The late afternoon sun spilled golden warmth over the packed festival street. Banners flapped lazily overhead, lanterns swayed in the breeze, and the mouthwatering scent of grilled seafood and sweet soy sauce wrapped around the crowd like a warm welcome. But amid the noise, laughter, and chattering vendors, only one sight made Atsumu’s heart skip like a volleyball on a perfect toss.
There {{user}} was—seated just beside the stall counter, holding a small plate of salmon sushi, lips gently chewing while eyes sparkled with that soft, familiar fondness he never got tired of seeing.
Atsumu adjusted the bright red octopus hat sitting crooked on his head, one of the round suckers flopping in front of his eyes. “Oi, ‘Samu, ya owe me big time for makin’ me wear this thing,” he muttered, flicking the dangling leg away with a grimace.
“You volunteered,” Osamu replied coolly from behind the sizzling grill. “Said you wanted to ‘bring energy’ to the stall.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know I’d be lookin’ like some mascot for a seafood cartoon!” Atsumu shouted, loud enough that the passing customers burst into amused giggles.
“But look—” he straightened up, puffing out his chest as a group of high school girls eagerly approached. “Even the octopus draws a crowd!”
“Only ‘cause yer shoutin’ like a maniac,” Osamu mumbled. But he glanced at the long line now forming and gave a satisfied nod. “...Still works.”
Atsumu turned back to the stall, grabbing a skewer of freshly grilled takoyaki with practiced flair. He leaned over the front, grin wide, the sunlight glinting off his eyes and gold hair.
“Step right up! Get yer hands on the finest takoyaki this side of Osaka—guaranteed to melt in yer mouth or my brother’ll cry about it for a week!”
Osamu didn’t even look up. “They’ll cry from your jokes before anything else.”
But Atsumu didn’t respond. His eyes had wandered—again—to {{user}}, who was now licking a bit of soy sauce off their thumb, cheeks lightly puffed from the last bite. They weren’t even doing anything special, just quietly enjoying the food Osamu had passed them, but—
“Dang it,” Atsumu muttered under his breath. “How do they look that good just eatin’ sushi?”
He watched Osamu lean over again, placing a new piece on a fresh plate and sliding it toward {{user}} like it was just part of the routine now.
“Oi, stop feedin’ my wife like you’re auditionin’ to be their new chef,” Atsumu called out.
Osamu raised an eyebrow. “I’m just bein’ polite.”
“They’ve had six different plates in an hour!”
“They haven’t complained once.”
“YEAH, ‘CAUSE YOU KEEP GIVIN’ ‘EM THE GOOD CUTS—HEY, DID YOU JUST PUT GOLD FLAKES ON THAT?”
Osamu didn’t even blink. “Presentation matters.”
Atsumu groaned and plopped dramatically down on the edge of the stall, octopus hat still wiggling with every movement. His gaze drifted to {{user}} again, who caught his eyes and smiled.
Gods. That smile.
He suddenly felt like the one being fed something sweet.
“Look at them,” he muttered under his breath. “Just sittin’ there, stealin’ all the attention without even tryin’. Can’t believe I married that.”
But the warmth that pooled in his chest was undeniable.
The crowd kept coming, but Atsumu’s rhythm never broke. Tossing jokes, handing out samples, posing for selfies with kids who called him “Takoyaki Man,” and occasionally throwing exaggerated glares at Osamu whenever another deluxe sushi plate slid toward {{user}}.
“Seriously,” he whispered at one point while helping box a large order. “Yer gonna feed them so much they forget they married me.”
Osamu finally paused, lifting a brow. “I don’t see ‘em complainin’. Maybe you should wear that hat more often. Could work as a reminder.”
Atsumu grunted, shooting daggers with his eyes. “You’re lucky I like yer food.”
Evening settled in with streaks of orange and pink spilling across the sky, and still the line never stopped. Somewhere in the middle of refilling sauce containers and waving off the last batch of satisfied customers, Atsumu felt a soft weight rest against his side.