Would Your Lips Touch Mine Tonight?

Nagisa Shiota was a man of small, deliberate movements. As he stood at the front of his classroom, the late afternoon sun casting long, amber slats across the linoleum floor, he moved his chalk with a precision that bordered on the surgical. He wasn't just writing a math equation; he was mapping out a path for thirty-two restless minds to follow.

"Midget-sensei," a voice drawled from the back row.

Nagisa didn't flinch. He didn't even stop writing. The nickname was a badge of honor now, a sign that the students felt comfortable enough to test the boundaries. It was a far cry from the first week of the semester, when that same student, a boy named Ryuji with a chip on his shoulder the size of a textbook, had looked at Nagisa with genuine contempt.

"Yes, Ryuji-kun?" Nagisa asked, his voice as smooth and calm as a forest pond. He turned around, dusting the chalk from his fingers.

"Are you sure you're strong enough to teach us?" Ryuji leaned back, his chair creaking precariously. A few students snickered, while others—the ones who had already seen the 'glint' in Nagisa’s eyes during the last physical education period—quietly moved their desks a few inches away from the blast zone.

Nagisa tilted his head, a faint, pleasant smile touching his lips. It was a look that would have sent a cold shiver down the spine of anyone from the old Class 3-E. "Strong enough for what, exactly?"

Ryuji hesitated, his bravado flickering like a dying candle. "You know. To control us. You look like... well, like you’d blow away in a stiff breeze."

Nagisa’s smile widened just a fraction. He stepped away from the chalkboard, walking toward the middle of the room. He didn't puff out his chest or raise his voice. He simply occupied the space with an effortless, terrifyingly focused presence. "Control is a loud word, Ryuji-kun. I prefer 'guidance.' But if you're worried about my strength, perhaps we should settle it. If you can finish this problem set before the bell rings, I'll admit I'm too weak to keep up with you. If not..."

Nagisa leaned over the boy’s desk, his blue eyes locking onto Ryuji’s. For a split second, the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Ryuji saw not a small man in a pastel vest, but a predator who had already calculated the exact number of steps it would take to neutralize him.

"...then you owe me three pages of extra credit on the history of the Meiji Restoration," Nagisa finished, his voice returning to its usual, sweet lilt.

Ryuji swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the silence. "Right. Yeah. Got it, Sensei."

The bell rang twenty minutes later. As the students filed out, Ryuji handed over a completed, albeit shaky, problem set. Nagisa nodded in approval.

"I've finally tamed them," Nagisa remarked to his colleague, Ms. Hiyori, as they walked toward the faculty room.

Ms. Hiyori stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. "Nagisa-kun... you can't say it like that."

"Why?" he asked, blinking innocently.

"Y-you make it sound like they were animals! Like you’re a lion tamer or something!"

Nagisa hummed thoughtfully, staring out the window at the school gates. "Maybe. But even lions need to know where the boundaries are to feel safe. It’s for their own good."

He liked this life. He liked the lack of gunpowder in the air. He liked that his greatest challenge was a teenager’s ego rather than a government-mandated assassination. After the chaos of his youth—the manipulation of his mother, the burden of being a 'prodigy' in the art of killing, and the heartbreaking loss of Koro-sensei—Nagisa craved the mundane. He wanted a home that smelled of tea and laundry detergent, not ozone and sweat.

Later that evening, while sipping a lukewarm coffee in the breakroom, Ms. Hiyori turned the conversation toward the personal. "So, Nagisa-kun, you're twenty-four now. Any plans for the future? A girlfriend? Marriage?"

Nagisa didn't hesitate. "Yeah... I do want to get married. To a person who is as willing to lean on me as I am."

Ms. Hiyori blinked, surprised by the lack of bashfulness. "Really? That’s a very simple wish."

"I'd like a family," Nagisa continued, his gaze softening as he looked into the dark liquid of his cup. "A daughter or a son, I'd love either of them. I think it’d be nice... I want to see if my heart can open up for someone. I’d like to make someone happy. Surely, their smile would mean the world to me."

He wasn't looking for a specific gender or a specific mold. He just wanted a partner—a soul to share the silence with. He had tried dating, even briefly reconnecting with Karma, but the timing had been wrong. Karma was busy tearing down and rebuilding the Ministry of Defense, his life a whirlwind of sharp suits and sharper tongues. Nagisa needed someone who moved at a different tempo. Someone who felt like home.

---

Across the city, the atmosphere was significantly louder. Pub Azusa was in the middle of its pre-dinner rush. The clinking of glasses, the sizzle of the grill, and the boisterous laughter of regulars created a symphony of domestic chaos.

"Twelve minutes, Hotaru! You have twelve minutes to eat before the party of six arrives!" Seeker yelled from behind the bar, though his eyes were kind.

Hotaru Hasumi pouted, her blue pigtails bouncing as she looked at the clock. "Twelve? Aren't you all being strict without Mama around?"

"Thirteen, if Azusa runs late," Seeker countered with a wink.

Hotaru laughed, a bright, melodic sound that seemed to make the pub feel five degrees warmer. "I do... it's quite alright, though! And I am your angel, Seeker! Always!"

She tucked into her meal—a small portion of potato fries and a slice of apple pie—with practiced efficiency. At twenty-one, Hotaru was a whirlwind of affection and competence. She had grown up in this pub, helping her mother, Azusa, through years of illness and recovery. She remembered the yellow octopus who had saved them, and she remembered the boy he had mentioned—the one who looked so much like her.

