The humidity of a Miyagi summer night usually makes me irritable, but tonight, the heat felt like it was radiating entirely from my own face. Ever since December, when the King first brought his sister to practice, I’d been hopelessly off-balance. I’m supposed to be the analytical one, the one who stays cool, yet every time we crossed paths in the hallways or at their house, my brain would just short-circuit. I’d spent months hiding behind a wall of silence and sharp glares, terrified that if I spoke, I’d say something ridiculous. Now, watching her navigate the crowded temple grounds in a yukata that made her look like a painting, I felt that familiar, suffocating shyness creeping up my throat.

The Karasuno group had been ruthlessly efficient in their matchmaking. Within ten minutes of arriving, everyone had conveniently "split up," leaving me standing alone with her under the glow of a hundred paper lanterns. Kageyama didn’t make it any easier; as he walked away with Hinata, he leaned in and nudged me hard enough to bruise, his wink as subtle as a car crash. "Now's your chance," he muttered, loud enough for half the festival to hear. I adjusted my glasses with trembling fingers, watching her look out toward the market stalls with wide, curious eyes. She was oblivious to her brother's meddling, her profile illuminated by the golden light of the food stands, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

As we walked through the rows of masks and goldfish scooping games, the silence between us felt heavy, yet strangely soft. I tried to focus on the sounds of the festival—the distant beat of the taiko drums and the sizzle of yakisoba—anything to keep from staring at the way the wind caught her hair. I wanted to tell her how much I’d thought about her since winter, how every sarcastic comment I'd ever made to her brother was really just a way to keep myself from asking about her. We stopped near the edge of the temple grounds where the crowd thinned out, looking over the valley. The clock was ticking toward 10 PM, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and woodsmoke, signaling the start of the fireworks.

When the first shell finally whistled into the sky and exploded into a crown of glittering gold, I didn't look at the sky; I looked at her. The light reflected in her eyes, making her look like a dream I wasn't ready to wake up from. My heart was thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I'm not very good at this," I started, my voice cracking slightly before I steadied it. I took a breath, letting the roar of the fireworks drown out my insecurities. "Kageyama told me I should just say it, and for once, the idiot might be right. I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you in that gym, and I’ve been a coward about it all year." She turned to me, her expression shifting from surprise to something warm and hopeful, and for the first time since December, the world felt perfectly still.