Saturday arrived bright and washed, as if the sky had ironed all its wrinkles out overnight. Ryuzí checked the time twice, then a third time the second he stepped outside. 9:47 a.m. His shoes felt too new for the pavement; his palms were perfectly dry until he saw Suki's gate—and then they weren't.
He paused at the fence to breathe once, just once, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Calm. Normal. Collect boyfriend. Survive teasing.
The wind chime above the porch gave a single clear note.
The door slid open before he could knock.
Suki stood there in a loose white tee tucked into light-wash jeans, a blue hoodie hanging open, hair soft and a little rebellious at the fringe like he'd lost an argument with his comb. He smiled like morning. "Right on time."
"You told me to be," Ryuzí said, which was his way of saying you look good.
Suki stepped out and tugged Ryuzí closer by the drawstring of his hoodie. "Inspection."
"For what," Ryuzí said, even as he allowed it.
"Boyfriend quality control," Suki answered, patting Ryuzí's chest with fake professionalism. "Height? Acceptable. Hoodie? Stealable. Face?" He tilted Ryuzí's chin with one finger. "Very stealable."
"Stop," Ryuzí said, ears pink.
"Never," Suki said, triumphant. He glanced toward the doorway. "Don't run—my sisters want to ruin your life for three minutes."
Rika appeared, a mug in hand. "We don't ruin lives. We enrich them." She eyed Ryuzí. "Turn around."
Ryuzí did, mostly because resistance would make this take longer.
Hana leaned on the doorframe, phone up like a paparazzo. "Photo to commemorate The Day Suki Goes On An Actual Date And Doesn't Pretend It's A Study Session."
Suki clutched his heart. "Slander! We studied so hard."
Rika sipped her coffee. "I can still hear the thumping from last week."
Suki choked. "That thumping was… uh… history! History is loud!"
Ryuzí covered his face with one hand. Hana took the picture anyway. "Adorable," she declared. "Bring him back by eight. Or don't. Text first."
"Eight," Ryuzí said quickly.
"Boring," Suki muttered, but he waved. "We're leaving!"
They escaped to the lane. Suki fell into step, hands in pockets, humming. "Plan?"
"Café," Ryuzí said. "Then… arcade, bookstore, park. Maybe taiyaki if you behave."
Suki gasped. "I'm deeply motivated to misbehave."
"I regret telling you anything," Ryuzí said, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
The café had windows like warm eyes and the smell of butter as soon as the bell chimed over the door. They claimed a little table by the glass, the kind that made street corners look like movie frames. Suki pressed his palms to the menu like it was a sacred text.
"Cinnamon roll the size of my head," he said. "And a latte with art on top."
"You'll vibrate out of your chair," Ryuzí said, ordering a black coffee and a croissant.
"That's your job," Suki replied. When Ryuzí blinked, Suki added innocently, "To hold me down."
"Stop talking," Ryuzí said, ears red, which only made Suki beam wider.
When the drinks arrived, Suki wiggled in his seat. "Look! It's a heart. They ship us."
"It's a default," Ryuzí said, but his eyes warmed on the latte art anyway. Suki broke off a piece of his cinnamon roll and held it across the table. Ryuzí leaned forward to take it; Suki popped it into his own mouth at the last second.
"You're five," Ryuzí said, deadpan.
"Emotionally, yes." Suki tore another piece, offered it again, and this time didn't steal it. "Reward for being cute in public."
"I wasn't—"
"Shh." Suki tapped the table. "Tell me one thing you like about me. Go."
Ryuzí stared at him, scandalized. "No."
"One," Suki insisted. "It's a date rule."
"You invented that rule."
"Correct. And I enforce it." He folded his hands, eyes gleaming. "Compliment me."
Ryuzí looked down at his coffee like it might offer rescue. It did not. He tried a tactical deflection. "Your sisters cooked for you. That was brave."
"Coward move," Suki said. "Try again."
A beat. Another. Ryuzí cleared his throat. "You… make rooms feel less heavy."
Suki stopped grinning. The smile he put on now was softer, smaller. "Say it again."
"No," Ryuzí said, because it made his chest ache in the good way.
Suki's foot nudged his under the table. "Then I'll say one. You're steady, even when you think you're not."
Ryuzí found an emergency subject change. "Arcade?"
"Arcade," Suki said, but he reached across and brushed a crumb from the corner of Ryuzí's mouth before they stood, his thumb lingering for half a second longer than necessary. "For later," he whispered, and won simply by existing.
