Chapter Text
Yanaka was the kind of town that time forgot.
Tucked away in the countryside, far from the glittering lights of Tokyo or the bustling ports of Yokohama, it was a cluster of old wooden houses with faded blue tiles, narrow winding streets, and air that always smelled faintly of tatami and rain-soaked earth. Most of the residents were elderly—grandparents who had lived here their whole lives, tending small gardens and gossiping over low fences. Kids were rare. Tourists were even rarer.
Which made it all the more annoying that Shidou Ryusei and Rin Itoshi were stuck here together.
They had been rivals since they could walk.
It started in kindergarten. Shidou, loud and wild even at five years old, would snatch Rin’s crayons just to watch the other boy’s face twist into that perfect scowl. Rin, quiet and sharp-eyed, would retaliate by “accidentally” spilling juice on Shidou’s favorite shirt or tripping him during play time. By elementary school it had escalated: stolen pencils, kicked shins under the desk, fights over the last melon bread at snack time, and screaming matches that ended with both of them sitting in the hallway outside the classroom.
Their families were the problem.
The Shidous and the Itoshis had been close for generations—some old business connection between their grandfathers that no one really talked about anymore. Whenever one family had a gathering, the other was automatically invited. Summer festivals, New Year’s shrine visits, weekend barbecues in the tiny backyard… Ryusei and Rin were forced into the same space whether they liked it or not.
And they never liked it.
“It’s not like I want to be around that freak,” Rin would mutter under his breath whenever his mother dragged him to the Shidou house.
“Tell that ice princess to stay the hell away from me,” Shidou would growl right back, kicking at the dirt while their parents laughed and called it “cute.”
It was never willingly.
Now, at sixteen, nothing had really changed except the scale of their fights.
The town’s single middle-and-high school (combined because there weren’t enough students for separate buildings) was their daily battlefield. Today was no different.
The final bell had rung ten minutes ago. Most students had already shuffled off toward the bus stop or their bicycles. But in the empty hallway near the shoe lockers, two figures were still there.
Shidou leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a feral grin splitting his face. His blonde hair was messy as usual, pink highlights faded. His uniform jacket was half-unbuttoned, tie loosened like he couldn’t be bothered with rules.
Opposite him, Rin stood straight, teal eyes narrowed into slits, arms at his sides but fists clenched. His dark greenish-teal hair fell slightly into his face, giving him that permanently pissed-off look that drove Ryusei crazy.
“You think you’re hot shit just because you scored once in practice?” Shidou taunted, voice echoing off the old wooden walls. “That goal was lucky, Itoshi. Pure fucking luck.”
Rin’s lip curled. “Says the guy who couldn’t even keep the ball for five seconds before blasting it into the stands like an idiot. Some ‘demon’ you are.”
Shidou pushed off the wall, stepping closer until they were almost chest to chest. The air between them crackled with that familiar, electric hatred.
“Wanna settle this right now?” Shidou’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “No teachers. No excuses. Just you and me.”
Rin didn’t back down. He never did. “Bring it.”
For a moment, the hallway felt too small, too quiet. Outside, cicadas droned in the late afternoon heat. Somewhere down the street, an old woman was watering her hydrangeas.
Then—
“Ryusei! Rin! Are you two fighting again?”
Both boys froze as Mrs. Itoshi’s voice carried from the school gate. She was waving, smiling that gentle, knowing smile that made both of them want to disappear.
“We're all waiting at the shrine for the summer festival committee meeting. Come on, we’re all walking together.”
Shidou clicked his tongue. Rin exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Saved by mommy,” Shidou muttered.
“Shut up,” Rin hissed back.
But they both started walking. Side by side. Because that’s how it had always been.
Their families were close.
Wherever Shidou was, Rin was forced to be there too.
FESTIVAL COMMITTE MEETING
The walk to the local shrine was short but felt endless.
Ryusei kicked a pebble down the narrow street, watching it skitter ahead of him. Rin walked on his left, shoulders stiff, eyes fixed straight ahead like he was pretending the other boy didn’t exist. Behind them, their mothers chatted happily about flower arrangements and food stalls, completely ignoring the tension radiating off their sons.
