Chapter Text
The night is cool, with the kind of crisp air that carries the faint bite of the end of winter and the start of spring. Above them, the sky stretches dark and endless, scattered with stars, while below, lanterns blaze in bright colors – glowing warm against the blackness. The air is thick with the smell of grilled squid, sweet taiyaki, and the faint tang of fireworks somewhere in the distance.
“Alright, rule number one –” Takeo announces, bouncing on his toes, “– we eat everything. ”
Keisuke groans. “We are not eating everything. ”
“Yes we are!!” Takeo shouts back, already dragging Takahashi toward the nearest yakisoba stall. The stands stretch ahead, as far as the eye can see.
The whole soccer team has decided to check out the first festival of spring together, a half-serious excuse for “team bonding” that mostly turned into an excuse to eat way too much fried food and laugh at each other’s epic failures at the game stalls.
The air is cold enough to prickle against Souta’s skin. He hangs back from the group for a second, just taking it all in – the colors, the noise, the sound of some old festival song drifting from a distant speaker. He wants to let himself fully sink into the glow, like everyone else. But every time his eyes catch on that one raven-haired guy in the crowd, the air shifts, and his lungs tighten.
These last few months should have been enough to move on, but the truth is cruelly simple: he’s still hopelessly hung up on Nao, and pretending otherwise is exhausting.
Takahashi drags them all to the goldfish-scooping stand, where Souta’s paper net tears instantly and he has to listen to Takeo snicker for the next five minutes while Keisuke somehow manages to snag two at once. At the cork gun game, Souta actually does well – or so he thinks, until the cork ricochets and smacks him square in the face.
They take turns trying on festival masks: fox, tengu, even a ridiculous pink rabbit that Takeo shoves into Nao’s face just long enough for Keisuke to snap a photo. Someone insists on a group shot, so they all pile together under the lanterns, half-shoved, half-pulled into frame.
Souta is keeping just enough distance from Nao to make it look natural. Ever since Nao’s rejection last winter, he’s been careful, maybe even too careful, about not letting himself slip. Jun’s advice still echoes in his head: you have to put away these feelings.
Souta had tried. Really, he had. But it was impossible, when the smallest things always pulled him back in.
Like the way Nao’s head tipped back when he laughed at Tsubasa’s spectacularly failed attempt to violently scoop three goldfish up at once. Or how his sleeves slid up when he leaned over the cork gun booth, revealing a slim, angled wrist that caught Souta’s eye before he could look away. Even the way Nao had adjusted the cheap festival mask on his head, distracted and absentminded, was enough to send Souta’s heart knocking stupidly against his ribs.
He has to constantly tell himself to stop noticing. To focus on the group. To actually laugh at the terrible photo of them all squeezed together. But his gaze always finds its way back to Nao. And every damn time it does, a dull ache presses deeper in his chest, reminding him of exactly why he’s been avoiding Nao in the first place.
It all still hurts too much.
As the group works its way through the crowd, Souta is jostled from behind, stumbling a step. Before he can catch himself, he feels a hand grip his arm – warm and steady and familiar.
A moment later, his back bumps against Nao’s chest.
Souta swallows. The crowd swirls around them, but all he can register is the press of Nao behind him, and the warmth of the hand still gripping his arm.
“Careful,” Nao mutters, his voice a little too close to his ear. Souta nods, his throat tight. He can’t help but notice the way Nao doesn’t immediately let go.
In a weird way, he doesn’t want to admit how much he’s missed this – seeing Nao’s instinct to help him, to be there for him without hesitation, to stand so close it almost hurts.
Stop it. His chest tightens, and irritation sets in – he should know better by now. Don’t read into every little thing he does. He’s just trying to keep me from falling on my face.
Souta turns to mumble a thank you and break away. The words are ready on his lips, but they don’t make it out.
As soon as he turns around, the lantern light catches across Nao’s face, soft and golden, throwing every sharp line into something warmer, almost breathtaking. They haven’t been this close in months, not since everything had gone sideways between them, and the nearness hits Souta like a memory he both can’t hold onto and can’t let go of.
It’s achingly familiar – in one way, heartwarming, because Nao is right here, grounding him with the simplest touch. But also painful, because it reminds him of all the distance he’s had to force between them, and all the careful steps back he’s had to take to protect himself.
Souta realizes he’s staring.
And worse, Nao shifts slightly, as if he’s noticed too.
They break apart suddenly, awkwardly – Nao pulling his hand back as Souta turns away to hide his blush.
The crowd is thicker now, and – somehow – they’ve lost sight of the group in the chaos.
Souta finds himself trailing behind Nao, weaving between stalls lit up like little islands in the night, trying to catch up with the rest of the team.
