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It wasn't that Gen was unhappy with her life. Far from it, she was more than content with everything she had. Setting aside her growing fame and success, she was already living the kind of life most people only dreamed of.
She had a steady career as both a magician and a published author, friends she could meet for brunch and trade gossip with on lazy weekends, and a comfortable penthouse she shared with her loving wife.
By all accounts, Gen would have said her life was nothing short of whimsically wonderful.
But every now and then, she would catch herself slipping.
It happened in the middle of performances more often than she'd like to admit. Her gaze would drift across the sea of faces until it landed on a single pair of wide, curious eyes—almost always a child's.
They would gasp at the simplest tricks: a coin appearing from behind an ear, a flower blooming from an empty hand, a ribbon turning into a dove. The sort of illusions adults dismissed with polite applause or knowing smiles were, to them, nothing short of miraculous. Every little sound of amazement, every delighted laugh, every grin stretched impossibly wide wrapped around her heart like a blanket and she felt warm.
Magic, she had always believed, was a simple thing.
Not in the way it was performed, but in what it was meant to do.
To inspire wonder. To invite curiosity. To make the impossible feel real, if only for a heartbeat.
Children understood that instinctively. They never cared how the trick worked. They simply let themselves believe, and in doing so reminded her why she'd fallen in love with magic in the first place.
Because once upon a time, she'd been the child staring up at the stage with stars in her eyes, convinced that anything was possible.
_____
Maybe it was the concern, or maybe it was because it was that time of the month again, but on the day Ruri and Chrome’s son had been born, small and wailing, she had felt something inside her shift.
She cradled the newborn in her arms, rocking him with absent-minded little coos. He was, objectively speaking, a rather ugly little thing. Most newborns were after their dramatic introduction to the world. Wrinkled, squished, and loudly protesting their existence.
It didn't matter.
He was alive.
And somehow, that alone made him impossibly precious.
Of course, this could be traced back to that theory of “maternal instinct” that is presumed only women possess that makes them want to coddle and love children the moment they set sight on them.
But she was a mentalist, and therefore knows that it’s a deeply misogynistic rooted idealism made to degrade women by making them appear more motherly and docile, Much of what people labeled as "maternal instinct" could be explained by science, hormones, and evolutionary psychology—A pre-programed biological response held by both parties to protect and help vulnerable infants survive.
So maybe it is that time of the month.
Or so she thought.
Because once her wife, Senkuu took her turn with Rinsei. It simply pulled at her heart strings.
Gen watched as her wife accepted the baby with surprising care, one arm supporting his tiny body while the other instinctively shielded his head. The harsh white lights of the infirmary softened around her, catching in strands of pale hair until she looked almost unreal.
Rinsei settled against her as though he'd decided that was the perfect moment to shut up.
Right then and there was the single moment that made her think of the same thought over and over again.
‘Senkuu would look good as a mom.’
_____
Gen was happy with her life. Satisfied and content.
But nothing could ever hold her back from the one thing she thought would finally make this little life of hers perfect.
She wanted a baby.
And she wanted one so bad.
_____
"Senkuu-chan~"
It was a little past nine when Gen decided it was finally time to broach the subject.
Naturally, she chose the worst possible way to do it.
She slipped into the laboratory without knocking—blatantly ignoring the house rule that no one entered while experiments were underway unless invited. In her defense, she had been too distracted by thoughts of surprising her wife.
The plan had been simple.
Sneak up behind Senkuu.
Wrap her arms around that annoyingly slender waist.
Rest her chin in the crook where her shoulder met her neck.
Steal a long breath of the rain-kissed floral scent lingering in her hair, courtesy of whatever shampoo she'd started using lately.
Simple.
Being the taller partner—even if it was only by a couple of inches—came with privileges Gen intended to exploit whenever possible. Holding Senkuu from behind fit together with almost embarrassing perfection, allowing her to bask in her warmth and savor the inevitable sigh of long-suffering tolerance.
