Chapter Text
Song》》butterfly 》》bts
Sae didn’t usually care about nights like this.
Theme parks, noise, flashing lights — all of it fell into the same category in his mind: unnecessary stimulation. An overload of color and sound meant to distract people from how empty things really were. He’d always kept his distance from it — from all of it. Distance was clean. Predictable. Safe.
But tonight was… tolerable.
Maybe even decent.
And that was unsettling in itself.
It wasn’t the rides. Or the food. Or the low-grade pop music leaking from every speaker.
It was him.
It was always him lately.
Shidou had dragged him out here with a grin and a dumb line about “shared trauma bonding on a Ferris wheel,” like this was just another reckless whim. But now that they were actually doing this — walking side by side past rows of chaotic booths and sugar-coated stalls — Sae’s gaze kept drifting.
Not to the lights.
Not to the crowd.
To him.
There was something infuriatingly bright about Shidou when he wasn’t trying. The way he kicked at loose gravel like a bored kid. The way he spoke to strangers like they were already friends. The buzz of life that clung to him.Sae had spent most of his life ignoring people like that. Dismissing them as noise.
But lately, the noise was starting to sound like something else…
He didn’t even realize when it started — this strange, simmering thing in his chest. This unspoken shift that made him pause whenever Shidou leaned in too close. Made him bite back his usual dry retorts when Shidou said something ridiculous.
And he certainly didn’t know what to do with it now that it was here — this… warmth.
Warmth was dangerous.
Sae was used to solitude. Control. Cool detachment. Not because he enjoyed it, but because it kept things manageable. He’d built his whole life around the comfort of distance, only to find himself here — closer than he’d meant to be, with someone who felt like static electricity in human form. Always sparking. Always humming.
Shidou had that effect. He made everything feel too much. Too loud. Too real.
Sae didn’t know how to react to that. He didn’t know how to carry this unfamiliar heat that pooled low in his chest every time their shoulders brushed. This pull that made him want to lean in, instead of pull away. It was too much, too fast — and yet somehow, not enough.
That was the part that scared him the most.
He hadn’t even realized he’d begun to change. And now that he had — now this thing between them had managed to blossom in the cold winter that was Itoshi Sae
And worst of all, Sae didn’t know if he wanted it to stop.
————————————
They were seated on the edge of a quiet platform overlooking the lake, the people below reduced to shadowy figures painting the darkness. The lake glinted with fractured light from the Ferris wheel; the crowds had thinned, and the air was cooler now. The chaos of the park had mellowed — distant laughter, the hum of music, and the lingering scent of sugar filled the background. The ripple of wind rustled snack wrappers across the ground.
For once, Shidou wasn’t bouncing on his heels or throwing things at passing ducks. He was just… still.
That was Sae’s first clue.
Sae’s gaze drifted sideways.
Shidou was tapping his fingers against the railing ,mind clearly elsewhere — not with his usual chaotic energy,
That wasn’t normal.
Sae narrowed his eyes. “Spit it out.”
Shidou blinked, playing innocent. “Spit what out?”
“You’ve been acting weird,” Sae said flatly. “You never shut up this long unless you’re planning to commit a felony.”
Shidou snorted. “Rude. Maybe I’m just enjoying the peace.”
“Bullshit,” Sae replied, voice cool as always. “You don’t do peace. You talk with your everything or nothing at all. So what’s with the soft-footed bullshit?,it's putting me on edge”
His words cut clean, but there was a flicker behind Sae’s eyes now — not irritation, but something unsettled. His brows pulled together, jaw tightening just slightly as he stared at Shidou. Not annoyed. Not angry.
Alert.
Suspicious.
Like he was bracing for a punch that wasn’t coming, and that made it worse. Sae hated vague things. Undefined things. He hated feeling like something was shifting without knowing what direction it was going in. And Shidou — loud, chaotic, shameless Shidou — sitting here quiet and weird was messing with that sense of control.
Shidou raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Can’t a guy have a moment of inner reflection?”
“You're not reflecting.You're deflecting,” Sae shot back, watching him closer now.
Shidou opened his mouth to joke again but stopped short. Sae didn’t look away. Didn’t laugh. Just waited,that unreadable expression narrowing into something sharper.
“So,” Sae said calmly, “you gonna keep pretending or are you gonna say what’s actually on your mind?”
Shidou shifted where he stood near the railing suddenly too aware of how quiet it had gotten. The distant sounds of the park felt muffled now—like they were in some invisible bubble, just the two of them, and Sae wasn’t letting him wriggle out of it.
“This isn’t like you,” Sae added, quieter now, gaze still pinned to him. “ You annoy the shit out of people until they give you what you want.”
Shidou let out a breathy laugh, but it was thinner this time, a little strained. “You make me sound so charming.”
“Answer the question.”
Shidou went quiet—Then turned to him and said, “Hypothetically, how would you confess to someone?”
Sae raised a brow. “You asking for a friend?”
“I’m serious,” Shidou said, a rare kind of calm edging into his voice. “If you liked someone — like, actually liked them — what would you say?”
Sae blinked. “Don’t beat around the bush. Be direct.”
Shidou tilted his head. “That’s it?”
“You want me to give you a love letter template or something?” Sae drawled. “Just say it. Say what you feel. Stop hiding behind jokes.”
Shidou gave a soft, breathy laugh. “You know… that doesn’t sound like you.”
“Because you ask dumb questions.”
“No, I mean it.” Shidou looked over at him now, really looked — his eyes steadier than they had any right to be. “You act like you’re above feelings but then say something like that. Like it’s easy.” He trailed off before adding quietly “Like honesty doesn’t terrify people…”
Sae didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. His silence said enough.
Shidou leaned forward slightly, “Okay. Be direct. Got it.”
A beat.
Sigh.
“What if the person’s not the romantic type?” Shidou pressed.
“Then don’t waste time sugarcoating it. Say it straight. But mean it.”
Shidou scratched the back of his neck. “And if I think they’ll blow me off?”
“Then either say it and deal with it, or shut up and stop whining.” Sae glanced at him. “You don’t seem like the type to chicken out.”
“I’m not,” Shidou said, quieter this time. He glanced down, hands loosely folded at the railings head buried in the crook of his elbow “It’s just... some people don’t make it easy. They don’t hand things over. You have to earn it. Be patient. Try harder than you’re used to.”
He gave a small breath of a laugh, barely there. He tilted his head from his elbow to look at Sae, a sort of dazed look in his eyes ,and a soft smile gracing his lips.
