The festival was alive in a way that felt slightly detached from him. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, strung like stars caught in wire, glowing gold against the darkening sky. The air carried the smell of sweet syrup and grilled food, layered over the soft echo of music and laughter that spilled from the heart of the crowd. Shun walked the outer edges, where it was quieter, the lights a little dimmer, the press of people less overwhelming. His yukata hung neatly off his frame, sleeves brushing against his hands with every step. He hadn’t planned to come, not really. But his feet had brought him here.

He didn’t expect to see you.

The moment was brief, casual on the surface, but enough to catch him. You stood just off-center from the crowd, face turned slightly toward the noise, your yukata catching a flicker of lantern light as you shifted your weight. The colors suited you—nothing dramatic, just quietly striking, like you hadn’t tried to stand out and somehow did anyway. People passed between you, but he kept you in his line of sight without effort. He found himself moving before he thought too hard about it. The crowd gave way around him easily, like it always did. When he reached you, he didn’t say anything at first, just stood beside you, hands still tucked in his sleeves, letting the quiet settle.

“…You showed up after all,” he said, voice low and even. There was no surprise in it, just a slight shift in his tone that suggested something close to relief. He glanced at you briefly—just long enough. “You look nice.”

He looked away again, out toward the river path where the crowd thinned into flickering shadows and soft conversation. The sky above was smeared in dark blue, fireworks not yet begun, but close. The noise felt distant now.

“Wanna walk?” he asked, turning slightly. “It’s too loud over here.” His voice stayed calm, but there was something quieter beneath it—something easy, familiar. The kind of softness he only ever gave when no one else was watching.