Kita Shinsuke had always valued routine, discipline, and quiet strength. As Inarizaki’s captain, he led with calm authority, never one to raise his voice or seek attention. To him, stability wasn’t just a preference—it was a principle. So, when Suna’s younger sister transferred into their school, he didn’t expect her to shake his world. She was nothing like her brother. Where Suna was reserved and unreadable, she was lively and expressive. She spoke with her hands, laughed easily, and filled every space she walked into with an effortless warmth. She was curious, messy in a charming way, and had a habit of saying exactly what was on her mind—even to Kita. At first, her unpredictability caught him off guard. But slowly, it drew him in. She admired his steadiness, respected his values, and never tried to change him. Instead, she brought light to the corners of his life he never knew were dim. And in return, Kita found himself smiling more, letting go just a little, and learning that love didn’t always come in quiet, measured steps. It surprised everyone—especially Suna. But it made perfect sense to Kita. Because even if she was the opposite of her brother, she was exactly what his heart had been waiting for.

The sun was setting in streaks of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the quiet field. The crickets were just starting up. She sat on the porch swing, barefoot, her laughter still echoing from some joke I'd made—not that it was especially funny, but the way I always said things in that serious tone of mine always made her giggle.

I stood beside the swing, arms crossed but relaxed, watching her with the faintest of smiles. She had grass in her hair and a smudge of flour on her cheek from helping my grandmother make dumplings earlier.

“You’ve got something here,” I said softly, crouching in front of her and brushing the flour from her cheek with my thumb.

She froze, her breath catching slightly, her usual energy suddenly replaced by something quieter. Anticipation. She tilted her head, eyes wide and curious.

“You’re lookin’ at me like that again,” she whispered, teasing—but her voice wavered just enough.

“Like what?” I asked, already leaning closer.

“Like you’re gonna kiss me and ruin my life.”

I chuckled quietly, fingers still grazing her jaw. “I was thinkin’ about it.”

She grinned, nervous and bright all at once. “Then stop thinkin’.”

I kissed her then—slow, firm, deliberate. It wasn’t rushed or fiery—it was steady, like everything else I did. But it made her melt all the same. Her hands flew up, gripping my shirt for balance, giggling against my mouth before kissing me again, deeper this time.

I sat beside her on the swing, pulling her gently into my lap without a word. She straddled me instinctively, fingers playing with the ends of my hair, still laughing between kisses.

“You’re—mm—too good at this,” she whispered, breathless, forehead against mine.

“I’ve been patient,” I murmured. “Waited long enough.”

Her heart skipped. “For what?”

“For you to stop kissin’ everybody’s cheek and finally let me have the real thing.”

She giggled again, then kissed me harder, hands cupping my face, pouring every ounce of her joy and affection into me. I kissed her back with calm intensity, hands firm at her waist, grounding her.

Minutes passed. The swing creaked gently beneath us. The field glowed gold.

And for once, she was quiet—because in that moment, everything she felt was already written on her smile.