Sae leaned against the railing, arms folded loosely as he gazed into the dark ripple of the water below. The lights from the park danced across the surface — shifting, refracting, never holding shape — and for a moment, he let himself imagine his thoughts were like that too. Fluid. Disjointed. Easier to let drift away with the current than to hold onto.
——————————
Shidou paused mid-step, holding up a keychain shaped like a flaming skull.
“Yo, look at this thing. This is what I call art,” he said, twirling it between his fingers like it was the crown jewel of the universe.
He didn’t notice Sae hanging back at the cart, handing the vendor a few bills. Didn’t see the keychain vanish into the small plastic bag Sae was carrying like it had been his intention all along.
Two booths later, Shidou was poking at a plushie — some kind of devilish cat with bat wings and jagged little fangs.
“This,” he declared, holding it up to Sae’s face, “looks just like you .”
“You think anything vaguely evil reminds you of me.”
“Exactly.” Shidou flashed a grin. “I like to stay on-brand.”
Sae rolled his eyes, then quietly bought the plushie while Shidou wandered off to bother a cotton candy machine.
It wasn’t until the third time — when Shidou took a sip of some sweet drink eyes wide with delight “Lashes ! It's like a mini explosion ,you should try it” Sae responded "I'm fine you can have it” —that he actually noticed.
He turned just in time to catch Sae slipping another bottle of the same drink into his bag, expression unreadable as always.
“…Okay, hold up.” Shidou stopped walking and spun to face him. “Are you buying everything I touch?”
Sae didn’t even slow down. “You’re imagining things.”
“Oh, I don’t think I am.” Shidou jogged a few steps to catch up, squinting at him with suspicion. “Lashes, that was the fifth thing. The fifth. Even the drink I liked.”
“I’m stocking up on regrets today,” Sae said dryly.
“No, you’re being weird. This is a pattern. Are you, like… hoarding cursed objects I graze with my fingertips , You gonna start collecting my fingerprints next?”shidou gave him and incredulous look
Sae sighed then gave a slight shrug. “Think of them as repayment.”
Shidou blinked. “Repayment?”
“For dragging me here,” Sae muttered, eyes fixed ahead. “I figured the least I could do was… pay you back.”
Shidou stared at him like he’d just suggested paying rent for breathing.
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, then immediately grinned. “And I say crazy shit for a living.”
Sae didn’t answer. Simply looked at him.
Blink.
“Why the hell would you pay me to hang out with you?” Shidou asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walked. “This isn’t some job. I wanted you here. You're—" he hesitated, tone dipping ever so slightly before smoothing out again. “You’re not some chore, Sae.”
Still, Sae said nothing. Just walked a little slower.
Shidou elbowed him again — not roughly, just enough to jostle him back into the moment.
“You showing up was already more than enough, y’know?” he said, softer this time. “You could’ve just stood there glaring at me all night, and I still would’ve been happy.—”
He trailed off, shrugged, eyes dropping for a second before flicking back up with that familiar crooked grin. "I like seeing you like this. You don’t owe me for it.”
Then, quieter — almost as if he wasn’t sure he should say it, but did anyway:
“Honestly, this might be the first time something’s felt good without me having to fight tooth and nail for it. So... no offense, but keep your creepy plush cats. I don’t want things from you. Just you being here is more than anything I could've asked for.”
The air between them went still.
For once, Shidou didn’t break it with a joke.
He just looked at him — open, reckless, and raw — like Sae was something worth choosing, even without all the usual conditions.
Sae didn’t answer right away.
He could feel Shidou’s gaze on him — steady, unflinching, too much like sunlight for someone who’d spent most of his life learning how to thrive in the shadows. Not because he was cold, but because warmth had always come with a price tag. Admiration. Applause. Expectations. Transaction after transaction, relationship after relationship.
Even kindness had terms.
So when Shidou said things like that — like “you don’t owe me” — it didn’t make sense. Not in Sae’s world. It didn’t compute that someone could want him for reasons that weren’t about utility or legacy. Not for his name. Not for his skill. Not for what being near him could get them.
Just… him.
It was disarming.
And worse — it was working.
He looked away, jaw tightening slightly as if that might steady the slow, unfamiliar churn in his chest. The kind that didn’t feel like annoyance, or irritation, or anything sharp and clean.
No. This was something heavier. Murkier.
That quiet, reluctant ache of want.
Sae didn’t know when it started — maybe somewhere between Shidou’s infuriating laugh and the way he always stood too close like he belonged there. Maybe when he realized Shidou touched without asking but never crossed the line. Or maybe it had always been there, just buried under denial and deliberate silence.
But now it was rising.
And for the first time, Sae didn’t immediately push it down.
He just exhaled — soft, barely audible.
“…You talk too much,” he muttered, without looking at him.
It was the closest he could get to thank you.
The closest he dared get to don’t stop.
And Shidou, being Shidou, just grinned like he heard all of it anyway.
—————
They were wandering toward the far end of the park now — where the wilder rides screamed and clanked above the thinning crowds, glowing signs buzzing in the cooler night air. Shidou’s eyes lit up as they passed a towering, rust-red coaster that twisted like a steel snake into the sky.
He grabbed Sae’s wrist, tugging him to a stop.
“Wanna do something dangerous, lashes?”
Sae raised an eyebrow, unmoved. “Don’t push your luck, devil boy.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Shidou grinned, unbothered. “It'll be fun.”
Sae didn’t dignify that with a response. He just kept walking.
But a few stalls down, something made him slow.
The scent hit him first — cold, sugary citrus cutting through the warm evening air. Faint, but familiar. He paused without meaning to, head turning toward a small stand where pastel-colored popsicles were stacked in frosted trays under a glowing sign.
He hadn’t seen those in years.
The blue one — blue raspberry — was always his favorite. He used to get it after matches, when his old junior club won tournaments near the coast.
He would buy them on the walk back from the pitch, and sit near the sunset — the ocean wind was brisk ,tugging at their jerseys and leaving salt in their hair, and the popsicle would melt faster than he could eat it. He always got the losing stick. It was a waste of luck anyway. He picked up the purple grape-flavoured one. All he could see was his brothers sticky-sweet covered face—
Rin.
Always a few paces ahead, cleats in one hand, the melted popsicle smudged across his cheek. Hair windblown, jaw set, eyes already thinking about the next match — like he could never quite stay still, even when the sky was bleeding gold in front of them.
He’d complain about the cold yet finish it anyway — stubborn to the bone. His voice would carry over the waves, sharp and certain, and Sae would never admit it, but sometimes he sat there longer just to listen.
Back then, Rin had this look , wide-eyed and sun-cut, full of belief.— like the world hadn’t disappointed him yet.
