The summer air was thick with warmth, carrying the faint scent of grilled food and the chatter of festival-goers drifting from the park behind you.

You and Hoshiumi had found a spot away from the bustling crowd, far enough that the noise dulled into background hum but close enough to see the sky light up when the fireworks began.

He had insisted on the spot, claiming he needed “the best view possible, obviously,” though you suspected it was also so he wouldn’t have to jostle elbows with strangers.

When the first firework cracked across the sky, his whole body jumped.

His head tilted back immediately, eyes widening as bursts of red and gold scattered across the darkness.

The sharp bang echoed in his chest, and though his mouth curled into an awed grin, the emotion that welled up in him was something else entirely.

By the third firework, his grin trembled, his lower lip wobbling just enough to give him away.

The dazzling lights reflected in his wide eyes, and before you could process it, his breath hitched. A wet sound escaped his throat, and then the tears came.

Not subtle, quiet tears either—full, messy sobs like a child watching something overwhelming for the very first time.

He pressed his hands to his face, but that only muffled his cries. “It’s—” his voice cracked between hiccupped breaths, “—it’s so pretty!” The words tumbled out brokenly, as though beauty itself was too much for him to contain.

People nearby turned their heads, startled by the sheer volume of his sobbing, but Hoshiumi didn’t notice—or didn’t care.

His shoulders shook, his whole small frame curled slightly inward as if the fireworks were cracking something open inside of him.

He wasn’t embarrassed; he was just feeling it all, every burst of color and every sound slamming straight into his heart.

You shifted closer, and he immediately collapsed into your side, burying his face against your shoulder while still peeking up at the sky between his tears.

His hands clutched at your sleeve like he needed something to anchor him while the world above erupted in color.

When the finale hit—the sky filled with wave after wave of blinding white-gold light, sparks showering like rain—his crying reached a crescendo, loud and unrestrained.

His words tumbled out between sobs, half-coherent: how he’d never seen anything so brilliant, how it made him feel alive and tiny at the same time, how it was just “so unfairly beautiful!”

By the time the last crackle faded into smoke and the crowd began applauding, Hoshiumi’s face was blotchy, his nose red, his voice hoarse from crying.

He sniffled hard, trying to catch his breath, still clinging to you as if the world might swallow him whole without support.

His tear-stained cheeks glistened faintly in the dim afterglow, but his eyes were bright—shining in the way only Hoshiumi’s could, raw emotion still brimming in them.

He let out a long, shuddering sigh and whispered, barely audible, like he was afraid the quiet might break, “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

And though his tears hadn’t fully stopped, the smile tugging at his lips was radiant enough to rival the fireworks themselves.