Kazuki's palm hit the floor for the third time, the sting shooting up his wrist. Nothing under the bed. Nothing between the mattress and the wall. Nothing tangled in the sheets he'd forgotten to wash for two weeks.
"Motherfuck—" He bit the word off, groaning, and slapped the laminate again. His hand throbbed. He shook it out, flexing his fingers, and scanned the room from his knees. The white watch his dad had given him for high school graduation. Gone. Like it had evaporated.
He stood. Checked the bathroom. The kitchen counter. The pile of laundry he'd meant to fold three days ago. Nothing. His jaw tightened. He was already late. Daichi had texted twice. Aoi had sent a photo of her fist with the caption *we will break your door down*. They weren't joking. They'd done it in high school when he'd tried to skip a festival to study. His mom had opened the door and found Daichi and Aoi in the hallway, grinning, and she'd laughed and told him to go have fun.
That was before. Before everything.
He pushed the thought down and checked the bathroom again. The watch sat on the edge of the sink, next to his toothbrush, exactly where he'd left it after showering last night. He stared at it. Then at himself in the mirror.
The beret sat at a slight tilt on his head, the small pearls catching the light. Black shirt, loose, tucked just enough into the baggy white jeans. The pearls on the jeans—tiny white beads stitched along the pockets—matched the earrings and the rings on his fingers. He'd spent an hour on this. An hour picking clothes, adjusting the beret, checking himself in the mirror like he was going somewhere that mattered.
He hadn't looked this nice in months.
Months.
His reflection stared back. The same hazel-green eyes. The same dark hair, a little longer now, curling at the edges. The same face. But something was different. Something in the set of his jaw, the way his shoulders sat. He looked like someone who was trying.
He took a shuddering breath. Snapped the watch onto his wrist. And walked out.
The living room was quiet. Sakura was on the couch, Hikari asleep against her chest, a textbook open on her knee. She looked up when he passed. Her mouth opened. He didn't stop. The door clicked shut behind him before she could say anything.
Maybe that was a blessing.
The lobby mirror caught him again as he crossed to the exit. He paused. Looked at himself. The pearls. The beret. The watch his dad had given him, ticking against his wrist. He looked like a person who had friends waiting for him. He looked like a person who could laugh.
He didn't feel like one. But the mirror didn't know that.
He texted the group chat: *omw. don't kill me.*
Aoi replied instantly: *too late. we're already at the gate. you owe me a crepe.*
Daichi: *AND a drink. AND a photo. AND your firstborn.*
Ichiro: *ignore them. we're at the east entrance. take your time.*
Yua: *you look nice!!! aoi showed us the fit pic you sent her*
Kazuki blinked. He'd sent Aoi a photo? He checked his messages. Yeah. He had. At 2 a.m., when he couldn't sleep and needed someone to tell him he didn't look like shit. She'd replied with a string of heart emojis and *pearl king*. He'd forgotten.
He pocketed his phone and walked.
The festival sprawled across three blocks of the university district—white tents and string lights, food stalls pumping steam into the evening air, a stage at the far end where a band was setting up. The crowd was thick. Bodies pressed together, laughter rising above the bass from a nearby speaker. Someone bumped into him and apologized without stopping. The smell of grilled meat and caramel and sweat cut through the cool air.
He spotted them at the east entrance. Daichi was easy to find—tall, blonde, golden chain catching the light, already holding a stick of something fried. Aoi stood next to him in her leather jacket, phone out, taking a photo of the sky. Ichiro leaned against a lamppost, a book tucked under his arm, his silver-rimmed glasses glinting. Yua waved when she saw him, her brown hair pulled back, her smile wide.
"There he is," Daichi said, turning. His face split into a grin. "Damn, Kaz. Look at you."
"Pearl king," Aoi said without looking up from her phone. She snapped a photo of him. "Got it. The people will see."
"You look nice," Yua said, soft, her eyes lingering a second longer than necessary. "Really nice."
Ichiro nodded. "The beret works."
Kazuki felt something loosen in his chest. A knot he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. "Thanks," he said. "I look like I'm trying too hard?"
"You look like you're trying," Daichi said, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's the point. Now come on. I saw a stall selling chocolate-covered strawberries and I need three."
They moved into the crowd. Daichi led, clearing a path with his shoulders. Aoi walked beside him, occasionally stopping to take photos of the lights, the food, the faces. Ichiro drifted at the edges, quiet, observant. Yua stayed close to Kazuki, matching his pace, her shoulder brushing his every few steps.