Sae did too.
Sae blinked hard, gaze falling back to the present.
The park noise rushed in again. Too bright. Too loud. Too far from the ocean. clashing voices, none of it tethered to anything that mattered.
The sea was far from here.
So was Rin.
Shidou was watching him — not smirking, not poking, just quietly taking him in like he knew something had shifted. Like he knew better than to ruin it.
“What?” Sae said, sharper than intended.
Shidou shrugged, eyes flicking toward the cart selling the same popsicles. “Didn’t think frozen sugar on a stick would get you that serious.”
“It didn’t.” Sae folded his arms, turning his face back to the wind. “Just reminded me of something.”
“A good something?” Shidou asked, voice oddly soft.
Sae hesitated, then answered with a flat, “Used to be.”
A beat passed.
“You wanna get one?” Shidou offered, casual. “Could suck on sadness together. Bonding or whatever.”
Sae almost smiled. Almost. “I don’t want to eat a popsicle next to you.”
Shidou tilted his head, thrown off by how flat the answer was. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t cold either. It sounded like—
Like something else.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping back. “Okay.”
Sae turned to look at him — really looked at him — and something about the way Shidou didn’t push this time made his chest ache more than it should’ve.
“It reminded me of my brother,” Sae said finally, voice stripped of all defense. “we’d get them before i went overseas”
Sae didn’t say anything at first. The crowd buzzed around them — laughter, jingles, the occasional scream from a rollercoaster overhead — but it all felt muted for a beat. Like he was somewhere else.
Then, after a long pause, his voice came quiet.
“When I was a kid,” he said, gaze fixed ahead, “after games near the beach, we would go to this little stall. They sold those same popsicles. Blue ones. I used to split them with my brother.”
Shidou didn’t say anything — just listened.
“He always hated the cold. Said it gave him brain freeze after one bite. But he ate them anyway. Said they were tradition.”
Sae’s lips curved just barely — not quite a smile. Something smaller. Something more distant.
“I haven’t had one since.”
Shidou glanced over, waiting, but Sae’s expression had already closed again — like a door being gently shut.
“I’m not big on traditions anymore,” he muttered. “Especially the ones that leave you behind.”
Shidou didn’t say anything right away. No teasing. No joke.
Just, “He must’ve mattered a lot.”
Sae’s fingers burned with the cold before he put it back “Still does.”
Shidou nodded, gaze dropping to the pavement before flicking back up to meet Sae’s. “You don’t talk about him much.”
“Not to people who wouldn’t understand.”
Shidou’s voice was steady. “You think I wouldn’t?”
Sae didn’t answer.
“Let’s keep moving,” he said, already stepping away.
But Shidou followed at his side — quiet, for once. Not out of discomfort.
Out of respect.
Out of understanding.
And maybe, just maybe, out of something that didn’t need words at all.
—————————————
The night air had turned colder, the breeze kicking up as they walked past darkening stalls and flickering lights. Sae subtly rubbed his arms, trying not to look like he was cold.
Which of course meant Shidou noticed immediately.
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re literally vibrating.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
Before Sae could shut that down, Shidou yanked off his hoodie in one dramatic motion, spun it like a pizza box, and threw it over Sae’s head with all the elegance of a frat boy doing laundry.
Sae stood there for a beat, unmoving, the hoodie hanging over his face.
“Seriously?” he said flatly, dragging the hoodie off he wrinkled his nose “…It smells like you”
“Thanks. That’s my signature scent,” Shidou grinned, giving him a wink.
Sae narrowed his eyes as he attempted to hand it back “ ah ah ah” Shidou tutteed as he forced it on him “I've been so kind and thoughtful and this is how you repay me” he teased
It was warm — annoyingly so. The sleeves were too long, but it fit , and it definitely smelled like Shidou. Citrus, sweat, and arrogance.
Sae tugged at the collar slightly, as if trying to air it out — or maybe just escape the way it clung to him like it belonged there.
Shidou watched him with a grin, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. “You could’ve just said you wanted something of mine, y’know. No need for dramatics.”
Sae gave him a flat look. “You practically threw it at me.”
“Yeah, because you were standing there freezing like you’re above basic human needs,” Shidou shot back. “I’m doing charity work.”
“Your scent counts as a biohazard.”
“Funny. You’re still wearing it.”
Sae didn’t answer. He just pulled the sleeves down further, settling into the warmth despite himself.
Shidou’s eyes narrowed, smug. “You like it.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You’re nesting.”
Sae narrowed his teal eyes “What the hell does that mean.”
“It means you’ve already accepted the hoodie as part of your life. Next step’s imprinting. Soon you’ll be smelling it for comfort like some deranged raccoon.”
Sae rolled his eyes. “If it goes missing, assume it had a tragic accident.”
“Wow,” Shidou said, clutching his chest. “You’re gonna murder Hoodie #2 too?”
“…Too?”
Shidou narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. The last one I gave you. The green one with the skull on it.”
“Oh,” Sae said flatly. “That one.”
“What happened to it?”
Sae was already looking away. “It’s in a better place.”
“You buried it?”
“No. I threw it out.”
“WHAT?!”
“It offended me.”
“HOW?”
“It looked like it belonged to a sleep-deprived twelve-year-old with anger issues.”
Shidou clutched his chest like he’d just been mortally wounded. “That was a limited edition!”
“It was limited for a reason.”
“You’re heartless.”
“And yet you keep giving me your stuff.”
“That’s because I like suffering.” Shidou grinned. “Keep this one though. Looks better on you anyway.”
“And If I lose this one too?”
Shidou shrugged, casual. “Then I’ll just keep giving you new ones until you start pretending you want to keep them.”
“…That sounds like a terrible plan.”
Sae muttered something that sounded like “unbearable,” but he didn’t take the hoodie off.
In fact, he kept adjusting it — sleeves over his hands, tugging at the collar — like it was already his.
Shidou watched with a little too much smug satisfaction.
“Say thank you,” he added.
“I’d rather eat glass.”
“Romantic.”
——————————————
Later, after they wandered a bit more — past closed kiosks and flickering neon — Shidou stopped dead in his tracks.
There was a cotton candy stand still open, spinning clouds of pastel sugar into the night air.
Shidou turned, eyes bright with mischief. “We’re doing this.”
Sae raised a brow. “We’re eating pink clouds now?”
“You’re telling me you’ve never had cotton candy?”
Sae shrugged. “Didn’t see the appeal.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
Shidou was already handing over yen to the vendor.