Not that she minded when the roles were reversed.
Quite the opposite.
She adored it whenever Senkuu casually manhandled her, as if moving Gen around the apartment required no more effort than rearranging furniture. She'd happily melt into the scientist's touch every single time.
Still.
Gen liked to take charge every once in a while, and Senkuu was just as eager.
She counted for three seconds before making herself known, once her hands held her waist she felt the other jolt and the sound of multiple crackling explosions.
“Oh—!”
Gen backed up with a startled yelp failing to pull Senkuu back with her. The multiple dark spots on the surface of the glass on Senkuu's bench burst with a startling snap, scattering brittle fragments across the work surface. A violet cloud bloomed upward from the samples, curling through the air as the unmistakable smell of iodine followed.
Once the popping stopped, the smoke lingered and Senkuu made quick work of pulling her outside of the lab. She barely even had time to process before she spoke with a slightly irritated tone.
“This was one of the worst times you could’ve done this, mentalist. I guess your little romantic gestures also count as an uncontrolled variable.” Senkuu didn’t look her in the eye and instead cocked her hip to one side, letting one hand rest against it and the other picking at the dry skin of her ear as she shut her eyes and looked down. An unintentional habit that she did when she was trying to hold back from saying something she might regret.
The two strands of her bangs falling over her flawless features. The rest of her hair tied in a low ponytail that kept it away from the rest of her equipment.
‘Ah’ she started. It seems she had failed to regard the safety parameters that came with marrying a borderline mad scientist.
She smiled albeit nervously, and tucked her hands into her purple overcoat and leaned down to place a kiss on her right cheek. Then the other. Then two more just in case.
Once she heard the scientist mumble and let out a frustrated sigh, Gen grinned.
"What were you even doing in there, my love?"
Gen had long since mastered Ishigami 101 with flying colors.
One of its earliest lessons was that Senkuu was hopelessly susceptible to scientific questions whenever she was annoyed. Give her something to explain, and the irritation would quietly dissolve beneath the sheer joy of sharing what she knew.
It worked almost every time.
"Well, I was initially trying to recreate a miniature rocket propellant design Xeno drafted to study its structural integrity before he finalized the proposal, but then..."
Gen nodded with all the confidence of someone who understood exactly none of that.
She'd tried, really she had. But once Senkuu wandered into discussions about molecular structures, bond energies, and reaction pathways, the words developed a habit of entering one ear and politely exiting through the other. She caught the occasional phrase"storage," "materials," "propellant" but the rest blurred into wonderful static.
Senkuu lifted two fingers, instinctively slipping into what she presumed was the final string of words.
"Hence the nitrogen triiodide." She gestured toward the closed laboratory door. "It's one of the most mechanically sensitive compounds known. Even the slightest disturbance, a touch, vibration, or change in pressure is enough to break it apart."
She tapped her temple.
"If I can understand precisely why certain molecular bonds fail under almost no stimulus, I can design energetic materials that are powerful when they're supposed to be... without becoming accidental explosives the rest of the time."
"...Ah."
Gen blinked once.
Then twice.
"...I understood about thirty percent of that."
"You understood enough."
"I understood that I almost blew up my wife."
"You startled your wife," Senkuu corrected flatly. "The chemistry did the rest. Besides, we made no contact with the compound, the reason it blew up was because I dropped my data sheets and it made contact with it."
She paused for a brief moment and stared back at the door, “I’ll tell Xeno if he can postpone the submission until tomorrow. It would take a while for the vapors to fully disburse, considering of course that the material is simply commercial and no has ever tried to count how much time it needs to exit a fully ventilated lab–”
“Senkuu-chan–”
_____
Clearly she had a problem with timing. No. Scratch that Senkuu was something otally-tay alien to her vast knowledge of social cues.
Her first attempt at approaching her with the concept of a child resulted in a continuous string of mini explosions inside her lab.
Fortunately, Asagiri Gen was nothing if not adaptable.