Mrs. Shidou glanced back once and smiled. “You two are so quiet today. Everything okay at school?”
“Peachy,” Shidou muttered.
Rin said nothing.
The Yanaka shrine sat on a small hill at the edge of town, its red torii gate slightly weathered but still bright against the green trees. Lanterns were already being strung up for the upcoming summer festival. A few older ladies from the committee were setting out folding chairs in the open courtyard.
When they arrived, the two families naturally settled side by side on the wooden benches near the front.
Ryusei dropped into his seat with a loud sigh, legs sprawled out. Rin sat ramrod straight beside him, arms crossed, putting as much distance between their shoulders as possible without actually scooting away.
Mrs. Itoshi clapped her hands. “Alright, let’s get started. We only have a few weeks until the festival. Ryusei, Rin, you boys are in charge of helping with the heavy lifting this year—carrying the mikoshi, setting up the stalls, that sort of thing.”
Ryusei's head snapped up. “Wait, what? Both of us?”
Rin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Together?”
Their mothers exchanged amused glances.
Mrs. Shidou laughed softly. “Of course together. You two have been friends since you were little. It’ll be good for you to work as a team for once.”
“We’re not friends,” Rin said coldly, voice low enough that only Ryusei could hear.
Shidou leaned in just a fraction, grinning like a shark. “Yeah, we’re definitely not friends, princess.”
Rin’s elbow jabbed sharply into Shidou’s side under the table. Shidou didn’t even flinch—he just grinned wider and kicked Rin’s ankle in retaliation.
“Ow—!” Rin hissed.
“Boys,” Mrs. Itoshi warned without looking up from her notes. “Behave.”
The meeting dragged on. Discussions about yakisoba portions, goldfish scooping games, and who would perform the taiko drumming. Shidou spent most of it slouched in his chair, occasionally poking Rin’s thigh with his finger just to annoy him. Rin responded by “accidentally” stepping on Shidou’s foot every time he shifted.
Halfway through, when the topic turned to the children’s games corner, Mrs. Shidou turned to them with a bright smile.
“Ryusei, you were always so good at the ring toss when you were small. Maybe you and Rin can run the booth together?”
Shidou barked a laugh. “Me and him? We’d probably turn it into a fighting ring instead.”
Rin shot him a glare. “As if I’d waste my time throwing rings with an idiot like you.”
Their fathers, who had been mostly silent until now, chuckled.
Mr. Itoshi shook his head fondly. “You two remind me of when we were young. Always butting heads, but you always ended up back together.”
“Yeah, because you guys never let us separate,” Shidou grumbled.
Rin stayed quiet, but his jaw was clenched tight.
As the meeting finally wrapped up, the sky had turned a soft orange. Fireflies were starting to blink in the trees around the shrine.
Mrs. Itoshi stood and stretched. “We’ll continue next week. Ryusei, Rin—can you two stay behind and help put away these chairs and the extra lanterns? The rest of us need to head home and start dinner.”
Shidou opened his mouth to protest, but his mother was already waving goodbye.
“Be good, you two!”
And just like that, the courtyard emptied.
Only Shidou and Rin remained.
The air grew heavier. The distant sound of cicadas filled the silence as they stared at each other across the scattered folding chairs.
Shidou cracked his knuckles, a dangerous smirk spreading across his face.
“Well, well, Itoshi. Looks like it’s just you and me now.”
Rin’s teal eyes burned with irritation… and something sharper.
“Try not to break anything, idiot.”
Shidou stepped closer, voice dropping low.
“Make me.”
—
The courtyard was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant evening cicadas.
Shidou grabbed the nearest folding chair with one hand and slammed it shut, the metal legs clanging loudly. He stacked it roughly against the others. Rin worked in silence beside him, folding each chair with precise, irritated movements and lining them up neatly against the shrine wall.
They moved fast. Neither wanted to be here any longer than necessary.
Shidou finished his side first. He wiped his hands on his uniform pants and glanced over at Rin, who was carefully picking up a bundle of unlit lanterns. A wicked little idea sparked in his head.