The cotton candy was too pink. Too fluffy. Too ridiculous-looking in Shidou’s hands — like it had no business being near someone who made violence look like ballet.
Still, he was eating it like it was a damn delicacy.
“You’re making a mess,” Sae muttered, arms crossed as he watched Shidou practically bury his face in spun sugar.
Shidou licked at the corner of his mouth and blinked. “That’s the point. It’s performance art.”
Sae narrowed his eyes. “It’s sticky sugar foam.”
Shidou just grinned, tearing off another chunk. “You’re just mad you didn’t try it first.”
Sae ignored him ,nose wrinkled in disgust “it's all over your face”
“Ugh shit.” Shidou twisted, trying to see the streak of pink across his cheek. “ Did I get it?”
He kept pawing at his jaw with the back of his hand, smearing it worse.
Sae let out a quiet, suffering sigh. Then, without a word, he reached forward and swiped his thumb along the curve of Shidou’s cheek — firm but careful, wiping off the smear in one smooth motion.
Shidou froze.
For a second, he just stared — mid-chew, mid-thought, cotton candy forgotten between his fingers.
“…Whoa,” he said finally, blinking slowly. “Is this love? Or did I just earn a pity wipe?”
Sae’s expression didn’t change. “Neither. I just don’t want people thinking I hang out with feral children.”
“That’s so mean,” Shidou said, mock-offended. “And also... kind of romantic?”
“Only you would confuse hygiene with foreplay ,you horny devil”
“I dunno,” he grinned, voice dropping playfully “You touching my face like that? That’s intimate, Sae.”
Sae rolled his eyes but tugged his sleeves down like he was subtly wiping the sugar off his hand. “It was either that or let you walk around looking like a rejected birthday cake.”
“God. Say more sweet things about me.”
“No.”
Shidou took another bite, licking a bit of sugar from the side of his mouth — very deliberately, very obnoxiously — and side-eyed him.
“You’re cute when you’re bossy, you know that?”
Sae glanced at him in disinterest
When he passed Sae the stick — pink, like the sky before dusk — Sae took it with faint suspicion, examining the fluff like it might dissolve on contact.
“It’s sugar,” Shidou said, amused. “Not poison.”
Sae took a cautious bite.
It melted instantly, vanishing on his tongue.
He blinked. “…Weird texture.”
“But?”
“…Not bad.”
Shidou grinned wide. “See? You’re welcome.”
Sae looked at the sky as he took another bite, the artificial sweetness lingering on his tongue.
“You really get a kick out of this kind of stuff, huh?” he said.
Shidou leaned closer, just enough that their shoulders brushed.
“I just like seeing your face when you try something new,” Shidou said, voice dropping to something quieter, more honest. “You act all unimpressed, but your eyes give you away. It's like I get to watch the world surprise you in real time.”
He glanced over at Sae, expression uncharacteristically soft.
“I want to keep having firsts with you. Dumb ones. Good ones. Ones that don’t mean anything — and the ones that mean too much.”
“I want to be the reason for more of that. For more of you, the parts you don’t even realize you’re showing.”
A beat passed.
“Like... if something makes you pause, I wanna be the one standing next to you when it happens.”
Sae froze, just slightly.
The cotton candy spun slowly between his fingers, strands pulling apart like fragile thread.
Shidou didn't say anything
He just looked at him — really looked — with none of the usual noise in his eyes.
Sae didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, quietly:
“…You’re dangerous when you’re serious.”
Shidou tilted his head, a half-smile curving at his mouth. “And yet you’re still standing here.”
Sae glanced down at the cotton candy again, then — slowly — tore off a piece and held it out to him.
A truce. Maybe even something more.
“Here,” he muttered. “Try it. It’s weird.”
Shidou leaned in, catching it with his teeth, eyes locked on Sae the whole time.
“Sweet,” he said, humming to himself . “But kind of addicting.”
Sae didn’t answer, but for the first time all night he didn't pull away
And the candy kept spinning between them — light, sticky, and just starting to melt.
———————
They were barely halfway down the row of food stalls when it started.
It was subtle at first — a few glances, the kind Sae was used to brushing off. Then came the excited whispers, the unmistakable sound of someone snapping a photo, and finally:
“Wait — is that Itoshi Sae?”
Sae sighed.
The crowd turned fast — a small cluster of teens broke off from the main walkway, phones already out, and within seconds, voices overlapped in a messy tangle of—
“Oh my god, it’s really him!”
“Can we get a picture?!”
“You’re even hotter in person—!”
Sae’s jaw tensed, eyes narrowing as more of them closed in.
But before he could step back or deflect the incoming barrage, an arm looped casually around his shoulders.
“Alright, alright, easy there,” Shidou drawled, flashing a grin sharp enough to cut. “You’re crowding my boyfriend.”
Sae didn’t even flinch, but his brows twitched.
Some of the fans froze. A few squealed louder. One girl gasped so hard she nearly dropped her phone.
“He’s taken,” Shidou added smugly, tightening his hold with a dramatic flourish. “Sorry, kids.”
Sae shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye. “Subtle.”
“I saved your ass,” Shidou whispered, loud enough for him to hear. “You can thank me later.”
They managed to break away a few minutes later — Shidou half-dragging him through the thinning crowd and back toward one of the quieter garden paths.
But it didn’t last.
A wave of people surged from the opposite direction — a parade float of some kind had started moving — and in the chaos, Sae felt the press of bodies, the blur of color, the throb of music too close to his ears—
And then nothing.
No Shidou.
His head snapped up, scanning the crowd. He tried to stay calm, but the air felt thinner. Too loud. Too crowded.
He turned once. Then again.
Still no sign of that ridiculous head of blond hair.
His hand curled into a fist.
Then—
“Yo.”
A familiar hand closed gently around his wrist.
Shidou’s face came into view, breathless but grinning like he hadn’t just disappeared.
“you alright?” he asked.
Sae didn’t answer. He didn’t scold him either.
“I just don't like losing sight of you”
his hand didn’t pull away.
Not immediately. Not even when they started walking again.
Shidou noticed — the way Sae’s fingers stayed wrapped loosely around his wrist, like some part of him hadn’t caught up to the relief just yet.
He also noticed something else. With physical affection, Sae never flinched. Never recoiled. Never pulled back.
He just didn’t reach first.
Like he didn’t know how.
Or wasn’t used to the idea that someone might stay if he did.
Shidou squeezed his hand once, light but steady.
No words. No jokes.
Just: I’m here.
—————————————
They were nearly at the front of the queue for the Ferris wheel when the attendant waved them down.
“Wristbands,” she called, gesturing.