"You okay?" she asked, low enough that only he could hear.
He looked at her. She was watching him, her brown eyes soft, her expression open. She'd always been like this. Perceptive. Kind. The kind of person who noticed when someone was pretending.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm okay."
She didn't push. Just smiled and turned back to the crowd. "Good. Because I'm going to destroy you at the ring toss."
"You're on."
They found the strawberry stall. Daichi bought four sticks and handed one to each of them. The chocolate was warm, the strawberries cold, and Kazuki bit into his and felt the sugar hit his bloodstream. He hadn't eaten today. He hadn't realized until now.
"Photo," Aoi said, pointing her phone at them. "Group. Now."
They crowded together. Daichi threw an arm around Kazuki's shoulder. Yua pressed in on his other side, her head tilting toward his. Ichiro stood behind them, his chin lifted. Aoi held the phone out, counted to three, and snapped.
"Again," she said. "This time, Kaz, smile like you mean it."
He tried. The photo probably looked forced. But Aoi nodded, satisfied, and showed it to him. He looked... okay. Not happy. But not broken. That was something.
They wandered deeper into the festival. A live band started playing—something upbeat, with a horn section—and the crowd pulsed with it. Daichi grabbed Aoi's wrist and pulled her into the open space where people were dancing. She rolled her eyes but went, her leather jacket catching the light as she moved.
Ichiro found a bench and sat, pulling out his book. "I'll hold the snacks," he said. "Go."
Yua looked at Kazuki. "Dance?"
He hesitated. He hadn't danced since... he couldn't remember. High school, maybe. A school festival. Before everything got heavy.
"I'm not good at it," he said.
"Neither am I. That's the point." She held out her hand. "Come on."
He took it. Her palm was warm, her grip firm. She led him into the crowd, found a gap, and started moving—loose, unself-conscious, her body finding the rhythm without trying. He copied her, stiff at first, then looser. The bass thumped through his chest. The lights flashed red and gold. Someone bumped into him and laughed. He laughed back.
For a moment, he forgot.
He forgot about Sakura. About Hikari. About the locked door and the silence and the guilt that sat in his chest like a stone. He forgot about the nights he'd woken up dreaming his sister on top of him, about the therapy sessions, about the word *Ayamari* that had slipped out of his mouth and couldn't be taken back. He forgot about the baby he couldn't look at and the sister he couldn't forgive and the version of himself that had existed before all of this.
For a moment, he was just a guy at a festival, dancing with a girl who smiled at him like he was worth smiling at.
The song ended. Another started, slower. Yua didn't pull away. Neither did he.
"You're not bad," she said.
"You're lying."
"I'm not." She stepped closer. "You've got rhythm."
He felt his face warm. "Thanks."
They found the others at the ring toss. Daichi had won a small plush cat and was trying to give it to Aoi, who was refusing. Ichiro watched from the bench, his book closed, a faint smile on his face. The sky had darkened. The string lights glowed warmer. Somewhere, a child laughed, high and bright.
Kazuki bought a stick of grilled meat and ate it standing up, watching the crowd. Couples walked hand in hand. Groups of friends shouted over each other. A girl in a yukata spun in a circle, her sleeves flying out. The world was full of people having normal nights.
He was one of them. For tonight.
"Kaz." Yua appeared at his side, holding two cups of something pink. "Try this. It's lychee and soda."
He took it. Sipped. Sweet and cold, with a fizz that tickled his tongue. "Good."
"Right?" She drank from her own cup, then looked at him over the rim. "Hey. I'm glad you came."
"Me too."
She smiled, and something in her eyes shifted—softer, warmer. She opened her mouth to say something, but Daichi's voice cut across the space.
"PHOTO WALL. EVERYONE. NOW."
They followed him to a wall covered in fake flowers and fairy lights, where a photographer was charging five hundred yen per shot. Daichi paid for the group. They arranged themselves again—Daichi in the center, arm around Kazuki, Aoi on the other side, Ichiro and Yua flanking. The photographer counted down.
"Three, two, one—"
The flash went white. Kazuki blinked spots from his eyes.
"One more," the photographer said. "This time, something silly."
