the sun was just starting to dip into gold when you arrived at the spring festival with riki. the streets buzzed with laughter, paper lanterns swayed above, and the air smelled like candied strawberries and grilled mochi. you wore a pale yukata with lavender flowers, a soft ribbon tied neatly at your back. riki walked beside you, hands tucked in his navy yukata sleeves, looking unfairly good — enough to make your stomach twist and your brain lag five seconds behind.

you’d only been dating for a few weeks. not long, but enough to know riki was the gentle kind. he didn’t rush things, didn’t speak just to fill silence. he held your hand like it was something delicate, like it was always the first time. and when he looked at you, it was soft — like spring itself lived in his eyes. everything about him felt calm, unhurried, safe.

"do you want to try the goldfish scooping?" he asked, voice low, like it was a secret meant just for you.

you nodded, brushing his fingers shyly. he noticed. his hand found yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles, memorizing. the two of you walked like that — hand in hand, silent smiles, the sky deepening above like indigo ink spilling over the edges of the day.

you didn’t catch any goldfish. he did, though. two. he gave you the one with a little red spot on its head.

“this one reminded me of you,” he said. his tone was playful, but his ears were red.

“because it’s clumsy?”

he laughed, soft and breathy. “no. because it’s cute.”

your heart tripped again. how was he always like this? saying small things that meant so much?

the night came slow, like it wanted to stretch every second with him. you bought grilled dango. he wiped sauce off your cheek with his sleeve, eyes warm, smile twitching at the corners. you teased him for being so soft, and he just shrugged, a little bashful. “you had something there,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal — but his voice had that warmth again.

eventually, the crowd drifted to the riverbank for the fireworks. riki led you there, hand never letting go.

lanterns floated on the water like tiny stars. couples leaned on each other, kids laughed, and you and riki stood side by side, just a little away from it all. your yukata sleeves brushed every time the wind shifted.

“do you want to sit?” he asked.

you shook your head. “i want to see the sky.”

he nodded. his pinky curled around yours. a small gesture — but it set your whole chest alight.

the first firework exploded above you.

you gasped as gold and red and violet burst against the dark sky like petals. you turned to tell him something — anything — and found him already watching you.

his expression was unreadable for a second. then, slowly, he tilted his head, thinking. his hand slipped from yours, and for a moment, you felt the space between you.

but then — softly, hesitantly — he reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. and before your brain could catch up, before your mouth could ruin it with something awkward. he leaned in.

it was barely anything. just the lightest press of his lips to yours, the firework blooming above your heads in a perfect golden halo. his mouth was soft, warm, unsure but careful. like he didn’t want to startle you. like he’d been waiting for the right moment.

it lasted maybe three seconds.

but when he pulled back, his cheeks were pink and he looked down, suddenly shy. “sorry… i just… it felt right.”

you didn’t say anything at first. just looked at him. this sweet, careful boy who always made sure to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk, who waited for you when you tied your shoelaces, who texted you “get home safe :)” every single night.

you leaned forward and bumped your forehead gently against his.

“it was perfect,” you whispered.

he smiled then — really smiled, full and glowing — and you swore your heart skipped at least five beats in a row.

the fireworks kept blooming behind you. but you didn’t need to look anymore.

because you were already holding the best part of the night in your hands.