Sae raised his, already neat and snug around his wrist. Shidou, on the other hand, held up a fluttering strip of plastic barely clinging on.
His entry wristband flapped like a manic streamer in the breeze — loose, half-unclipped, and somehow twisted around itself.
Shidou looked at it, then grinned. “I like the breeze.”
Sae blinked at him. Then grabbed his wrist without warning.
“Yeah? I like not watching your arm get caught in machinery,” he muttered, already fixing it with deft fingers.
“Whoa, hands-on much? You’re always touching me lately.” Shidou’s grin widened, clearly enjoying himself.
Sae didn’t even pause. “I’m one inconvenience away from putting you on a leash.”
He tightened the band with practiced ease, tugging it snug against Shidou’s skin.
“You know this isn’t jewelry, right?” he added dryly.
Shidou wiggled his fingers dramatically. “It could be. Maybe I’m starting a trend.”
His touch was efficient — and annoyingly gentle.
“You know,” Shidou said, watching him with a crooked smile, “if you’re too nice to me, I might start thinking you care.”
Sae didn’t even blink. “I care about not having to scrape your remains off the pavement.”
Shidou grinned.“ How dark,”
“You’re insufferable.”
Sae ignored him, gave the band one final pull to secure it, and let go.
“There. Now you won’t die looking like a dumbass.”
Shidou flexed his wrist and looked down at it proudly. “I feel so cared for.”
Sae shot him a blank look. “You should feel supervised.”
Sae side-eyed him.
“Thats the most competent you’ve looked all day. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Shidou smirked. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I’ll think you’re flirting.”
“If I keep fixing things for you,” Sae said coolly, “people are going to think we’re dating.”
Shidou grinned wider. “Aren’t we?”
“No,” Sae said flatly. “This is community service.”
Shidou placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Ouch. At least buy me dinner first if you’re gonna keep saving my life.”
“I’m not saving your life,” Sae replied. “I’m saving myself from dying next to you.”
The attendant gave a quick nod as she scanned their wristbands, then waved them forward. “All good. Enjoy the ride!”
Shidou flashed a grin as they stepped closer to the cabin, the Ferris wheel looming above like a giant, slowly turning metal clockwork.
Its curved glass reflecting the last streaks of sapphire, tracing slow, deliberate arcs against the already deepening sky. A faint chill had settled in the air, brushing against their skin like a whispered promise of nightfall. Around them, the park’s vibrant clamor softened into a distant murmur—the occasional burst of laughter, the fading clang of game booths closing, the faint scent of caramel popcorn mingling with the crisp evening breeze.
The cabin door stood slightly ajar, waiting.
“Make sure to lock the door securely when you’re in,” the attendant reminded them over the noise, voice sharp but practiced. “Safety first.”
Sae slipped inside smoothly, then paused when he realised there were no seatbelts .
You've got to be kidding me. It seemed the world just loved testing his patients today
Shidou followed, juggling the bag of caramel corn in one hand, eyes on the door latch.
The cabin gently swayed with the slow rotation, metal creaking softly under the weight of the ride and passengers.
“Easy,” Shidou said cheerfully, reaching for the metal latch like he’d done it a thousand times. He pushed. It jammed. He pulled. Nothing happened. He jiggled it uselessly until the whole cabin rattled.
“Why is this lock built like a medieval torture device?” he muttered, yanking at the lever, twisting it the wrong way, then trying again with zero success.
Sae debated stepping in watching with a level of disappointment usually reserved for children who drew on walls.
Sae didn’t even blink. “Stop before you break the ride and your spine.”
“I got this.”
“You don’t.”
“I could.”
“You’re going to launch us into orbit.”
Shidou made a dramatic whining noise. “I’m a functional adult.”
“You’re barely functional and debatably an adult at that”
The cabin creaked as it slowly ascended, the world shrinking beneath them. The wind picked up, rattling the glass panels with an eerie insistence. At this height, if the door didn’t close properly, they’d be flirting with disaster—both of them tumbling out into the darkening void below. Sae shot a glance at Shidou, whose fingers were still fumbling with the latch like it was some impossible puzzle.
“I’m not about to die over something this stupid,” Sae muttered, clearly done with the whole ordeal.
Then, with a sigh that held the weight of centuries, Sae leaned forward.
“Move.”
Shidou pouted “I almost had it”
Sae gave him a deadpan look. “If I left you alone for five minutes, we’d both be falling out of this thing in a tangle of limbs and stupidity.”
Shidou obediently scooted back, letting Sae kneel slightly to get a better angle. He clicked the latch in place with smooth, effortless precision — one hand steadying the frame, the other securing the mechanism in a way that was… way too calm for someone actively preventing their death.
“There,” Sae muttered. “Try not to die now.
Shidou stared. “What the hell—are your hands made of magic?”
“No,” Sae said without looking at him. “Just not stupid. “ he sighed , “If I left you in charge of that, we’d be splattered across the parking lot by now.”
“Harsh,” Shidou muttered, tilting his head.
Sae glanced at him
“You’re lucky you're pretty. It's the only thing keeping you alive.”
Shidou grinned “you think I'm pretty!”
Sae sat back ignoring him with an exhale. His eyes closed “It’s terrifying how good you are at being terrible at things.”
Shidou beamed like it was a compliment. “I’m gifted.”
Sae shot him a sideways glance. “How you manage to function is beyond me. To be honest it’s kind of impressive.”
“Is that admiration I detect?” Shidou asked sweetly, poking Sae’s face before Sae slapped it away
“No,” Sae said flatly. Then, after a pause, slightly softer: “You just... worry me.”
Shidou blinked.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic — it was almost thrown away, tucked under the usual deadpan. But it landed like a real thing. A small, quiet truth, wrapped in sarcasm and delivered like a sigh.
The wheel gave a mechanical groan as the ride began its slow ascent, lights flickering against the windows as they climbed.
———
Shidou was sprawled out like he owned the place, limbs spread, eyes wide as he peered down over the city lights. Sae sat far more composed, arms crossed, legs angled away from him like distance could prevent a headache.
The Ferris wheel creaked faintly as it turned, its metal arms glowing with the soft haze of overhead bulbs. The park below shimmered in saturated neon — flashing game signs, glowing candy carts, and strings of fairy lights tangled like spiderwebs between rooftops. The noise had softened with the night — sounds now distant, rides slowing, the crowd thinning growing into small specks on the ground.
Sae leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against the side rail, his gaze tracking the distant sprawl of the city lights beyond the theme park. From up here, everything felt far away. Small. Like someone had taken the world and folded it into something weightless.
