems to rush into it… and how some people spend their whole lives avoiding it."
She swallowed. "And which one are you?"
He gave her a maddening little smirk. "I haven't decided yet. Thought I'd ask someone who writes about love for a living."
Ayaka narrowed her eyes. "You're being annoying on purpose."
He shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe."
She bit her lip, looking away. "I mean… I used to think about it. Like most girls do when they're young. The whole fairytale idea. But now…"
She paused, tracing the rim of her cup. "I don't know. It feels... complicated."
Akihiko hummed. "Because love is complicated?"
"Because people are complicated." she corrected. "And because... marriage isn't always a guarantee of love. It's a contract. And I've had enough contracts for one lifetime."
That earned a slow, quiet laugh from him.
She turned back to him. "Why are you asking me this, anyway?"
His gaze didn't waver.
"Because I wanted to know if you'd run away if I ever asked you seriously."
Ayaka's breath hitched.
"Asked me... what?"
"To marry me."
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
His voice was calm, almost playful—but beneath it was an unmistakable weight.
A seriousness wrapped in his usual teasing tone, like he wanted to gauge how far he could go before she bolted.
"Don't look at me like that." he added softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not proposing. Yet..."
Her heart stuttered at that one syllable.
Yet.
"I just..." he trailed off, eyes flicking down to her lips, then back to her eyes. "I think about it sometimes."
"You never even like photos." She chuckled.
He raised a brow. "I'd endure the photos. And the speeches. Even the tuxedo. If you were the one walking down the aisle."
The room was suddenly too quiet.
Too warm.
Too much.
Ayaka set her tea down quickly and tried to shift away, but Akihiko was faster.
He pulled her closer, effortlessly guiding her until she was tucked against his chest, her knees drawn over his lap, her head resting just beneath his jaw.
She let out a shaky breath.
"You're really full of surprises." she whispered.
He smiled into her hair. "And yet you're still here."
She thumped a hand against his chest lightly. "You can't just ask someone about marriage while cuddling them on your couch after a date."
"Why not?"
"Because it's unfair."
"To you?"
"To my heart."
That silenced him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
His hand slid up and down her arm slowly, soothing, grounding her. Then—
"I think about what it would be like." he said quietly, as if speaking to the air. "Waking up next to you every day. You, stealing all the covers. You, dragging me out to late-night cafes when you're stuck on a plot. Me cooking while you pretend you're helping."
Ayaka's throat closed.
"You'd hate that." she whispered.
"I'd love it." he corrected, his voice barely above a breath. "You'd probably forget your rings on the sink. I'd find your socks everywhere. But I'd still want it."
She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. "Stop."
"Why?"
"Because I can't think straight when you talk like this."
He gently tilted her face up to look at him. "Then don't think."
Their lips brushed, not quite a kiss—just the weight of possibility, the closeness of something real.
"I'm not asking for an answer now." Akihiko murmured. "I just wanted you to know where my heart is."
Ayaka's voice trembled. "It's with me."
"Always." he whispered. "Even before I realized it."
She kissed him then—slow, deep, different from the one in the hospital or at the restaurant.
This one wasn't about proving anything.
It was about feeling everything.
And when she pulled back, breathless, she cupped his cheek and said, "If you ever do ask… don't ask like it's a joke."
His hand covered hers. "I won't."
And in that quiet room, long after the tea had gone cold and the city lights flickered beyond the windows, they stayed tangled up in each other—no more teasing, no more defenses.
Just two people who finally... finally, started imagining forever.