Daichi made a face. Aoi flipped the camera off. Yua laughed, her head falling back. Ichiro raised an eyebrow. Kazuki didn't have time to think—he just smiled. A real one. The kind that reached his eyes.
The flash caught it.
Later, when Aoi sent the photo to the group chat, he'd look at it and see himself laughing, surrounded by people who didn't know the worst parts of him. And he'd feel grateful. And guilty. And grateful anyway.
But that was later. For now, he was at a festival, holding a half-empty cup of lychee soda, standing between his friends, feeling the weight of his life lift just enough to breathe.
Yua bumped his shoulder. "We're getting crepes next. I saw a stall with matcha and red bean."
"I'm in."
She grinned. "Good. Race you there."
She took off before he could respond, her laughter trailing behind her. He watched her go, then broke into a run, his shoes slapping against the pavement, his beret nearly flying off. He caught it with one hand and kept going.
Behind him, Daichi shouted something about being left behind. Ahead, Yua glanced back, still running, her smile bright in the string lights.
Kazuki ran faster.
For the first time in months, he wanted to catch up.
Yua stood at the crepe stall, already holding two paper-wrapped cones, her grin bright under the string lights. Kazuki doubled over, hands on his knees, chest heaving. The run had been longer than he thought—or he was more out of shape than he wanted to admit.
"Loser," she said, her voice warm with laughter.
He looked up, still panting. She brought a crepe to his mouth, the edge of it brushing his lips. He opened without thinking, took a bite. Matcha cream and red bean, sweet and slightly bitter. She watched him chew, her eyes tracing the flush on his cheeks, the way his lips moved.
He straightened, reaching for the crepe. "Thanks."
She let him take it, her fingers brushing his. "You earned it."
They stood side by side, eating in the glow of festival lights. Kazuki chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness. The night air smelled like grilled meat and fried batter and something floral from the stalls nearby. Somewhere, a festival drum beat a steady rhythm.
"Aoi's moody since Yuki left for Italy," Yua said, her voice dropping. She watched Kazuki catch his breath, her gaze lingering on his profile. "Daichi's been trying to cheer her up. He's a total fan of Yuki ever since they hung out." She looked down at her crepe. "It was when you wouldn't... leave your apartment for months."
Kazuki swallowed. The sweetness turned thick in his throat. "Family problems," he said quietly. "Y'know."
Yua nodded, not pressing. She bumped her shoulder against his. "You're here now."
"Yeah." He took another bite. "I'm here."
Daichi appeared between them, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders. "There you two lovebirds are. Ichiro found a cafe near his place. Best croissants in the student district, apparently."
Yua's face went pink. "We're not—"
"Sure you're not." Daichi winked at Kazuki. "Coming?"
Kazuki shrugged off his arm but smiled. "Lead the way."
The cafe was tucked between a bookstore and a vintage clothing shop, its windows fogged with warmth. A bell chimed as they pushed through the door. The air smelled like butter and coffee and cinnamon. Wooden tables were scattered across the floor, each with a small lamp casting amber light. A few students hunched over laptops near the back. A couple shared a slice of cake by the window.
They took a corner table, the one with a torn leather booth and mismatched chairs. Daichi slid in next to Aoi, who was scrolling through her phone with a flat expression. Ichiro pulled out a chair and sat with his usual quiet grace. Yua sat across from Kazuki, her knee brushing his under the table.
"Menu's on the board," Ichiro said, nodding toward the chalkboard above the counter. "I recommend the almond croissant. And the hot chocolate."
Daichi was already standing. "I'll get the first round. What does everyone want?"
They ordered. Daichi returned with a tray loaded with croissants, cups of hot chocolate, and a single black coffee for Ichiro. The croissants were golden, flaky, still warm. Kazuki bit into his and felt the layers shatter against his tongue, butter and sugar melting together.
"Good?" Yua asked.
He nodded, mouth full. She laughed and took a bite of her own.
The conversation flowed easily. Daichi recounted the ring toss disaster—how he'd spent two thousand yen trying to win a plush cat for Aoi, who'd finally accepted it out of pity. Aoi showed them photos she'd taken: the festival from above, the string lights blurring into gold, a candid shot of Yua laughing with her head thrown back. She'd caught Kazuki mid-run, his beret flying off, his mouth open in surprise.
"Delete that," he said.
"Never." Aoi grinned. "It's going in the group chat."
Ichiro stirred his coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. "You looked happy."
