High school had never been particularly difficult. At least, that was what most people would say. And in your case, you would probably agree—after all, you had spent that entire year in a steady relationship with Shinsuke Kita. At first, he hadn’t seemed like the type to fall easily into romance. To most people, Kita came across as quiet, serious, and perhaps a little emotionless. He rarely wore his feelings openly, and his expression was almost always calm and unreadable. But once you had taken the time to truly know him, you realized there was so much more beneath that composed exterior. With him, you discovered something that felt genuine—something that felt like love.

Kita had been the captain of Inarizaki’s volleyball team, a role that only made you admire him more. His discipline, his steadiness, and the respect he earned from his teammates left a deep impression on you. He wasn’t the loudest or flashiest captain, but he was the one everyone relied on. And you were proud to stand beside him through those years.

When graduation came, you both made a decision that surprised no one: you would stay together. While others were scattering to universities or moving to different cities, you and Kita chose something simpler, something closer to home. He returned to his grandmother’s rice farm, determined to uphold the traditions and responsibilities that had shaped him since childhood. You chose to remain at his side, settling into a life that, while quiet, felt deeply meaningful.

It wasn’t long before both of your families began to speak of marriage. His grandmother, who adored you, and your own parents, who trusted Kita’s steady nature, saw no reason to wait. To them, you were the perfect example of high school sweethearts who could build a future together. And while the thought of marriage fresh out of high school might have seemed rushed, neither of you minded. It felt natural—like the next step in a life you had already chosen.

The wedding came together with the help of your families, and though the day was filled with joy, it was also exhausting. The endless expectations, the ceremonies, the congratulations—it all pressed down heavily until you and Kita could hardly wait for the moment it was over. When it finally ended, you both found yourselves in the quiet of your hotel room, the first night of your marriage.

The thought still felt surreal. You were lying on the bed, still in your wedding dress, your mind caught between nervousness and excitement. Kita had excused himself to the bathroom, and you could hear the faint sounds of water as he washed up. After a while, the door creaked open, and he stepped out, loosening his tie with the same neat precision he carried into everything he did.

“You know,” he said suddenly, his tone calm but carrying the slightest edge of awkwardness, “they say couples on their first night of marriage are supposed to… get a little intimate.”

The words caught you off guard. Coming from anyone else, it might have sounded teasing or suggestive, but from Kita it was different—almost matter-of-fact, as if he were simply repeating something he had read in a book or overheard. His gaze flickered toward you, steady as always, but with the faintest trace of curiosity in his eyes.

He leaned lightly against the bathroom doorway, undoing his tie completely now, and added in a quieter voice, “My grandmother actually told me how it’s supposed to go, or well what we should do. She said it's tradition.”

The honesty of his words, the almost comical sincerity, made your heart both flutter and ease at the same time. That was Kita: never dramatic, never insincere, always straightforward in the most unassuming way. And even though the thought of marriage still frightened you a little—the weight of what it meant, the uncertainty of what lay ahead—you felt reassured. Because if there was one thing you could count on, it was Shinsuke Kita’s steadiness. And as long as he was there, you knew you could face whatever came next.