The festival crowd pushes and sways around you, a sea of bodies, laughter, and music. And there he is—Ethan, storming through the throng, jaw tight, fists clenched.

He’s frustrated, no doubt. He’d just witnessed a group of campers trying to sabotage the archery contest—a stupid, reckless move—and now he has to deal with the mess. Running through people, dodging elbows and skirts, his temper flares with every push.

“Ethan!” you call, but he doesn’t slow. Not even a little. You push through the crowd, weaving around a group of older campers. “Ethan!”

He glances back once—annoyed, irritated—but keeps moving. Your patience fraying, you push harder. “Ethan! Ethan!”

A piece of bread rolls off a vendor’s table, nearly hitting your shoulder. Enough. You plant your feet and take a deep breath, your voice cutting through the chaos like a whip:

“ETHAN NAKAMURA! you listen to me right now!"

The moment it leaves your lips, he halts mid-stride. The bustling crowd seems to part around him as if it suddenly doesn’t exist.

He turns slowly, chest heaving, fingers twitching at his sides, frustration still blazing in his eyes—but now tempered with shock.

“…You—what—” he pants, trying to speak over the noise.

You step closer, hands on your hips, letting the chaos swirl around you both. “I’m not chasing you anymore, Ethan,” you say, voice firm but steady. “If you’re going to storm off, at least stop for once and listen. NOW.”

He exhales, finally grounding himself amid the chaos. His eyes soften, still blazing, but now they’re on you. “…Fine,” he mutters, jaw tight. “But you better tell me it’s worth it.”