She abandoned the element of surprise entirely. Attempt number two would require strategy.
Observation came first. She hummed in amusement, Senkuu would be so proud of her for acting all serious~
Over the next few days, she found herself paying closer attention whenever children wandered into Senkuu's orbit. It wasn't difficult. Sometimes she’d take on a tour guide job in her favorite science museum.
(“You’d do amazingly as a tour guide, Senkuu-chan!”
“If this is another one of your attempts to make me socialize outside our friend group, I’ll pass.”
“You’re taking the job.”
“You can’t force me to do things, Gen. I socialize enough and interacting with grubby handed children or moody teenagers is inefficient.”
“You took me out on a date here and proceeded to explain every exhibit to me with terrifyingly accurate information. You’ll do wonders, love.”)
With it came curious little humans that held hands to their buddies with yellow caps adorning their heads. Giggling and starry eyed.
Senkuu never shooed them away.
If anything, she answered every single question with the same matter-of-fact patience she reserved for anyone genuinely willing to learn.
"Why's the sky blue?"
"Because air scatters shorter wavelengths of sunlight more than longer ones."
"Why does soap make bubbles?"
"Surface tension."
"Can I touch that?"
"No. Unless you're trying to discover what electrocution feels like."
"...Cool!"
"It really isn't."
Gen watched from across the group, lips curled into an amused smile.
Senkuu's bedside manner remained abysmal. She wasn't particularly gentle, nor did she soften her words or exaggerate her expressions for the sake of children.
And yet...
They adored her.
Perhaps it was because Senkuu never talked down to them. She answered their questions as though they deserved real answers, never replacing science with childish simplifications unless she absolutely had to.
She treated them like people. Tiny, sticky-fingered people with questionable judgment. Senkuu never really ceased to amaze her. It reminded Gen of the reason why she fell in love with her in the first place.
The image of Senkuu cradling Rinsei resurfaced without permission, followed by that same persistent thought she'd been trying very hard to ignore.
Gen groaned quietly into her folded arms.
"...Get it together, Gen."
Because before she could even begin worrying about names, schools, or tiny lab goggles, and a mini version of her lover, there remained one rather significant obstacle.
She actually had to ask Senkuu how she felt about having children.
_____
Their impromptu date had been exactly that—impromptu. No reservations. No planning.
Just Senkuu finally surfacing from the laboratory before midnight and Gen immediately declaring that they were leaving the apartment before science claimed another evening.
Twenty minutes later, they found themselves tucked into a cozy neighborhood ramen shop a few blocks from home.
The place was modest, warmed by amber lanterns and the comforting aroma of simmering broth. The dinner rush had thinned, leaving only a handful of late-night patrons scattered throughout the restaurant.
Gen had dressed for the occasion, even if it had come together in less than five minutes. A cream-colored knit sweater disappeared beneath a long camel coat, paired with a pleated black skirt that brushed just below her knees and ankle boots. Simple and comfortable.
Across from her sat the complete opposite. Senkuu hadn't changed at all. Dark slacks. A charcoal shirt tucked neatly beneath her familiar black belt with its gold buckle.
And, naturally, the white lab coat she'd insisted on bringing because, "You never know when you'll need pockets."
Gen had stopped questioning it years ago. She thinks it’s because her pride as a scientist always came first. But she did love a woman in uniform so she’s not complaining.
"You know," she mused between sips of her cola, "I think you're physically incapable of dressing casually."
"I am dressed casually."
"You wore a lab coat to a date."
"It has pockets."
"Right..."
Senkuu gave a noncommittal hum before returning to her bowl.
Silence settled between them, Gen had come to appreciate these little slips of comfortable presence that only came from mutual understanding and basked in the soft and lived in feeling.
Gen watched steam curl from her noodles while Senkuu absentmindedly stirred her broth.
Then she noticed it. Senkuu wasn't looking at her. Her crimson eyes had drifted somewhere over Gen's shoulder. At first she was slightly offended, because she was right there, who in their right mind refused to gawk at her?