The arcade brightened the street with neon and nostalgia. Bells chimed; 8-bit music did its cheerful little loop. Suki dragged Ryuzí straight to the claw machines.
"Observe," Suki said, feeding a coin. "I have a storied history with betrayal."
He maneuvered the claw toward a ridiculous plush shark. It descended with great ceremony, gripped, and then released the prize one centimeter from victory.
"See?" Suki announced. "Tragedy."
Ryuzí slid another coin into the slot. "Let me."
"Oho," Suki said, leaning on his shoulder like a sports commentator. "And here comes the challenger, known in three prefectures as—"
The claw closed, lifted, swung, and dropped the plush into the chute with a quiet, efficient thud.
Suki stared. "Cheating."
"Physics," Ryuzí said, retrieving the shark. When Suki didn't take it, he hesitated. "Do you… want…?"
Suki launched himself forward and hugged him and the shark at once. "I wanted you to win it for me," he said into Ryuzí's hoodie. Then he stepped back, cheeks slightly pink, and covered the moment with a grin. "And I wanted the shark."
They tried whack-a-mole (Suki frighteningly good), basketball (Ryuzí unfairly tall), and the co-op racing game that always ended with Suki deliberately ramming Ryuzí off the track in the last lap.
"Villain," Ryuzí accused.
"Protagonist," Suki corrected, already moving toward the photo booth. "One set. For the shrine."
"What shrine," Ryuzí asked, following anyway.
"The shrine that is my desk."
They squeezed into the booth, the curtain falling around them like a secret. The screen counted down. Suki looped an arm around Ryuzí's neck and turned both their faces toward the lens. "Smile like you don't know I'm going to tickle you on three."
"Don't you—"
Flash.
Second frame: Suki kissed Ryuzí's cheek.
Third: Ryuzí, red but resigned, rested his chin on Suki's shoulder, eyes half-lidded, content despite himself.
Fourth: Suki held the shark between them like a child in a family portrait; Ryuzí looked at Suki instead of the camera.
Outside, Suki fanned the wet strip, pleased. "Frame-worthy. The third one is illegal."
"Don't post them," Ryuzí said automatically.
Suki sobered, sincere in an instant. "I won't. These are ours."
Ryuzí folded the extra copy and slipped it inside his wallet.
Suki saw and said nothing. He just walked a little closer as they left.
The bookstore was the quiet after the arcade storm. The bell over the door gave a polite note, and rows of spines launched their secret lives at eye level. Suki drifted toward art books; Ryuzí made a beeline for history and sports.
They found each other again at a display table where someone had lined the edges with origami cranes.
Suki tapped a glossy cover. "This one has paintings of night markets. Look at the colors."
Ryuzí looked at Suki looking at the colors. "Get it."
"I shouldn't," Suki said, already hugging it to his chest. "We have rent. And snacks. And I need ten packs of sticky notes to draw little cartoons that annoy you."
"You don't annoy me," Ryuzí said.
Suki's eyes flicked up, surprised and pleased. "You just keep saying things like that now, huh?"
"Sometimes," Ryuzí said.
Suki leaned up on his toes and kissed him very quickly in the aisle between Art & Design and Language Guides. It was nothing, a brush of warmth, but it left the moment glowing faintly around the edges. He lowered back onto his heels. "Okay. I'm buying it. It's an investment in my happiness."
Ryuzí picked a slim paperback and held it out. "And this."
Suki squinted. "A pocket notebook?"
"For your bento flowcharts," Ryuzí said.
Suki made a noise that started as laughter and ended suspiciously close to a sniff. "Shut up. I love you."
"Bookstore," Ryuzí said, but his ears had gone red again.
"Fine. I book you affection," Suki said, hugging the notebook like it was Ryuzí's hand.
At the register, the clerk bagged their choices and tucked in two free bookmarks with tiny cat faces. "For good luck," she said. Suki gasped like she'd just bestowed a sacred relic.
"Frame-worthy," he whispered after they left.
"You can't frame a bookmark," Ryuzí said.
"You can if you believe," Suki said.
The park waited with its long path of gingko trees and that particular afternoon light that turns every leaf into a coin. They sat on the low wall by the pond, sharing taiyaki, because Suki behaved for exactly twenty minutes at the bookstore and therefore deserved fish-shaped pastry.
"Bite," Suki said, holding his up.
Ryuzí bit the wrong end.
"You monster," Suki said, scandalized. "You started at the tail. The head is sacred."