As they reach the edge of the festival, the stalls fall away behind them and the crowd thins. Nao slows his pace, subtly matching Souta’s stride. Side by side, the quiet stretches between them, neither quite sure how to fill it. Months had passed since they’d actually been alone together like this – months in which every interaction had been weighed, measured, and carefully distant.
The casual chatter of the crowd stumbles and fades away. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, exactly – but it’s full of a kind of lingering tension. They could turn back now, wander through the remaining stalls, rejoin the group – but something tugs them forward.
The river walk spreads ahead of them, calm and open under the cool spring sky, the water reflecting the fading lantern light behind them and the stars above.
Nao’s voice breaks the quiet. “Do you… want to check it out?”
Souta’s instinct is to protest. To run, like he has for months. They shouldn’t – after everything. But at the same time, every part of him wants to say yes – to stay near Nao, to feel that quiet warmth again.
Souta’s eyes meet Nao’s, and without another word, they keep walking, side by side, letting the festival and the world fall away behind them.
The noise of the crowd dulls the farther they walk, replaced by the soft babble of the river. The breeze carries the faint scent of grilled squid from the stalls they’ve left behind.
Nao turns slightly to look over at the water, and their hands brush. The contact is so light that it must be accidental, but Souta’s pulse stutters anyway.
The lantern light catches on the edge of Nao’s profile, gold bleeding into his hair, and Souta has to remind himself to breathe.
Nao slows near the water’s edge, one hand brushing against the long grass by the bank. Souta can’t help but notice how he’s slid up his sleeves, once again exposing the curve of his wrist. Souta swallows.
“It’s nice here,” Nao says, his voice almost gentle enough to be lost to the breeze that’s ruffling his hair.
“Yeah,” Souta replies, an uncomfortable warmth blooming in his chest.
He wants to say more – something about how the lantern light makes everything feel warmer, how comforting it is to see the stars reflecting in the water, how much he’s missed it being just the two of them – but the words just sit like a lump in his throat.
Nao suddenly turns to face him, and for a moment, it looks like he might say something. His lips part, and his gaze flicks to Souta and away again.
Then, he sighs, tucking both hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie.
The silence between them isn’t awkward. It’s worse. It’s heavy, electric, like a stretched wire just before it snaps.
Souta’s fingers itch with the thought of closing the space – of touching his hand again, maybe, just to see if Nao would pull it back.
The thought makes him realize how dangerous this is. One wrong move, one stupid slip, and all their months of hard work – all the careful distance they’d built – could crumble in an instant.
What if we have to start over again? What if Nao can’t trust me? What if I can’t trust myself?
It feels like they’re suddenly teetering on the edge of an invisible cliff – like one wrong move could send them careening over an emotional drop off that neither of them is ready for.
Souta’s head is so busy spinning that he doesn’t register the movement in front of him, until a feather-light touch grazes his fingers. His head snaps toward Nao, and for a moment, time seems to stop. Nao brushes their fingers – careful, tentative – and the warmth sears right through him.
“I’ve been wanting to thank you,” Nao starts, his voice gentle against the rustle of the river and the faint hum of distant festival lights, the tips of his fingers gently mingling with Souta’s.
Souta blinks. He’d been so tangled in his own thoughts, spinning scenarios, imagining missteps and mistakes, that he hadn’t even noticed Nao moving closer.
His heart thumps so loud it almost drowns out the faint sounds of the river.
“...for everything,” Nao continues, his eyes looking up from their hands to meet Souta’s. “For being there for me last fall, even when I didn’t deserve it. For not giving up on me.”
Souta’s heart lurches. He wants to say something, but all he can manage is a small, shaky laugh. He holds up his other hand and looks down.
“You don’t have to say it.”
“Yeah, I do,” Nao looks determined. He turns slightly, eyes catching the lantern reflections on the water. “You’ve been… more than I deserve.”
There’s a pause.
“And I’ve really missed you.”
Souta's eyes meet Nao’s, and they're impossibly sincere, shining with a quiet truth that makes Souta’s chest ache.
Nao’s words hang in the air, weighty and soft all at once. The cold anxiety that had gripped Souta since the festival seems to melt just a little, but confusion fills his head. Nao’s tone, his careful touch, the gentle way he’s looking at him… none of it matches the walls Nao usually keeps around himself.
Souta swallows, his heart thundering. “When you do things like this,” his voice is tight with restraint, “it confuses me. I already know you don’t have feelings for me, but it still… it still gives me the wrong idea about us.”
Nao’s brow furrows. “I never said I didn’t have feelings for you.”
Souta freezes.
