🎆 festival.
hibiya:
His eyes, averted ahead, tentatively trail back in her direction — for once, even fear of being scolded won’t make him look away, as he searches her expression for some indication that she is alright. What if she feels self conscious? For me to be so obviously worried about her. That one is enough to make him pause — yes, for Hiyori who so rarely showed she was suffering, for him to make a big deal out of it… would probably only make things worse for her. Hibiya presses his lips together, before looking ahead. Maybe it was all a little backwards, but as long as he found out how best to put Hiyori first, then surely —
“H… Hiyori?”
Her name slips out on impulse, voice soft — mouth just as quickly shoved firmly closed because he must be imagining this, he must be, though the heat rushing to his face feels just as real as the soft warmth nestled in his hand. Hiyori… Hiyori’s hand.
No, no, this isn’t… s-seriously?! He bites down on his lip, hard, wincing as it feels real enough. I’m awake?! It doesn’t make sense, for Hiyori to be sad about that guy, and to then turn around and do something like this — but his heart is still thumping, thumping as if it could grow wings and soar right out of his chest. U-ugh, even though… she definitely isn’t thinking about those things. There was definitely another reason, one that made more sense. For example, wasn’t it more likely… that she thought that guy might be watching, and could get jealous?
He shrinks a couple centimetres. That must be it. Still… Hiyori’s hand was a treasure, all the same. He resists the urge to hold on tighter, instead stuttering out a, “R-right,” as he hurries to the stall front — realising his hands are full as he makes to pay, and realising in the same moment that he never wants to let go of her hand. He holds the fish out to her, cheeks rosy. “Um… it’s yours, then.”
The intensity with which he reacts — no, overreacts, is enough to send a stream of silent cringes through every inch of her hand. As reassuring as it’s always been to read him like an open book, it’s a miracle that he’s gotten this far with such a limited amount of subtlety; really, way to ruin the mood. Hibiya’s attentions may be flattering, but at this extent ( and in a way that reflects her own obvious, fruitless pursuits so clearly ), all they induce is an increase in her level of frustration.
She doesn’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to focus on the goldfish. “It’s cute,” she comments, holding it up while simultaneously disentangling herself from him with a spin. With the release taking place as coolly as she’d first initiated contact, it’s now as if the moment had never happened to begin with. Her words aren’t a lie, though — swimming around inside the plastic bag as it is, oblivious to the hustle and bustle of its surroundings, Hiyori almost wishes that she were the goldfish right now.
Almost, but not quite.
Only after a beat does she lower the bag and glance at the prizes, a look of interest beginning to form as she takes them in. “Are you gonna try and win something?” Her gaze comes to rest on the row of rifles resting against the counter, followed by the man behind the counter beaming down at them. “This kind of game is hard, though — the big ones are impossible to get.”
