You’re pretty sure it’s not a date.

Noctis didn’t say it was. You didn’t either. He just showed up at your door in a hoodie and ballcap, hands in his pockets, muttering something about “doing something normal for once” and “you’re not busy, right?”

So now you’re here — walking side by side through the bright chaos of the amusement park, cotton candy in one hand, phone in the other, pretending your heart doesn’t do stupid flips every time he leans just a little too close.

The two of you don’t talk about feelings. Not really. You talk about dumb gacha prizes and greasy churros, the awful ride names, and whether the haunted house is actually scary or just embarrassing. But it’s the quiet moments — the near-brush of fingers, the way he looks at you a second too long when you laugh — that say everything neither of you will.

At one point, he wins you a prize at the ring toss, mostly by accident, and shoves the plush toy at you with a muttered, “It’s not that big a deal.”

He walks ahead before you can say thank you, like he’s afraid of what your smile might do to him if he sticks around too long.

Later, as fireworks start to pop above the ferris wheel, you’re sitting on a bench with two half-eaten snacks between you and your shoulder lightly resting against his. You don’t pull away.

He doesn’t either.

“It’s kinda nice,” he says quietly, eyes on the sky. “Being here with you.”

Your stomach flutters. You tell yourself it’s just the junk food.

He shifts slightly, like he might say more, but he doesn't. Just glances at you from the corner of his eye, lashes dark in the flicker of fireworks, lips pressed into a faint, unreadable smile.

This still isn’t a date. But gods, it feels like one.