His eyes meet Nao’s, and for a moment, he feels like someone has snatched his brain and replaced it with fireworks. What is he talking about?
“I…” Souta begins, but words fail him.
Nao has… feelings for him?
No, of course not.
Souta pulls his hand away, and suddenly that quiet ache in his chest from months of uncertainty erupts into something hotter, something sharper.
Anger blooms like wildfire – unfamiliar, fierce, and… oddly liberating.
His face heats up, and his heart pounds not with fear, but with the force of everything he’s been holding in. Every confusing glance, every half-word, every time he’s tried to hide how much he still cared while pretending he’d let go – it all comes crashing forward.
“Why do I feel like you’re messing with me?”
Nao goes pale.“Souta… I –”
“You already rejected me, remember??” Souta steps closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You weren’t exactly subtle, Nao. You left me dangling like some… some idiot who didn’t matter!”
Nao looks like the wind has been knocked out of him. He hesitates, searching for words, his mouth opening and closing as if the right one might come out if he tries hard enough.
Souta takes a step closer. Then another. Each movement carries the weight of frustration and longing, an intensity that’s both terrifying and exhilarating. His control is gone. And suddenly, everything is pouring out – the hurt, the confusion, the sheer unfairness of it all.
“I’ve tried to get rid of these feelings! I’ve tried to move on, to listen to Jun.”
Nao winces at that, and his jaw tightens.
“...But God, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore!”
With a final step, he closes the distance, his hands gripping onto the edge of Nao’s hoodie as he presses right into him. They're close, and the pressure is urgent, desperate, and full of everything Souta has been holding in.
Nao’s eyes widen. His cheeks tint with a faint blush that spreads to a deeper red almost instantly. His breath goes short and ragged at the closeness. He swallows, and Souta notices, almost hypnotized, the way Nao’s gaze flickers – subtly, undeniably – toward his lips.
Souta’s stomach flips.
I know that look.
That fleeting, impossible glance…
That's... desire.
Nao… wants him.
The realization strikes like lightning, and Souta stumbles back a step, his heart racing so hard he can barely breathe.
“Holy shit.”
Nao’s flush deepens from pink to crimson. “What?!” he stammers, flustered, scrambling to regain composure… but it’s too late.
They stare at each other in stunned silence. The night stretches around them, the river murmuring below, the lanterns flickering in the distance. The air between them is thick with something unspoken… and the heat of months of restraint.
Finally, Souta lets out a single, choked whisper: “Why…?”
He can’t even bring himself to say it all. Why did you reject me? Why chase me down only to push me away? Why are you holding back, even now? Why… make me feel like this?
Souta steps back again. His voice is weak with shock.
“What are you even thinking?”
Nao glares at him – not with anger, but with that frayed, desperate energy Souta recognizes all too well. It’s the look Nao gets when he’s teetering between shutting down and spiraling. And right now, he’s definitely spiraling.
“What am I thinking?” Nao scoffs indignantly, heat rising to his cheeks.
“I'm thinking that I should have kissed you at the festival when I had the chance.” Now it’s Nao’s turn to step closer, closing the gap that Souta just created. “I’m thinking that I should have held onto you like crazy on that stupid ferris wheel. And that I should never have pushed you away in the days after.” There's an undeniable ache in his voice. “I’m thinking that I have done everything wrong since the first day we ever met!”
Souta can only stare. His brain feels scrambled, like every word just short-circuited him.
“You…” His voice comes out uneven. “Do you… actually mean that?”
Nao’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Yeah. I do.” His eyes don’t waver, wide and earnest, shimmering under the lantern glow.
Something unknots in Souta’s chest. He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh, cry, or collapse right here. The frustration, the questions, the second-guessing – all of it drains out in a dizzying rush.
He lets out a shaky breath and shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
“God, you’re such an idiot.” His voice is softer now, tinged with exasperation, but carrying a warmth that wasn’t there before.
Nao blinks. For a moment, he looks like he’s about to argue back – but then Souta steps forward.
Before he can second-guess it, Souta closes the distance. His body collides with Nao’s and his arms wrap forcefully around him, dragging him in like he’ll never let go again. The hug is fierce, almost desperate, and Nao freezes for only a second before clutching him back with equal strength, burying his face against Souta’s shoulder and melting into the embrace. His hands find the back of Souta’s shirt, and they grip it tight.
Souta squeezes his eyes shut and holds on like he’s afraid of letting go. He holds Nao flush against him, letting his quiet warmth seep straight into his chest.
For the first time in months, it doesn’t feel like they’re teetering on the edge of a cliff. It feels like they’ve finally found some solid ground.
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Continue on to chapter 2.