"You made that up."
"Culture," Suki said, snagging a piece of custard from Ryuzí's lips with his thumb and popping it into his own mouth like it was the most natural motion in the world. "Delicious."
Ryuzí's brain suffered a brief, polite shutdown. "You—"
"Shh," Suki said, swinging his foot idly. "Look at the ducks."
They looked. One duck looked back with judgment beyond its years.
Suki leaned until his shoulder pressed lightly into Ryuzí's. "Hey."
"Mm."
"Do you feel… normal?"
Ryuzí watched the surface of the pond break into rings where a leaf dropped. "I feel like the part that was always braced for something finally unclenched."
Suki breathed out. "Good."
They sat with that for a while: the hush of wind, the distant squeal of a child on the swings, the gentle machinery of a park on a Saturday.
After a time, Suki shifted to face him on the wall, knee bumping Ryuzí's thigh. "Okay. Final date challenge."
"No."
"You didn't even hear it."
"Still no."
Suki leaned in, grin threatening. "Three things you like about me."
"Absolutely not."
"Two," Suki bargained. "One and a half."
Ryuzí stared at his shoes. Exhaled. "You… make rooms feel less heavy."
"You used that already," Suki said softly. "But I'll take it again."
"Fine. You… notice things I don't."
Suki's lashes lowered. "Like the pencil grip."
"And the part where you pretend not to be nervous before tests," Ryuzí added. "But your right knee always shakes. You think no one sees."
Suki blinked. "That's—okay, wow, that's illegal level of noticing."
"Your turn," Ryuzí said, surprising them both.
Suki didn't even pretend to think. "You hold doors like an apology for existing. It kills me. You defend people who aren't even in the room to the person who insulted them. And you text me good night even when you're mad."
Ryuzí looked away quickly.
Suki tapped his knee with two fingers. "One more."
"What."
"You let me be annoying," Suki said, very quiet now, "and sometimes you even like it."
Ryuzí didn't say anything for a beat. Then he reached up and pushed a stray strand of hair off Suki's forehead the way Suki always did to him.
"I like you," he said simply.
Suki made a sound that should have embarrassed him on a public bench. "Dangerous words."
"True words," Ryuzí said.
Suki's grin returned, wide and relieved. "Okay. Come on. Last stop."
"Where."
"Home," Suki said, hopping off the wall and offering his hand. "So my sisters can interrogate you about whether you fed me emotionally and literally today."
"They're terrifying," Ryuzí said, taking the hand anyway.
"They love you," Suki said. "Which is basically the same thing."
Twilight found them back on the familiar lane, the wind chime announcing them to a house that smelled like pan-fried noodles and fabric softener. Rika opened the door before they reached it.
"Report," she demanded.
Suki saluted. "He won me a shark. Witnessed by God and a machine that hates me."
Hana peeked over Rika's shoulder. "Did you hold hands at least eight times?"
"Nine," Suki said, glancing sideways as if seeking confirmation.
Ryuzí said nothing, which was confirmation.
Rika nodded, satisfied. "Dinner in ten. Ryuu, you're staying."
"He has a curfew," Hana said.
"Lies," Suki said. "He has destiny."
Ryuzí looked at Suki, then at the sisters, then at the soft square of light spilling out onto the step. "I can text my mom," he said at last.
"Correct," Rika said, already vanishing toward the kitchen.
Suki turned back and, under the chime and the last blue of the evening, stepped close enough that his voice turned private. "Did you have a good day?"
Ryuzí considered—the café and the shark, the photo strip hidden in his wallet, the bookstore kiss, the pond and the ducks and the way Suki looked when he got something he wanted and it wasn't a thing but a look back. "Yes," he said.
Suki's smile went soft and sure. "Me too."
He lifted his hand, palm up. Ryuzí placed his in it like a promise that had learned how to walk.
"Come on," Suki said. "There's noodles. And I want to show you the page I marked in the art book. It looks like us."
"How," Ryuzí asked, stepping over the threshold.
Suki glanced back, eyes mischievous and warm. "It's two people under a red lantern, sharing one umbrella."
"We didn't bring an umbrella."
"We can pretend," Suki said. "We're good at that. And at making it real."
The door clicked behind them. Laughter rose; bowls clinked; somewhere, Rika burned something and argued that it was caramelization. Suki tugged Ryuzí toward the table, fingers sure, smile certain.
Outside, the wind moved the chime once—bright, brief, and perfectly in tune.