Kazuki paused. The words landed somewhere soft. "I was."
Their eyes met briefly. Ichiro didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.
Time slipped. The cafe grew quieter as the night deepened. The couple by the window left, hand in hand. A staff member started wiping down the counter. Kazuki checked his phone—almost midnight. He should feel tired. He didn't.
"I'm going to the bathroom," he said, pushing back his chair.
Yua looked up. "Want me to order another hot chocolate?"
"Maybe. I'll see."
He walked past the counter, past the bathroom door, and stopped in front of the mirror.
The fluorescent light was harsh. It caught the shadows under his eyes, the slight hollow of his cheeks. But his eyes—they looked different. Lighter. Softer. The tightness around his mouth was gone.
He stared at himself.
He looked like someone who'd just had a good night. Like someone who'd laughed and run and eaten crepes from a girl's hand. Like someone who'd forgotten, for a few hours, that his life was a wreck of guilt and grief and a baby he couldn't look at.
His reflection stared back. The beret was slightly crooked. He fixed it.
You're okay, he thought. For tonight, you're okay.
He took a breath. Held it. Let it out slow.
Back at the table, Yua had her head in her hands. "Unfair," she was saying, her voice muffled. "He's as blind as a bat."
"He's oblivious," Ichiro corrected, chewing a fry. "There's a difference."
"He's been oblivious for two years." Aoi stirred her hot chocolate. "At this point, it's a choice."
"I'll die single." Yua lifted her head, her face tragic. "I'll be at your weddings, holding a bouquet, crying because I'm happy for you and also because I'm alone."
"It's okay," Daichi said, not looking up from his phone. "We'll invite you to our weddings."
Yua threw a napkin at him.
Kazuki slid back into his seat. "What'd I miss?"
"Nothing," they said in unison.
He raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Yua pushed a fresh cup of hot chocolate toward him. "I ordered it anyway."
The cup was warm in his hands. He wrapped his fingers around it, let the heat seep into his palms. "Thanks."
She smiled, soft and a little sad. "Anytime."
The conversation picked up again. Daichi told a story about his professor falling asleep mid-lecture. Aoi showed them a video of Yuki's race from earlier that day, the car blurring past the camera in a streak of red. Ichiro recommended a book about a man who builds a wall around his house and then forgets why.
Kazuki listened. He laughed at the right moments. He sipped his hot chocolate and let the warmth settle in his chest.
When they finally left, the streets were empty. The festival had ended. The string lights were still on, but the stalls were closed, the crowds gone. Their footsteps echoed against the pavement.
Daichi offered to walk Aoi home. Ichiro lived two blocks away. That left Kazuki and Yua standing under a streetlamp, the night cool around them.
"Your place is the other direction," she said.
"Yeah." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You want me to walk you?"
"I live ten minutes away. I'll be fine." She paused. "But... thanks."
They stood in the silence. A car passed. Somewhere, a dog barked.
"Tonight was good," she said finally. "Really good."
"Yeah." He looked at her. The streetlight caught her hair, made it glow. "It was."
She smiled—smaller than before, something unreadable in her eyes. "Goodnight, Kaz."
"Goodnight, Yua."
She turned and walked away. He watched her go, her footsteps light on the pavement, her shadow stretching and shrinking under the lamps. At the corner, she glanced back. He raised a hand. She waved, then disappeared around the bend.
Kazuki stood alone in the quiet street. The air smelled like night and asphalt and the faint sweetness of crepes still on his tongue.
He started walking home.
The apartment building rose ahead, dark except for a few lit windows. His was on the third floor. He wondered if Sakura was still awake. If Hikari was sleeping. If the silence would feel heavier than before.
He climbed the stairs. Unlocked the door. Stepped inside.
The apartment was dark. Quiet. A single lamp glowed in the living room, casting a soft circle of light on the floor. Sakura's door was closed. Hikari's crib was visible through the gap in the nursery door—still, peaceful.
Kazuki stood in the entryway, his keys still in his hand. The warmth from the festival clung to him like a second skin. He didn't want to let it go.
He set his keys in the bowl. Toed off his shoes. Walked to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror one more time.
Same face. Same shadows. Same tired eyes.
But something was different. Something small and fragile, like a match struck in the dark.
He turned off the light. Went to his room. Lay down on his futon, still wearing his festival clothes, and stared at the ceiling.
The smile didn't fade.