A Wish That You'll Notice

There was something rather extraordinary about ordinary mornings.

At least, that was what Nene Yashiro—now Nene Mitsuba, a name she still practiced writing in the margins of her recipe books when she thought no one was looking—had come to believe. She had once imagined that happiness would announce itself in grand gestures: in promises whispered beneath a starry sky, in flowers delivered without occasion, in the sort of cinematic romance she had spent far too much of her youth dreaming about.

And, in a way, she had gotten those things. She had gotten the person she loved, a wedding ceremony she could scarcely remember without tearing up, and a lifetime that had somehow opened its doors to them both. But happiness, she discovered, was also considerably quieter. It was the sound of rain against their roof. The warmth of freshly laundered sheets. Two pairs of slippers resting beside the entrance, one considerably messier than the other. It was having someone to complain to when the weather was unpleasant, someone to share dinner with, and someone whose presence had become so familiar that even silence felt like a conversation.

Their home reflected much of that sentiment. It was a traditional Japanese-style house, with its wooden interiors, sliding doors, tatami rooms, and a little garden that Nene had taken an unreasonable amount of pride in maintaining. It wasn't particularly large, nor was it extravagant, but it was theirs. Every little corner held something of them: a framed photograph of a sunset, a forgotten book on architectural history, a misplaced hairpin, or one of Sousuke’s camera lenses that Nene had repeatedly asked him to put away.

Nene stood in the kitchen, the morning sunlight catching the silver of her wedding ring as she whisked eggs. She couldn't help it; she paused for a moment, tilting her hand to watch the light dance off the band. A small, giddy sigh escaped her.

"Nene Mitsuba," she whispered to the empty kitchen, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. "Mrs. Mitsuba. Oh, it’s just too romantic!"

She had chosen this life, and every day she felt like the protagonist of a shoujo manga that had finally reached its happy ending. While Sousuke had insisted she could work full-time if she wished, Nene found a profound, grounding joy in being a housewife. She loved the rhythm of it—the tactile satisfaction of kneading dough at the bakery during her part-time shifts, the earthy scent of the garden, and the way the house felt alive when she filled it with the smell of breakfast.

Today’s breakfast was a particularly ambitious affair. She had prepared miso soup with seasonal vegetables, grilled salmon, and a side of Western-style eggs because Sousuke had mentioned a craving for them two days ago.

She moved between the counter and the stove with practiced enthusiasm, humming a melody she’d heard on the radio. With a flourish, she grabbed the ketchup bottle. This was the most important part. On her plate, she drew a standard, beaming smiley face. On Sousuke’s plate, however, her hand slipped—or perhaps, her subconscious took over. The eyes were slanted and jagged, the mouth a wide, slightly menacing grin that looked more like a mischievous spirit than a breakfast food.

"My prince charming will love this...♡ My adorable, grumpy angel...♡ Oh?"

Nene stopped in her tracks, looking down at the plate. The egg stared back at her with a look of pure, unadulterated chaos. It looked exactly like Sousuke when he was plotting a particularly devastating tease about her ankles.

"It’s perfect," she giggled, settling her hands on her hips. "It’s a portrait!"

She checked the clock. It was getting late. Sousuke was a man who appreciated the concept of sleep with a passion that bordered on religious. If she didn’t intervene, he would stay huddled in their futon until the sun was high enough to bake the garden.

Nene wiped her hands on her pink apron—the one with the little ruffles he secretly thought was cute but publicly called 'gaudy'—and walked toward the hallway. She took a deep breath, her voice lifting in a cheerful, sweet trill.

"Sousuke! Darling! Are you awake yet? Or are you in the bath, maybe?"

There was no response. Not even a groan.

Nene walked to their bedroom door and slid it open just a crack. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight, but she could see the lump under the covers. Sousuke was buried so deep that only a few tufts of his pinkish hair were visible.

She stepped inside, her heart doing that familiar little skip it always did when she saw him. Even now, after being married, she found him distractingly handsome. It was unfair, really. He had no right to look that aesthetic while sleeping.

