I’m ready.

Those were the words Yahiko had written. Those were the words he had sent days ago.

The only reply he received was: I’ll text you when it’s time.

Since then, the waiting had stretched like an endless thread. Every night, Yahiko curled up in bed, torn between texting again – How soon? Is it time already? Did you forget our deal? – and stopping himself.

Days blurred together. He still went to his small part-time job at the corner shop, stocking shelves and ringing up customers with a polite smile. But behind the routine, his thoughts kept circling the same dark orbit. On slow afternoons, he would catch himself staring at the screen of his phone hidden under the counter, checking it again and again. Nothing.

Nights were worse. He slept fitfully, waking to check for notifications only to see Shin’s cheerful photos from the mountain trip. No new messages.

The tension spilled into everything. He dropped plates, chipped cups, caught his foot on the same doorway he’d walked through a thousand times, as if his own house had become foreign. Each small accident left him more on edge.

Still he worked, helped his grandmother with groceries, wiped the counters at the shop, all to keep his hands busy. But every quiet moment slid back to that one thought – the single message that had set his mind spinning.

Days dragged on like that – slow, brittle, and exhausting.

From Ayato Hayashi:

Tomorrow. I will be waiting in —park. Western entrance.

If you’re still up for it.

Yahiko froze in the middle of his morning routine. The toothbrush slipped from his hand. For a second the words didn’t land. Then they did.

He read them twice. Three times. His stomach tightened. He had been waiting so long for this – so why did fear crawl through him now? His fingers trembled as he locked the screen and set the phone on the sink.

“Oh my god…” he whispered to the empty bathroom. “What do I even do?” His voice shook.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. No, Yahiko. You wanted this from the start. You’ve thought about this a hundred times. You’ve weighed every risk, every outcome. You decided already. This isn’t the time to back out.

He bent over, palms on his knees, staring at the neat pattern of the floor tiles.

“You asked for this. You got the answer,” he said under his breath. “What’s left to fear?”

He picked up the phone again, thumb hovering over the keyboard… then carried it with him instead.

A few minutes later he found himself sitting on the toilet, scrolling aimlessly. The realization crept in slow and heavy: This is it. Tomorrow. You need to answer.

His heart thudded. He sat there far too long, frozen between action and doubt. Send now? Wait? Back out?

In the end, he flipped the phone face-down on the counter and walked away.

The day dragged. All morning he busied himself – washing dishes, running errands, helping his grandmother – anything to drown the thrum in his chest. Hours crawled by. Yet every quiet moment the message pulsed in his head.

Only after sunset, when evening light filled his room, did he finally pick up the phone, open the message, and type the words that had been waiting all day.

I’ll be there.

***

Ayato had chosen —park on purpose. The festival’s noise and lights would make their meeting feel less like a secret and more like a chance encounter.

After receiving Yahiko’s message, he had texted back the time, though he never expected the boy to arrive exactly then. And he didn’t.

When Yahiko finally arrived, Ayato was standing alone by a small shrine, a thin trail of incense rising into the evening air.

Yahiko stopped a few paces away, heart thumping. He wore simple shorts and a T-shirt, two-strap sandals on his feet, and carried no bag – he hadn’t thought he’d need one for what they planned.

Ayato, too, was dressed casually: light pants, a T-shirt, slides. He stood with his hands loosely clasped, calm in the warm evening air.

“Hungry?”

The sudden voice startled Yahiko, making his heart skip.

“I… I guess not,” he said, shifting his weight.

Ayato half-turned, a small smile easing the air between them. “Good. Or bad, depending on how you see it. We’re heading that way, and I know a stall with the best takoyaki. At least it is festival night. Wouldn’t want to miss that, right?”

The words carried no pressure – just an easy invitation, like a gentle hand opening the door.

Yahiko followed in silence, keeping a step behind. The gap between them felt wider than the few feet of path.

“Do you like festivals?” Ayato asked as they crossed the bridge, the reflections of colored lights rippling below.

“Sometimes,” Yahiko said, his eyes on the glowing bridge ahead.

Ayato checked on him with an easy glance, his voice calm and even. “The celebration is only on the north side of the park – there’s a perfect spot there for fireworks. Hardly anyone comes this far. It’s quiet. We’re unlikely to meet anyone.”

Prepared. Thoughtful. Yahiko felt both impressed and uneasy. “Thank you,” he said, and then, with a small twist in his stomach, remembered how serious the consequences would be if anyone found out. Of course Ayato had chosen carefully.

“Ah, here it is,” Ayato said with a faint smile, stepping ahead. “My favorite.”

A couple was ahead of them in line. Yahiko chose a bench a short distance away. “I’ll wait over there,” he said.

People passed by barely noticing him, their attention fixed on music and lights.

Soon Ayato joined him, setting down a warm paper tray. “Here, help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Yahiko said softly, taking the food.

They ate quietly. The air smelled of grilled batter and the faint smoke of distant fireworks. Ayato’s calm seemed to settle over the bench like a soft blanket – the slow way he chewed, the measured way he breathed, as if time itself wasn’t something to rush. 

Yahiko’s tight chest loosened bit by bit. Whatever waited beyond this moment could wait a little longer.

“I guess it’s time,” Ayato said suddenly, standing up.