The crowds, the cameras, the endless pressure to perform — all of it blurred into nothing beneath them. Just flickers of neon and noise too faint to touch him. And for a rare, fleeting moment, the silence in his own head wasn’t suffocating. It was... still.
Funny, how altitude could trick you like that. How distance could shrink the things that usually ruled you.
He didn’t know what that meant — if it was clarity or just the illusion of it — but it settled in his chest like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Like maybe things didn’t always have to feel so heavy.
Like maybe, from far enough away, even regret looked a little softer.
Sae's eyes were half-lidded as he took it in without comment. He hadn’t said much since they boarded — just glanced out, seemingly disinterested. But Shidou could tell by the way his gaze lingered — on the lights, the lake beyond, the clusters of color flickering below — that he wasn’t unmoved.
“Not bad, huh?” Shidou said beside him, resting one arm lazily along the back of the cabin. “Almost makes getting glitter bombed by that tattoo stall worth it.”
Sae didn’t glance over. “Almost.”
The pod climbed higher.
Their legs swung slightly above the park as the wheel brought them up and up, the wind tugging at Shidou’s shirt and rustling Sae’s hair in a way that made him squint irritably.
Shidou let out a breath, watching the scenery unfold like a map beneath them. “Kinda peaceful. Doesn’t feel like we’re in the middle of a thousand screaming children anymore.”
“Don’t remind me,” Sae muttered.
Shidou smirked, chin resting on his hand as he tilted toward him. “You’ve been tolerating me unusually well tonight. Should I be worried?”
Sae sighed. “I’m reserving judgment until I survive this ride without being flung into the parking lot.”
“That’s fair.”
They reached the top — the wheel slowed, giving them an uninterrupted view of the glowing carnival below and the city lights beyond that blinked like constellations.
Sae’s eyes tracked the horizon, quiet.
Shidou tapped the glass gently with his knuckle. “Alright, I’ll admit it. Kind of a sick view.”
“Mm.”
The cabin rocked once.
Then again.
Then came the sound — not quite a screech, not quite a groan — more like an ancient vending machine having a midlife crisis. It rattled violently, then shuddered.
Shidou blinked. “...Okay. What was that?”
Sae didn’t answer right away. Just turned his head and looked at the ride’s control booth far below, where a confused employee had started frantically pressing buttons like they were defusing a bomb.
It wasn't till they were all the way at the peak of the Ferris wheel
The cabin rocked with a soft metallic jolt —
Silence.
There was a long pause.
“…Did the ride just die?” Shidou said slowly.
A moment later, a scratchy voice crackled over the speaker:
“Apologies for the delay. We’re currently experiencing a minor technical issue. Please remain seated. We’ll have you moving shortly.”
Shidou blinked. “Oh. Cool. We’re trapped in a sky bucket.”
Sae closed his eyes briefly, as if already regretting his life decisions.
“If you panic,” he said flatly, “I’m throwing you out the window.”
“I’m not panicking,” Shidou said, holding up his hands. “I’m assessing. This is just Ferris wheel jail,scenic ferris wheel jail” he smirked “stuck with a beauty, i wouldn't mind dying like this ”
“Unbelievable.”
“C’mon, we’ve been through worse,” Shidou said, stretching his legs. “You, me, several deadly soccer matches, a haunted house—”
“You traumatised the actors.”
“I was startled, not scared.”
Sae side-eyed him. Shidou continued “and you punched an actor ”
Sae wrinkled his nose “It lunged! That’s aggressive body language.they were lucky that's all i did”
The cabin swayed gently as the wind picked up again. Sae let out a long, slow breath and tilted his head back against the seat.
“This is exactly why I don’t do stupid things with you.”
“Correction,” Shidou said, stretching out with one leg draped over the seat. “You do plenty of stupid things with me. You just complain about them the entire time.”
“Because you bring chaos wherever you go.”
“And yet,” Shidou grinned, “you keep showing up.”
They sat there for a beat in chaotic silence — one done with the whole ordeal, one thriving.
Shidou glanced over with a grin that was far too relaxed for someone dangling midair in a glorified tin can. “Soo…”
Sae didn’t look at him. “Don’t.”
Shidou’s grin widened. “Wanna play 20 Questions until we die?”
“No.”
“Truth or Dare?”
“No.”
There was a beat.
Then two
“Stuck at the top of a giant, unstable wheel with you. Figures.”
“Look on the bright side,” Shidou said. “If we plummet to our deaths, I’ll die doing what I love.”
Sae glanced at him.
Shidou grinned.
“Being dramatic and in your personal space.”
Sae muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for strength.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, just... settling.
Like the ride itself had finally exhaled, resigned to the pause.
--------------
Below them, the park spun on without them — distant laughter, flickers of neon, the muffled bass of a pop song from some stage far away. But up here, it all felt far removed, like they were suspended between moments.like a pause before the chorus of a song
The breeze brushed against the glass walls, nudging the cart with soft creaks. Light flickered through, catching in their hair, tinting the edges of their faces.
Shidou leaned back, the grin fading into something smaller, quieter. His head tilted, resting lightly against the side of the cabin, eyes half-lidded like the weight of the height — or maybe the moment — was finally catching up to him.
Then, his voice came low. “What made you stop?”
Sae glanced over.
“Caring,” Shidou clarified. “Letting people close. Was it a moment, or was it just always like that?”
Sae didn’t answer at first. He followed the glow of the lights as they danced across the lake’s surface below, his expression unreadable.
“I wouldn’t say I stopped,” he said finally. “More like I learned what it costs.”
Shidou watched him now, fully.
Sae’s voice remained even, but his fingers were curled slightly against his arms, thumb brushing the hem of the borrowed hoodie without thinking.
“You don’t notice it right away. People don’t ask for much at first — just time, a little attention, a version of you that fits their idea of who you should be. And you give it, because it’s easier than explaining why you won’t. But it builds. One compromise here. One silence there. Eventually, you look around and realize your life isn’t entirely your own anymore. It’s tilted. Rewritten around others without you meaning to.
And finally you’re left trying to remember what parts were yours to begin with.”
Shidou was quiet, unusually so.
“I think people overestimate how much they need others,” Sae continued. “They confuse loneliness with lack. Like solitude is something to fix. It’s not. Some things just grow cleaner in distance and silence.”
Shidou tilted his head, considering. “You think that’s strength?”
“I think it’s control,” Sae said.
Another beat passed. Then—
Shidou gave a breathy laugh, soft but not mocking. “You always talk like you’re made of stone. Like if you crack, even once, everything will spill out.”