Curious, Gen turned just enough to follow her gaze.
A family occupied the booth behind them.
A little girl—no older than four—was giggling uncontrollably as her father pretended to steal slices of narutomaki from her bowl. Each time he reached for it, she squealed, shielding her ramen with both tiny hands while her mother laughed into her drink.
The child's laughter rang through the shop like little bells.
She looked back and saw Senkuu still staring.
"Senkuu-chan?"
"Hm?"
Gen rested her cheek against her palm, smiling at her wife.
"Why are you looking at that little family back there?"
"Oh, that?" Senkuu glanced over once more before returning to her bowl. "Nothing, really. It just reminded me of when Byakuya used to take me out to places like this."
Gen's lips curved into something softer.
"I should've guessed."
Byakuya was Senkuu’s version of haunting the narrative. Small things would always lead back to those nagging memories she had with her father.
Gen wishes she’d have met him.
"He'd always insist on ordering way more than either of us could finish." Senkuu let out a quiet breath that was close to a laugh. "Then he'd pretend he wasn't the one who ordered it and tell me to 'eat while I'm still growing.'"
"...Did it work?"
"No."
"I don't know. I think you gained, what..." Gen held her fingers an inch apart. "At least this much."
"I'll have you know those are scientifically measurable centimeters."
"They're adorable centimeters."
"They're negligible centimeters."
Gen chuckled, watching as Senkuu reached for another sip of tea.
"So..." she began carefully, ‘now or never, Gen’ twirling her chopsticks between her fingers. "Seeing them didn't make you think about... I don't know... having a family of your own?"
Senkuu raised an eyebrow.
"A family?"
"You know..."
Gen gestured vaguely toward the booth behind her. "Something like that."
Senkuu followed the motion with her eyes before looking back at Gen.
"I already have one."
The answer came so quickly that Gen blinked.
"Byakuya."
A pause.
"Our friends, Yuzuriha and Taiju."
Another.
"You."
The last word was spoken with such casual certainty that Gen nearly forgot what she'd been trying to ask in the first place. Heat climbed into her cheeks.
"...You can't just say things like that so casually."
"I just did."
"Exactly!"
Senkuu tilted her head, watching her try and lose the tint of red blooming against her cheeks.
"Were you trying to ask something else?" Gen looked back and tried to play it off.
"...Maybe."
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're trying to steer the conversation somewhere without making it obvious."
Gen sighed dramatically.
"I hate that you're getting better at reading me."
Senkuu grinned and stared at her figure, as if gesturing that she was the reason "I've had years of practice."
She set her chopsticks down, folding her hands on the table.
"So?"
Gen drew a slow breath.
"...Have you ever thought about having children?"
For the first time that evening, Senkuu didn't answer right away.
_____
The ride home was quiet.
Gen found herself gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than she needed to, only realizing it when the leather creaked beneath her fingers.
It was hard to focus on the road when your mind ran miles without your permission. They circled the same conversation over and over, replaying every pause, every glance, every word with the meticulousness of a detective reviewing evidence. It was ironic, really. She made a living reading people, dissecting body language, microexpressions, and hidden intentions, yet when it came to the woman sitting beside her, all those years of experience felt frustratingly inadequate. Senkuu was an enigma wrapped in scientific certainty, someone who never reacted the way anyone else would.
At a stoplight, Gen stole another glance toward the passenger seat.
Senkuu was still looking out the window.
The passing streetlights washed over her features in fleeting bands of gold and white before disappearing into darkness again. Her elbow rested against the door while her chin leaned lightly against her knuckles, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the rain-speckled glass. She didn't look upset. There wasn't even the slightest crease between her brows. If anything, she looked exactly the same as always, calm and unreadable, which somehow made Gen worry even more.
Maybe I came on a little too strong.
The thought had been nagging at her since they'd left the ramen shop, refusing to loosen its grip no matter how many times she tried to reason with herself.
