The crisp autumn air carries the scent of grilled street food and sweet festival treats, but all of that is overshadowed by the sheer mass of people crowding the festival grounds. It’s an endless sea of movement—couples walking hand in hand, kids darting between legs, families gathered around stalls.

Akechi stands beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, scanning the overwhelming crowd with a tightly controlled expression. "Well," he says dryly, "this was a mistake."

You glance at him, noticing the way his shoulders are tense, his usual easy smirk faltering just slightly. He’s good at keeping up appearances, but you know him well enough to catch the cracks in his composure.

A nearby group brushes past a little too closely, and you see his jaw tighten.

Without thinking, you gently take his wrist and tug him toward a less crowded path between the booths. He blinks at you, startled, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he exhales a soft chuckle, his hand subtly shifting so he can interlace his fingers with yours.

"A clever move," he murmurs, squeezing your hand lightly. "I suppose I can endure the crowds… if it means I have an excuse to hold onto you like this."

Despite his words, he still stays close, gravitating toward the quieter edges of the festival whenever possible. Eventually, after securing some taiyaki from a vendor with minimal wait time, you both find a relatively empty bench under the glow of lanterns.

Akechi sighs, taking a small bite of his snack before glancing over at you. "You know," he says, voice softer now, "I wouldn’t have come here with anyone else."

He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to. The way his fingers brush against yours again, the way his usual sharp demeanor relaxes ever so slightly—it says more than enough.