Your arms were slung around his neck, a little looser now that you were half-asleep, cheek warm against his shoulder. Atsumu hitched you up higher with a soft grunt, the fabric of your rented kimono rustling with the movement. The fireworks were long gone, but the ghost of them still buzzed in his chest.

“Ya really shoulda stayed home,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “All that studyin’, then you show up lookin’ like that—”

He could still see the way your eyes barely stayed open, dark circles hidden under makeup, and yet you smiled like you'd slept twelve hours and hadn't memorized a semester’s worth of material. Stubborn.

Atsumu exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

“Next time, I’m carryin’ ya to the festival too.”

You mumbled something soft against his shoulder—maybe a word, maybe just breath—then curled in a little closer. He adjusted his grip and kept walking.

“Dummy,” he said under his breath, but his hands didn’t loosen. If anything, he held you steadier.