Sae didn’t reply.
Shidou leaned to the side elbows on the Barnet to him now, voice lower. “You ever think maybe it’s not that people bend your life out of shape… maybe they help you find the parts you didn’t even know were there?”
Sae arched a brow.
“You always want everything contained,” Shidou said. “Ordered. Neat. Like that makes it real. Me, I…” He trailed off, eyes flicking to the view — the shadowy shapes of the park now still beneath them.
“I need freedom,” he admitted. “Movement. Noise. The chaos keeps me feeling... I dunno. Present. Like I exist. If things get too quiet, I can’t hear myself think. And if I can’t feel something, I start wondering if I’m even here at all.”
Sae’s gaze turned to him fully now. It was quiet again, but not cold — just listening.
“I push limits because if I don’t, they cage me.. They close in . Like the second I stop moving, everything — expectations, rules, who I’m supposed to be — it all starts to press in, It’s like… the world starts shrinking around me, tighter and tighter until I can’t move without hurting myself. Or someone else. So I push. I explode. I throw myself into everything just to feel something, to remind myself I’m still real. People see the chaos and think I’m reckless, but it’s not that. I just… need space to breathe. To exist. If I don’t push back, I get swallowed whole.”
He smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Most people think I’m reckless because I don’t care. Truth is, I care too much.”
That silence returned again, but now it was thick with something unspoken. A mutual understanding, jagged and imperfect, but there.
Then Sae said quietly, “So we’re both hiding in different directions.”
Shidou chuckled once. “Guess so.”
Sae glanced back out the window. “I always thought people like you were exhausting.”
“People like me are,” Shidou said, grinning. “But you’re still here.”
Sae didn’t deny it.
Shidou leaned back again, head tilted toward the sky, his voice softer this time. “Maybe we’re just wired wrong in opposite ways. I want everything too loud, too fast. You want everything too still. But sometimes... sometimes I think I don’t want to burn alone.”
Sae’s eyes flicked to him, sharp, unreadable.
“And sometimes,” Shidou added, “I think you don’t want to stay frozen either.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Far below, a firework whistled.
Then exploded.
The cabin filled with a flicker of color. Reds. Blues. The echo of celebration.
Still silent, still suspended between ground and sky, but the air felt different now.
Like something was shifting.
The fireworks still crackled in the distance, reflecting off the Ferris wheel’s glass like stardust caught between them.
Neither of them spoke right away.
Then Shidou shifted slightly, as he looked out of the window
“…You know what the worst part is?” Shidou said, voice lower now, steadier.
Sae glanced over.
“It’s not the noise. Or the pressure. Or even the expectations people dump on you like it’s nothing.” He exhaled through his nose. “It’s how fast you start doing it to yourself.”
Sae didn’t interrupt.
“You get so good at carrying the weight that you stop noticing when it’s crushing you. You start believing it’s your job to hold it all. And then… even when someone tries to take a piece of it, you flinch. Like it’s wrong to let it go.”
He looked down at his own hands, fingers curled loosely in his lap.
“But sometimes the thing weighing you down the most… is you. Your own rules. Your own image of who you’re supposed to be. And the longer you wear it, the more it starts to rot from the inside. You don’t even realize it — but it twists everything. Makes you selfish in ways you don’t mean. Makes you forget that people around you can bleed too.”
Sae’s eyes darkened slightly. He didn’t speak — didn’t need to.
“And that kind of drowning,” Shidou said, his smile faltering, “it’s like… a narcissism of its own. You think you’re just protecting yourself, but you’re really just putting up walls that don’t only trap you — they trap everyone who tries to reach you.”
He leaned back against the glass.
“I used to think strength meant taking everything on your own. But I’m learning…” a beat . “Sometimes you’re supposed to let people carry things with you. Let them hold the stuff that’s too heavy for you that day. Sometimes… you’re allowed to give away some of it.”
The words hung in the air — fragile, trembling in the stillness.
A low crack split the silence — then another.
Their heads tilted up in unison just as the night bloomed.
Fireworks exploded across the sky in a riot of color. Reds, golds, electric blues — each burst lit the world in fleeting, brilliant chaos. The whole Ferris wheel rattled faintly as the sounds echoed across the park, thunder and light falling in waves.
Inside the cabin, the glow spilled through the glass, washing over them in pulses. One moment, Sae’s face was carved in crimson — sharp lines, unreadable. The next, it was bathed in gold, and he looked impossibly soft. His lashes cast long shadows across his cheek, and for a breath, Shidou could see the flicker of something unguarded behind his eyes.
The reflections danced across Shidou’s skin too — streaks of color catching in his hair, along his grin, flickering like sparks too wild to settle.
They didn’t speak.
For once, they didn’t need to.
It was a moment carved out of noise and silence both — too bright to last, too warm not to remember.
And for a few impossible seconds, the whole world seemed to burn around them… and neither of them looked away.
“You don’t have to break alone to be worthy of healing,” he added softly.
Then, after a pause, he turned to Sae — really turned to him.
His voice barely above a whisper.
“I used to think I had to carry everything alone,” he said, quiet but not unsure. “Like if I dropped the ball even once, the whole damn thing would collapse. And maybe that made me strong, or reckless, or just really good at pretending I wasn’t tired.”
The wind outside picked up slightly, rattling the cabin just enough to remind them of how high up they were.
“But lately… I’ve been thinking. Maybe it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Maybe if someone’s standing beside you, they can take a little. Just a piece. And if you let them take a little more each time—” He paused, searching for the words. “It stops crushing you.”
His voice softened further.
“And if they’re willing, maybe they can hold the ugliest parts. The ones you don’t show anyone. The ones that feel too much, or too stupid, or too selfish. Maybe you don’t need to be perfect to be cared for.”
He glanced over, his expression raw but open.
“I want to be that person,” he said. “The one who takes the heavy stuff without making you feel like a burden. Who holds the weight even when you don’t ask.”
A beat.
“I want to carry the parts of you,you hate. The ones you don’t talk about. I’ll take the biggest piece if you let me.”
Sae blinked — slow, unreadable. But he was listening. His hands were still.
“And I don’t care if it’s messy, or complicated, or if you keep pushing me away half the time. I’ll be here anyway. Not because I expect anything. Just because it’s you.”
Shidou’s gaze locked with his, unwavering now.
“I like you… Sae.”
His voice broke just slightly on the name — not from weakness, but from meaning.
The silence after wasn’t empty.
It was full of breath and weight and the sound of something finally falling into place.
Shidou was still watching him — but not in that intense, firecracker way he usually did. He was just… present. Like the silence didn’t scare him. Like he could wait.