She shouldn't have asked then.
Or perhaps she shouldn't have asked at all.
("...Have you ever thought about having children?"
“I–”
It was 1 minute before Gen decided to speak up.
“Senkuu?”
“I don’t know.”)
Senkuu had just begun talking about Byakuya. Those moments were rare enough on their own. She didn't often linger on memories, but when she did, Gen knew better than to interrupt. Byakuya wasn't a painful subject, not anymore, but he was a deeply personal one. Every story carried equal parts warmth and longing, the quiet ache of missing someone whose absence had long since become part of everyday life.
And then she'd gone and asked about children. Gen let out a nearly inaudible sigh.
She rested her forehead briefly against the steering wheel while waiting for the traffic light to change, only lifting it again when the car behind them gave a rude honk.
Her question hadn't been meant to corner Senkuu. It wasn't even about getting an answer she wanted to hear.
Somewhere along the way, she had simply... started imagining things. Big wondrous eyes that gleamed under his magic. Tiny hands wrapped around oversized safety goggles. A child with unruly hair asking Senkuu impossible questions before breakfast. The scientist answering every single one with complete sincerity while Gen watched from the sidelines wondering how she'd somehow married the most unintentionally gentle woman she'd ever known.
The images had appeared so naturally that she'd forgotten they existed only in her own head.
There was every possibility Senkuu had never pictured that future. Worse, there was every possibility she had thought about it once and decided it wasn't for her.
Gen swallowed.
If Senkuu didn't want children, then that was the end of it.
Gen loved her far too much to resent her for answering honestly.
_____
Once they pulled into the parking garage, neither of them spoke.
The elevator ride passed in silence, save for the quiet hum of machinery carrying them to the top floor. Gen kept sneaking glances at Senkuu, but the scientist's expression remained distant, her eyes unfocused as though she were still somewhere back at the ramen shop.
Their nightly routine unfolded almost mechanically. They showered separately, changed into comfortable clothes, brushed their teeth side by side without exchanging more than a glance. Even then, Gen couldn't shake the feeling that Senkuu was elsewhere entirely, her mind buried beneath layers of calculations only she could understand.
By the time they slipped beneath the covers, the apartment had gone completely still.
Gen settled onto her side as usual, but Senkuu remained sitting against the headboard with one knee drawn up, staring blankly toward the darkened window. She wasn't working through equations—that much Gen could tell. Whenever Senkuu solved scientific problems, her eyes sharpened with excitement. Tonight, they looked... hazy.
She was thinking.
About what, Gen didn't know.
Unable to bear the distance any longer, she scooted closer and wrapped both arms around Senkuu's waist, resting her cheek against her tummy.
"...I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have asked you something like that out of nowhere."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Senkuu let out the faintest puff of a laugh.
It was soft enough that Gen almost missed it.
A warm hand disappeared into her long, two-toned hair, fingers lazily combing through the strands before coming to rest against the back of her head.
"Don't apologize. It's my fault," Senkuu continued quietly. "I wasn't exactly... responsive. The question caught me off guard, that’s all."
"It still wasn't fair of me," Gen mumbled, tightening her hold. "You were talking about Byakuya, and I just..." She buried her face against Senkuu's shirt with an embarrassed groan. "...I completely changed the subject."
Another amused exhale escaped Senkuu.
"Don't be like that."
She threaded her fingers through Gen's hair once more, absentmindedly smoothing it back behind her ear. The familiar gesture was enough to make Gen melt further into the embrace. She let out an apologetic whine and nuzzled closer.
"I have been thinking, though."
Gen stilled.
She tilted her head just enough to meet Senkuu's eyes.
The scientist wasn't looking away anymore.
"I've never really pictured myself having kids," she admitted. "Not because I didn't want them... it just never crossed my mind. There were always more immediate things to worry about."
She paused and so did the hand that carded on her head, choosing her next words with unusual care.
"But after today..."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"I’m willing to find out if I really do."