Sunlight broke through the curtains, lazy and golden, spilling across the small apartment like melted honey.
Toshio woke first. For a while he didn't move; he simply lay there, breathing in the quiet rhythm of the morning and the softer rhythm of the woman sleeping beside him. Mina—no, Airi—curled against his shoulder, her hair a tangle of chocolate brown and light, her breath warm against his skin.
He smiled faintly. The world outside might have forgotten her name, but he hadn't.
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "Morning, goddess," he whispered.
Her lips curved. "Mm… mortal. You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
She cracked one eye open, teasing. "Too many divine responsibilities?"
"More like your elbow in my ribs."
Mina laughed softly, the sound half-dreamy. "That's your punishment for stealing the blanket."
"I didn't—"
She tugged the covers tighter around herself and yawned. "You did."
He chuckled, surrendering. "Fine. I'm guilty."
For a moment neither spoke. The morning breeze stirred the curtain, filling the room with the scent of coffee and rain.
Toshio sat up, stretching. "I'll make breakfast."
Mina opened both eyes now, grinning. "Ah, my brave warrior faces the stove again."
"Hey, I'm getting better. Last time I only burned half the toast."
"That's an improvement," she said solemnly. "You may proceed."
He shook his head, smiling as he stood. "You're lucky you're cute."
"Always," she said, curling up under the sheets again.
The kitchen was small—just enough space for two people to bump shoulders and laugh about it. Toshio set water to boil, sliced bread, cracked eggs into a pan. The familiar sizzle filled the air.
Mina padded in wearing his oversized shirt, sleeves hanging past her hands. She leaned against the doorway, watching him.
"You know," she said, "seeing a man cook for me might be my new favorite divine experience."
"Better than heavenly ambrosia?"
"Ambrosia never made my heart skip," she murmured.
He glanced back; their eyes met, and something warm settled in his chest.
"Sit," he said softly. "Breakfast will be ready soon."
She obeyed, sitting at the small table. Her gaze drifted to the feather he'd placed in a jar by the window—the last remnant of her divine form. It shimmered faintly in the light.
"Do you miss it?" Toshio asked, noticing her stare.
"Sometimes," she admitted. "The power, the vastness, the knowledge… it was intoxicating. But it was lonely too."
He placed a plate in front of her—scrambled eggs, toast, coffee. "And now?"
She smiled, picking up her fork. "Now I burn my tongue on hot coffee and it's the most human, wonderful pain I've ever felt."
He laughed. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously in love, maybe."
Toshio froze for half a heartbeat, then sat opposite her, heart fluttering.
Mina's eyes softened. "That scares you?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. I'm just… not used to things being easy."
She reached across the table, took his hand. "Then let's get used to it together."
After breakfast, they wandered through the city. It was Sunday—the streets were calm, dotted with couples, schoolkids, an old man feeding pigeons by the park fountain.
Mina clutched Toshio's arm, eyes wide with curiosity at everything.
"So this is what people do when they're not saving worlds?"
"Apparently," he said. "Coffee, walks, hand-holding. Pretty dangerous stuff."
She giggled. "And if I trip, you'll catch me?"
"I always do."
Her smile faltered for just a second, the memory flickering—the battlefield, the crimson sky, his hand reaching through divine light to pull her back.
But then she shook it away. "Still, I want to learn more about this world."
"What do you want to learn first?"
She thought for a moment. "How to live."
He stopped walking. "I think you already are."
"Then maybe you can teach me how to do it better," she said softly.
Toshio chuckled. "Deal."
They stopped at a street vendor selling taiyaki. Mina's eyes lit up at the smell of warm custard.
"I want that fish thing!"
"It's called taiyaki," Toshio said.
"Whatever. I want it."
He bought two and handed her one. She bit into it immediately, the filling burning her tongue.
"Hot! Hot!" she squeaked, waving her hands.
He burst out laughing. "You said you liked pain, remember?"
She glared at him, cheeks puffed. "Not that kind of pain!"
He offered his water bottle. "Here."
She drank, then sighed dramatically. "I swear, mortal food is out to kill me."
"Maybe it just loves you too much."
Her eyes softened, and for a moment the playful air turned still. "You always know what to say, don't you?"
He shrugged. "Only when it's you."
Mina smiled, small and genuine. "You're going to make me fall for you all over again."
"Good," he said quietly. "That's the plan."
Later that afternoon, they returned home with a small bag of groceries and hearts lighter than they'd been in years. Toshio cooked dinner while Mina hummed a tune she couldn't quite remember.
At one point she asked, "Do you think the gods still watch us?"
"Maybe," Toshio said. "But I think they're tired too."
She nodded. "Let them rest. This time, we'll write our own story."
He looked up. "Together?"
She smiled. "Always."
When they finished eating, Mina curled against him on the couch. Outside, the city lights shimmered like fallen stars. She rested her head on his shoulder.
"You know what's strange?" she murmured. "I used to command galaxies. Now I find happiness in watching laundry spin."
Toshio laughed softly. "That's progress."
"I like this life," she whispered. "I like us."
He looked down at her, eyes warm. "Then let's keep it."
Night deepened. Mina drifted to sleep against him, and for a long time Toshio simply held her, tracing patterns in her hair.
He thought of all the battles, the promises, the sacrifices that had brought them here—to this fragile peace.
When she stirred, half-asleep, she whispered, "If I disappear again, promise you'll find me."
He smiled sadly. "Always."
She smiled back, eyes still closed. "Good… because I don't ever want to forget your name again."
And then she fell asleep completely, breathing steady, serene.
Toshio looked at the moon outside the window—a silver disc, full and bright. Not divine, not cursed. Just beautiful.
He whispered, "The morning after forever, huh? Guess we finally made it."