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Saiki wouldn’t like to admit it, but it’s nice: the grass dancing in the breeze, the setting sun painting his skin glowy orange, and the lingering, post-picnic smell of strawberry juice.
Aiura weaves a crown made of dandelions. They’re just weeds, but the headpiece looks ethereal. She holds it up after adding the last stem.
“You going to put it on?”
“It’s for you, dummy.”
He knows that was her plan all along.
He lifts his head from the quintessential red-and-white checked blanket where he lay. She sets the dandelion crown on his head.
“You look so cute!”
“Good grief,” Saiki replies, pretending that it’s beneath him to wear such a thing. But she knows he’s just trying to act cool. He loves it. And he loves her. But he won’t admit that either.