"Sousuke," she said, louder this time, kneeling beside the futon. "Breakfast is getting cold. I made the eggs you liked. And I even gave yours a special face!"

A muffled, grumpy voice emerged from beneath the duvet. "Go away, radish-monster. It’s too early for faces."

Nene pouted, though there was no heat in it. "It’s nearly eight! And don't call me that! I’m your wife, you should be greeting me with a kiss, not insults."

The covers shifted. Slowly, agonizingly, Sousuke peeled them back. He squinted at her, his eyes bleary and his hair a magnificent disaster of bedhead. He sat up, rubbing his face, looking every bit the disgruntled teenager he sometimes still acted like, despite being twenty-two and a professional photographer.

"You’re so loud," he complained, though he didn't move away when Nene leaned in. "Why are you always so high-energy in the morning? It’s unnatural. Are you a battery-operated toy?"

"I’m just happy!" Nene chirped, reaching out to smooth down a stray lock of his hair. "I woke up and realized I was married to the cutest man in the world. Anyone would be energetic after that."

Sousuke paused, his hand dropping from his face. He looked at her, really looked at her, and his expression softened in that way he only ever allowed when they were alone. He let out a sharp, huffed breath that was almost a laugh.

"Well, obviously," he said, the old vanity returning to his voice. "I am exceptionally cute. It’s a burden, really. But you’re not so bad yourself, I guess. For a girl with such thick ankles."

"Sousuke!" Nene cried, swatting his arm. "You promised not to mention them before noon!"

"I made no such promise," he countered, finally crawling out of the futon. He stretched, his shirt riding up slightly, and Nene quickly looked away, her face heating up. No matter how long they were together, he still had the power to make her feel like a blushing schoolgirl.

"Just come eat," she mumbled, heading back to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Sousuke slumped into his chair at the table. He stared down at his plate, his eyes fixing on the sinister ketchup face staring back at him.

"What is this?" he asked, pointing a chopstick at the egg. "Is this a threat? Are you trying to tell me something, Nene?"

Nene sat across from him, beaming. "It’s you! See? It has your charming personality."

Sousuke looked from the egg to Nene, then back to the egg. "I don't look like a psychopathic yolk. I’m way more refined than this." He picked up the ketchup bottle and added two small dots above the eyes. "There. Now it’s me. It has my superior intellect."

Nene watched him eat, a feeling of profound contentment settling over her. She loved these moments. She loved the way he complained about the heat of the tea but drank it all anyway. She loved the way he carefully picked out the pieces of ginger he didn't like and put them on the edge of the plate, like a child.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Nene hopped up and grabbed her camera from the sideboard—the one Sousuke had bought her for her birthday. "I want to take a picture of us. For the album."

Sousuke groaned, his mouth full of rice. "Again? We took one yesterday."

"Yesterday was yesterday! Today is a new day of our life together," Nene insisted, hovering near him. "Come on, Sousuke. Just one. For the memories."

He sighed, but he didn't actually protest when she leaned in close to him, framing them both in the viewfinder. He even tilted his head toward hers, his shoulder brushing against hers.

"Fine," he muttered. "But make sure you get my good side. Which is all of them, obviously."

Click.

Nene looked at the digital screen. It was a perfect shot—Sousuke looking slightly bored but with a hint of a smirk, and Nene with a smile so wide it made her eyes crinkle.

"We look like such a happy couple," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I want to fill a hundred albums like this. And then, when we’re old and gray, we can sit on the porch and look through them all."

Sousuke reached out, his fingers grazing the back of her hand. "A hundred albums? That’s a lot of storage space, Nene. We’d need a bigger house."

"Then we'll get one!" she said, turning to him with stars in her eyes. "A big house with a yard for... for everyone to play in."

Sousuke’s hand stilled. He knew that look. He knew the way her voice climbed a half-octave when she was thinking about the future—the future future. The one with small feet running on the tatami and little voices calling them 'Mama' and 'Papa.'