He bent down, scooped up a small, smooth pebble from the gravel path, and weighed it in his palm.
“Hey, Itoshi,” he called casually.
Rin didn’t even look up. “What?”
Shidou grinned and flicked the pebble with his thumb. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc and bounced lightly off the back of Rin’s head with a soft thunk.
Rin froze.
Shidou laughed, loud and sharp. “Bullseye, princess.”
Rin slowly turned around. His teal eyes were narrowed into dangerous slits. Without a word, he dropped the lanterns, crouched, and picked up a noticeably bigger, jagged pebble from the ground.
Shidou’s grin widened. “Oh? You wanna play?”
Rin didn’t reply. He hurled the larger stone with surprising force.
It didn’t miss.
The pebble smacked Shidou square in the cheekbone, right under his left eye. The impact was hard enough to snap his head to the side. A sharp sting bloomed instantly, followed by the warm trickle of blood from a small cut.
Shidou touched his face, looked at the red on his fingers, and laughed — low, feral, excited.
“You actually hit me, you little shit.”
Rin barely had time to react before Shidou lunged.
The fight exploded in seconds.
Shidou tackled Rin to the ground, gravel digging into their knees and elbows. Fists flew. Rin landed a solid punch to Shidou’s jaw. Shidou retaliated with a rough shove that sent Rin sprawling, then climbed on top of him, pinning one wrist while throwing another punch. Rin bucked hard, kicking Shidou in the ribs and rolling them over so he was on top. They grappled like wild animals — elbows, knees, fists, and snarled insults flying between them.
“Fucking demon—!” “Cold-hearted bastard—!”
By the time they finally separated, both were breathing hard, uniforms dirty and disheveled, faces marked with fresh bruises and split lips. A thin line of blood ran from Shidou’s cheek. Rin’s lower lip was swollen and bleeding.
They glared at each other, chests heaving, neither willing to admit defeat.
“…Truce?” Shidou spat, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Rin stood up shakily, spitting to the side. “Fuck you.”
But they both knew they had to go home.
Later that evening
The Itoshi family dining table was small but neatly set. Steam rose from bowls of miso soup, grilled fish, and rice. The two families had gathered for their weekly shared dinner — a tradition neither boy could escape.
Shidou and Rin sat across from each other, forced into the same space once again.
The moment they walked in, both mothers noticed.
Mrs. Itoshi set down her chopsticks with a soft sigh. “…Again?”
Mrs. Shidou pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “Look at the two of you. Busted lips, bruises… Did you really have to fight while putting away chairs?”
Shidou smirked despite the sting in his lip, leaning back in his chair with zero shame. “He started it.”
“I did not,” Rin snapped, voice icy. His swollen lip made the words slightly muffled. “You threw a rock at my head.”
“It was a pebble. Tiny. You threw a boulder.”
“It was the same size—”
Their fathers exchanged tired glances across the table.
Mr. Itoshi sighed deeply. “Boys, one day you’re going to seriously hurt each other.”
Mr. Shidou chuckled despite himself. “Or maybe they’ll finally knock some sense into each other.”
Rin glared down at his rice bowl, ears faintly red. Shidou kept grinning, even as blood threatened to drip from his split lip again. He licked it away casually.
Under the table, their knees accidentally brushed. Neither moved away immediately.
The mothers exchanged another long-suffering look.
Mrs. Shidou spoke gently but firmly. “Clean yourselves up after dinner. And no more fighting tonight. Understood?”
Both boys muttered a reluctant “Yes” at the same time.
But as they reached for the same dish of pickled vegetables in the center of the table, their hands collided. They both froze for half a second — eyes locking across the steam and the quiet clink of chopsticks.
Shidou’s grin turned sharper.
Rin’s gaze burned colder.
The night was still young.
Shidou didn’t pull his hand back right away. His fingers stayed pressed against Rin’s, warm and rough from the earlier fight. The cut on his cheek throbbed in time with his pulse.
“Move,” Rin hissed under his breath, voice low enough that only Shidou could hear.
“Make me,” Shidou whispered back, his smirk widening even though it pulled painfully at his split lip.