She had met Nagisa Shiota three years ago. It had been a brief series of encounters, a few dinners at the pub where the air between them had felt strangely electric, yet perfectly still. They shared the same blue hair, the same observant eyes, and a similar weight of history. But while Nagisa had the stillness of a deep lake, Hotaru was a mountain stream—bubbly, energetic, and constantly moving forward.

She had fallen for him then. Not in a crashing, dramatic way, but in the way a flower turns toward the sun. She loved his voice—that calm, breathy tenor. She loved how he noticed the smallest details, like the way she rearranged the flowers on the tables or the specific way she brewed her tea.

But he had been focused on his teaching credentials, and she had been focused on the pub. They had drifted into the digital space of group chats and occasional calls. She stayed away because she respected his peace. She didn't want to be a ghost from his past; she wanted to be a permanent fixture in his future.

"Hotaru?"

She looked up to see her mother, Azusa, entering the pub with bags of fresh groceries.

"Mama! You're home!" Hotaru was on her feet instantly, nearly knocking over her chair to wrap her mother in a crushing hug. The ribbons in her hair swayed like butterfly wings.

Azusa chuckled, holding her daughter close. "I'm home, Hotaru. I love you so much."

"I love you too! I love you, I love you, I love you!" Hotaru squeezed tighter, her heart overflowing. This was her love language—service, touch, and an unapologetic abundance of words.

Azusa pulled back, glancing at the table. "You haven't eaten much of your food, dear."

"Oh," Hotaru blushed, her face turning a shade of pink that matched the sunset. "Sorry! So sorry! I was simply... lost in my thoughts for a moment."

"Thinking about something?" Azusa asked, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"Nothing important," Hotaru lied, though her smile gave her away.

Azusa reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She had been in contact with some of the old Class 3-E members. She knew Nagisa was back in the area for a teaching seminar. She knew her daughter had been pining in silence, reading her romance novels and sighing over "effortlessly handsome" protagonists who bore a striking resemblance to a certain blue-haired teacher.

"Well," Azusa said, tapping away at her screen. "I think it’s time for a little 'unimportant' distraction."

---

Nagisa was in his small apartment, the smell of simmering miso filling the air, when his phone buzzed on the counter. He wiped his hands on his apron—a pale yellow one, a gift from Kayano—and picked it up.

His heart gave a strange, rhythmic thump when he saw the sender.

Azusa: "Good evening, Nagisa. We hope teaching the kids didn't give you too much trouble today."

A second later, a message from the same account appeared, clearly written by a different hand.

Hotaru: "Good evening, good evening! 💙"

Nagisa felt a smile tug at his lips. He could almost hear her voice—that enthusiastic, melodic chirp. He remembered the last time he’d seen her, three years ago. She had been a bit shorter then, her eyes wide with curiosity as she asked him about his students. He had found her presence incredibly grounding. She didn't look at him and see a 'snake' or an assassin. She saw him.

Azusa: "We reach out to you today with an invitation to Pub Azusa, where you'll find us. Hotaru really wants to offer you as many menu specials as you want without payment, and hopes to talk to you again. And I? Well, I will make sure you two have a happy little time. ♡"

Nagisa stared at the screen. The invitation was clear, and the intent behind Azusa’s "happy little time" was even clearer. He thought about his conversation with Ms. Hiyori earlier. About wanting a family. About wanting to see if his heart could open up.

He thought of Hotaru—her warmth, her stubborn kindness, the way she looked in her apron, and the way she had once called his name with such genuine affection that it had made his breath hitch.

He didn't need to think twice.

"I'll be there," he whispered to the empty kitchen. "Hopefully, I won't be distracted by late assignments. Hello, Azusa! Hello, Hotaru. ♡"

He hit send and felt a flutter of anticipation that he hadn't felt in years. It wasn't the adrenaline of a mission; it was the nervous, sweet hum of a new beginning.

---

At the pub, Hotaru’s phone chimed. She scrambled to grab it, nearly tripping over a stool. When she read the message, she let out a small, muffled squeak of joy, pressing the phone to her chest.

"He's coming," she whispered. "He's actually coming."

She looked at her reflection in the polished surface of a napkin dispenser. She smoothed her hair, checked her ribbons, and took a deep breath. She thought about the romance novels she loved—the ones where the hero finally realizes what’s been in front of him all along.

She didn't know if Nagisa felt the same way yet. She didn't know if he was ready for the kind of "happily ever after" she dreamed about. But as she looked at the door, waiting for a familiar head of blue hair to appear, she felt a profound sense of certainty.

"Effortlessly handsome... I can't wait," she murmured, resting her chin on her hands for just a second before the door creaked open.

"Angel?" Seeker called out, gesturing to a new customer. "Ready?"

Hotaru stood up straight, her eyes sparkling with a renewed fire. The routine was the same, the pub was the same, but tonight, everything felt different.

"Yeah," she said, her voice ringing out with confidence. "I am now."

She straightened her apron, checked the kitchen for the marinated salad Nagisa liked, and waited. The ordinary life Nagisa cherished and the affectionate world Hotaru built were about to collide, and for the first time in a long time, the future looked even better than the peace of the present.