He cleared his throat, looking back at his breakfast. "A yard, huh? I guess I’d have to take pictures of them, too. So they know how much cuter I was than them."

Nene’s heart soared. It wasn't a 'no.' It was Sousuke’s way of saying 'maybe,' or even 'I’ve thought about it, too.'

"They’d have your eyes," Nene said softly, leaning her chin on her hand. "And maybe my hair. Or your hair! Can you imagine a little girl with your pink hair and my hair accessories? She’d be the most beautiful girl in the world."

Sousuke felt a strange, tight sensation in his chest. The idea of a child—a real, living person that was half him and half Nene—was terrifying. He hadn't exactly had a roadmap for a functional family growing up. He worried, sometimes, in the quiet dark of the night, if he even knew how to be a father. Would he be too selfish? Too lazy?

But then he looked at Nene. He looked at the way she put ketchup faces on eggs just to make him smile. He looked at the way she tended to the flowers in the garden as if they were precious treasures. If anyone could teach him how to love something that much, it was her.

"She’d be a brat," Sousuke said, though his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "Just like you. Always demanding attention."

"I do not demand attention!"

"You literally just forced me to take a photo while I was chewing salmon."

Nene laughed, a bright, melodic sound that filled the kitchen. "Well, you gave it to me, didn't you?"

Sousuke finished his meal and stood up, stretching his arms over his head. He walked around the table, stopping behind Nene’s chair. For a moment, he didn't do anything, just stood there in the quiet warmth of their home. Then, he leaned down and pressed a quick, firm kiss to the top of her head.

"The breakfast was okay," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur near her ear. "I guess I’ll keep you around for another day."

Nene turned in her seat, grabbing the hem of his shirt. "Just okay? I worked so hard on the psychopathic egg!"

Sousuke smirked, reaching down to tweak her nose. "It was fine. But if you want a real review, you’ll have to give me a proper goodbye kiss before I head to the studio."

Nene stood up instantly, her face glowing. "Really? You’re not going to call it 'gross'?"

"I might," he said, pulling her closer by the waist. "But that doesn't mean I don't want it."

He was taller than her—well over a centimeter, as he liked to remind her—and Nene had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him. When she did, he met her halfway, his hands resting securely on the small of her back. It wasn't a grand, cinematic kiss; it tasted like tea and breakfast and the mundane reality of a Tuesday morning.

But to Nene, it was everything.

When they pulled apart, Sousuke lingered for a second, his forehead resting against hers. "I’m taking the camera to the old shrine district today. The light should be good for some architectural shots."

"Be careful," Nene said, smoothing the collar of his jacket. "And don't forget to eat lunch! I packed you a bento. It’s in the blue bag."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." He turned to leave, grabbing his gear from the entryway. But at the door, he paused, looking back at the house—at the polished wood, the sunlight, and his wife standing there in her pink apron.

"Hey, Nene," he called out.

"Yes?"

"The kid," he said, looking at his boots. "If we have one... let's make sure they take after me in the looks department. I don't want them having those radish legs."

He didn't wait for her to throw a slipper at him. He slipped out the door with a smirk, the sound of his laughter echoing in the small garden.

Nene stood in the hallway, clutching her hands to her chest. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. He had said if we have one. He had used the word we.

"Oh, he’s so mean!" she squealed to the empty house, a huge smile breaking across her face. "But he’s so wonderful! I have to write this down in my diary immediately."

She hurried back to the kitchen, passing the framed wedding photo on the wall. In the picture, they were both younger, looking slightly overwhelmed by the ceremony, but holding hands so tightly their knuckles were white.

Nene looked at the photograph, then at the two empty plates on the table, and finally out at the garden she had planted with her own two hands.

It wasn't a fairytale. There were no curses to break, no spirits to appease, and no grand destinies to fulfill. It was just a house, a husband, and a breakfast with a ketchup face.

And as Nene began to clear the table, humming that same soft melody, she decided that this—this ordinary, quiet, beautiful life—was the greatest adventure she had ever been on.