Sae’s gaze drifted away, somewhere past the glass, past the city lights flickering like stars. Like distractions.
“You know I’m not giving you everything,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t an apology. Just a fact. A boundary. A wall he wasn’t ready to take down — not yet.
“I still keep some of it behind glass,” he continued. “Even now. I don’t know how not to.”
There was a pause.
Then, just as soft, Shidou replied, “You don’t have to give me everything.”
His eyes flicked to him
Sae looked down, voice low. “I know I don’t make this easy.”
Shidou didn’t speak. Just let him go on.
“I don’t know how to be… open,” Sae said, barely above a whisper. “Not fully. There are things I keep locked up so tight, I don’t even know if I could get to them if I wanted to.
He breathed in. Slowly.
“I don’t know how to hand those pieces over without breaking them in the process.”
The confession sat between them, raw and unpolished. It wasn’t an apology. It was fear shaped into honesty.
Shidou’s voice was soft — for once. “Then don’t hand them over.”
Sae blinked, startled.
“You don’t have to break for me to understand you,” Shidou said. “You don’t even have to explain. ”
He smiled — not that wild, toothy thing Sae was used to, but something smaller. Almost reverent.
“I’ll take whatever pieces you offer. Even if it’s just one. Even if it’s cracked. I’ll still want it.”
Sae's chest tightened. The kind of tight that wasn’t painful — just too full.
“You always want too much,” he murmured.
“And you always give less than you mean to,” Shidou said, gentle. “But I see you anyway.”
Sae was quiet for a long moment. Then, wordlessly, he stepped forward.
A hand next to shidous head ,his knee between Shidous thighs, their faces inches apart.
He lifted his right hand slowly, cupping Shidou’s cheek before letting his fingers trail upward — covering his eyes with his hand in a featherlight touch.
“You always look straight through me,” he whispered. “Even when I don’t want you to.”
He hesitated — breath catching.
like something cracked open just enough to let the words slip out.
“…So keep seeing through me.”
And he leaned in.
The kiss was soft, tentative — like something Sae had never let himself want out loud. But it wasn’t shy. It was felt. Deeply. Quietly. Completely.
His lips brushed Shidou’s with the kind of care that didn’t come naturally to him — not because he couldn’t give it, but because he never thought he’d be allowed to. It was the kind of kiss that said “I don’t do this. But I’m doing it for you.”
The heat between them wasn’t frantic. It was slow, reverent — the kind of heat that builds from understanding. From tension left to simmer. From knowing the shape of someone in silence before ever getting to hold them like this.
Shidou didn’t move. Didn’t grab.
He just kissed him back, like he knew exactly how much this meant.
Like he’d been waiting for this moment — not the kiss itself, but the letting in.
And Sae let it happen.
Let himself want.
Let himself be seen.
Like a truth finally confessed — without defenses, without explanation. Just feeling.
Just them.
Color danced across the glass walls.
Bursts of light covered them
Light caught in their hair, kissed their skin, scattered across their clothes like brushstrokes. The noise was thunderous — a heartbeat outside of their bodies — but inside the cart, it was quiet. Weightless.
Like they were floating.
At the pinnacle of everything, where nothing could break this moment.
Where, finally, neither of them was alone.
The kiss deepened, Sae's tongue tentatively exploring Shidou's mouth, tasting him, memorizing him. Shidou's hands finally moved, cupping Sae's face, his thumbs brushing against Sae's cheeks, grounding him in the reality of this moment.
His hands found Sae’s waist, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together, the heat between them intensifying.The world below them a distant hum, their focus solely on each other.
Sae felt it in the way Shidou’s breath ghosted over his lips, in the gentle press of their mouths, in the way the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them . Sae felt his heart stumble in his chest. It was dizzying, not because of the kiss itself, but because of what it meant
The world around them — the rattling of the cart, the rumble of fireworks, the chaos of the park — all of it blurred into white noise. It didn’t matter.
There was only this.
Only the heat of another person, the steadiness of a hand not asking for anything but being allowed to stay.
Only them.
And for once, Sae let himself believe it was okay to have this.
To want this.
To fall.
————
They pulled apart slowly.
As if neither on of them wanted to break the spell
The world returned in pieces — the creak of the Ferris wheel, the rumble of the crowd below, the fireworks dimming into faint embers in the sky. But for a moment longer, Sae didn’t move.
His hand was still there, covering Shidou’s eyes, palm warm against his cheek. Like he hadn’t decided what to do next. Like he wasn’t quite ready for the look he might see staring back at him.
Shidou didn’t say anything — just waited, breath soft, body still.
Then, Sae finally spoke. Quiet. Flat. Almost too casual.
“Don’t look.”
Shidou blinked beneath his hand, voice dipping into a teasing hum.
“Why not?”
Sae didn’t budge. He let out a breath. “Don’t ask questions.”
There was a beat. Then another. Shidou chuckled low in his throat.
“You’re really bad at subtlety, you know that?”
Sae didn’t respond.
He just let his hand linger one second longer — thumb brushing lightly over Shidou’s temple — before pulling away and turning toward the cabin door, eyes deliberately averted.
By the time the cart reached the ground and the latch clicked open, they stood in the soft light of the park again, muted noise rushing back in like a tide.
Sae adjusted his sleeves, half-shielding his face.
“I’ll see you,” he muttered, already stepping out of the cart.
Shidou paused. And, despite the warning, risked a glance.
Sae was facing away, head turned just enough to give him a side profile — but his ears were burning red, the blush creeping down his neck. His mouth was drawn tight in a half-scowl, like he regretted everything and would die before admitting it.
Shidou’s grin spread slow and satisfied.
He didn’t comment.
Didn’t tease.
He just said, “See you.”
—————————————
Later, in the quiet of his hotel room, Sae tugged off his hoodie and reached into the pocket of his jeans to grab his wallet.
Something slipped out with it.
He stilled.
It was the photo booth strip — slightly bent, ink still crisp. Four chaotic frames of them shidou mid-laugh, mid-argument. In one, Shidou had leaned too close, Sae looked genuinely caught off guard — lips parted,as Shidou kissed his cheek
Saes finger skimmed his lip
He stared at it.
For a long time.
Then, without a word, he slid it carefully into his wallet — behind his ID, tucked where no one would see it.
Every time he reached for a card , every time he paid for something, that sliver of memory would brush against his fingers — proof that it happened. That he let someone in.
Even if he never showed it .Those flickers of life threatened to burn him.consume him
He wouldn't say it
But the truth lay between this paper of memory and his aching heartbeat