Their mothers were busy chatting about festival decorations. Their fathers were focused on the grilled fish. No one noticed the silent war happening across the table.
Rin’s fingers twitched. For a moment it looked like he might shove Shidou’s hand away — or maybe grab it harder. Instead he snatched the dish, yanking it toward himself so roughly that a few pieces of vegetable spilled onto the tablecloth.
Shidou laughed softly, the sound rough and amused. He finally withdrew his hand, but not before letting his fingertips drag slowly across the back of Rin’s knuckles.
Rin’s ears turned faintly red. He stabbed at the pickled daikon with his chopsticks like he wanted to murder it.
“Boys,” Mrs. Itoshi said without looking up, “if you’re going to fight over food too, at least do it quietly.”
Shidou leaned back in his chair, licking the blood from his split lip. “We’re not fighting. Just… sharing.”
Rin shot him a death glare that could have frozen fire.
Under the table, their knees brushed again. Neither moved away this time.
The meal continued, but the air between them felt thicker than the steam rising from the miso soup. Every time their eyes met, the memory of the gravel fight replayed — fists flying, heat and anger mixing into something neither of them wanted to name.
When dinner finally ended and the plates were cleared, Mrs. Shidou stood and stretched.
“Ryusei, it’s getting late. Let’s head home.”
Shidou pushed his chair back with a scrape. As he passed behind Rin on the way to the door, he leaned down just enough to murmur near his ear:
“Sweet dreams, Itoshi. Try not to think about me too much tonight.”
Rin’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t turn around, but his voice came out sharp and quiet.
“Die.”
Shidou grinned all the way out the door, the taste of blood and pickled vegetables still on his tongue.
—
The next afternoon, after school, the Yanaka shrine courtyard buzzed with quiet activity under the warm sun.
Strings of lanterns swayed gently from the trees, and the scent of fresh-cut wood and tatami filled the air. Three of their parents’ friends had shown up to help with the heavy lifting — Mr. Tanaka, the retired shopkeeper with his loud laugh; Mrs. Sato, who always brought extra snacks; and old Mr. Kimura, who grumbled about “kids these days” but still carried boards like he was thirty years younger.
Shidou and Rin were stuck there again, of course. Their families had made sure of it.
“Ryusei, Rin — you two help carry the mikoshi poles over there,” Mrs. Itoshi called, pointing to the heavy wooden beams stacked near the torii gate. “And try to work together this time. No fighting.”
Shidou wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, his split lip still tender from yesterday. The bruise under his eye had turned a nice shade of purple overnight. He shot Rin a sideways smirk.
“Yeah, no fighting, princess. Hear that?”
Rin’s own lip was swollen, a dark mark blooming on his cheekbone. He didn’t bother replying — just grabbed one end of a thick wooden pole with a sharp tug.
The other helpers moved around them: Mr. Tanaka was hammering stakes for stall frames, Mrs. Sato was sorting colorful paper decorations, and Mr. Kimura was directing everyone with his cane like a grumpy conductor.
“Lift it properly, boys!” Mr. Kimura barked. “Don’t drop it on your feet like last year’s idiots.”
Shidou and Rin hoisted the heavy pole together, small grunts escaping as they carried it across the courtyard. The wood was rough and warm from the sun. For a few steps they moved in grudging sync, muscles straining.
Then Shidou “accidentally” shifted his grip so his hand landed on top of Rin’s on the pole.
Rin’s eyes narrowed. He jerked the pole harder, forcing Shidou to stumble a step.
“Watch it, demon,” Rin muttered.
Shidou laughed under his breath. “What? Can’t handle a little touch after last night?”
“Shut up.”
They set the pole down near the mikoshi stand with a heavy thud. Sweat dripped down Shidou’s neck. Rin’s dark hair stuck to his forehead, making him look even more intense.
Mrs. Sato wandered over with a tray of cold barley tea and onigiri. “Here, you two look like you’re about to kill each other. Take a break and eat something.”
As they reached for the same onigiri at the same time, their hands collided again — just like at dinner last night.
Shidou didn’t pull back. He let his fingers linger, thumb brushing deliberately over Rin’s knuckles, eyes locked with a sharp, teasing grin.
