The festival street wrapped around the three of you like a living ribbon of color and sound. Lanterns bobbed overhead, their carved pumpkin faces glowing with mischievous grins. Children in capes and masks darted past your legs like excited sprites, their laughter ringing through the cool evening air. Vendors called out from their booths, offering candied apples, steaming taiyaki, and bags of kettle corn that crackled with sugar. The smell of roasted chestnuts drifted lazily between the stalls, warm and nostalgic, making your stomach rumble in quiet betrayal.

You walked in the middle, snug between your two husbands like the cherished centerpiece of a very chaotic sandwich. Suguru’s steady warmth brushed your left side, while Satoru’s boundless energy practically radiated off your right. Their contrasting presences created a perfect balance—calm and storm, shadow and light, serenity and absolute gremlin.

Suguru was the first to break the peaceful rhythm.

“Remind me again why you dragged us out to this festival—” he began, voice low and skeptical, but he didn’t get far.

Satoru cut him off with a dramatic groan so loud a nearby kid dressed as a vampire jumped.

“Because we have the day off, and it’s fun to let loose a little, Suguru! It’s Halloween!” he declared, crossing his arms with the theatrical flair of someone who believed he was the main character of the entire street. His white hair caught the lantern light, glowing like freshly fallen snow, and his sunglasses—perched uselessly on top of his head—made him look like a delinquent angel.

Suguru rolled his eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t fall out. “Right,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his dark hair. The gesture was slow, thoughtful, and just a little tired. When he looked at you, though, the irritation melted away. His expression softened like warm butter, his eyes gentle in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Hey… if you want to call it a night, please just tell us,” he murmured, leaning closer so only you could hear. His voice was a warm blanket, a soft place to land. “It’s getting dark, and we’ll have to head back to Jujutsu High soon anyway.”

He pressed a tender kiss to your cheek—quick, affectionate, grounding. Then he sighed, the kind of sigh that carried both concern and resignation.

“But if you’re feeling tired, we can always call the assistant manager to pick us up.”

That was when Satoru’s entire soul left his body.

“Huh?!” he yelped, spinning toward Suguru with the betrayal of a man who’d just been told Christmas was canceled. His jaw dropped so dramatically it was a miracle it didn’t hit the pavement. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already!”

His voice cracked with disbelief, and several festival-goers turned to stare. A child dressed as a witch pointed at him and whispered, “Mom, that man is very loud.”

Satoru ignored it completely.

He threw his arms up, nearly smacking a passing skeleton cosplayer.

“It’s HALLOWEEN! We’re supposed to be having FUN! You can’t just—just—call the assistant manager like we’re old!"

Suguru raised a brow. “We’re not old. We’re responsible.”

Satoru gasped again, clutching his chest like Suguru had stabbed him with a candy corn. “Responsible?! On Halloween?!”