Rin yanked his hand away like he’d been burned, ears turning red under the summer heat. “Idiot.”
Mr. Tanaka chuckled from nearby, wiping his hands on his apron. “You two are exactly like your fathers when they were young. Always at each other’s throats, but never apart for long.”
Old Mr. Kimura snorted. “Back in our day we settled things with a proper spar instead of all this glaring. But you kids probably can’t even throw a decent punch anymore.”
Shidou’s grin turned feral. He glanced at Rin, voice low enough for only him to hear. “Wanna prove the old man wrong later?”
Rin’s gaze burned. “Try me.”
The work continued — stacking crates, hanging more lanterns, unfolding tables for the food stalls. Every time their paths crossed, the air crackled: a shoulder bump here, a muttered insult there.
The parents’ friends kept the atmosphere light with chatter and snacks, completely unaware of the charged tension simmering between the two boys.
By late afternoon, the courtyard was starting to look like a proper festival ground. Lanterns glowed softly even in daylight, and the wooden mikoshi was beginning to take shape.
Shidou leaned against a tree, catching his breath, watching Rin from across the yard as he helped Mrs. Sato tie ribbons. The bruise on Rin’s face stood out under the sun.
The festival was only a few weeks away, but the real sparks were already flying.
—
The sun had dipped lower, painting the shrine courtyard in warm orange light. Lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, and most of the setup work was done for the day. Tools were being packed away, leftover snacks wrapped up, and the older helpers stretched their backs with satisfied sighs.
“Alright, that’s enough for today,” Mrs. Itoshi announced, clapping her hands. “We’ll pick up again next weekend. Good work, everyone.”
Mr. Tanaka waved as he headed toward the path. “See you all soon. Don’t let those boys burn the place down before the festival.”
Mrs. Sato laughed, gathering her empty tray. “They’re energetic, that’s for sure.”
Old Mr. Kimura grumbled something about “youth these days” as he leaned on his cane and started walking home with the others.
The parents lingered a little longer, chatting near the torii gate. Shidou’s mother glanced around. “Where did Ryusei go? He was just here a minute ago.”
Rin, who was stacking the last few folding chairs, didn’t look up. His bruised cheek still ached from yesterday’s fight, and he was more than ready to head home and avoid any more forced proximity with that chaotic demon.
Mrs. Shidou checked her watch. “It’s been about seven minutes. He probably wandered off again. Rin, dear, can you go find him? We don’t want to leave without him.”
Rin froze mid-stack, his teal eyes narrowing in clear irritation. “Why me?”
“Because you two are always together anyway,” Mrs. Itoshi said with a gentle smile, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “And the rest of us are already packed up. It’ll only take a minute.”
Rin opened his mouth to protest, but both mothers were already giving him that expectant look. With a sharp exhale through his nose, he dropped the chair and turned on his heel.
“Fine.”
He stalked off toward the back of the shrine grounds, where the trees grew thicker and a small, overgrown path led to the old storage shed and the quieter areas away from the main courtyard. The cicadas were loud in the fading light, and the air smelled of pine and damp earth.
“Shidou,” Rin called, voice flat and annoyed. No answer.
He kept walking, gravel crunching under his shoes. After another minute, he spotted a familiar figure near the edge of the trees, half-hidden by a large camphor tree.
Shidou was just finishing up, zipping his pants with casual laziness. He turned at the sound of footsteps, his feral grin already spreading across his bruised face when he saw who it was.
“Well, well. They sent the princess to fetch me?” Shidou wiped his hands on his shorts and leaned against the tree trunk, arms crossing over his chest. The cut under his eye looked even more dramatic in the golden light. “Missed me already?”
Rin stopped a few feet away, arms crossed tightly, his own swollen lip pulling into a scowl. “Everyone’s waiting. Hurry up and stop wasting time, idiot.”
Shidou didn’t move. Instead, he pushed off the tree and took a slow step closer, eyes gleaming with that dangerous spark.
“Seven minutes too long for you, Itoshi? Or did you come looking for round two after yesterday?”
The air between them thickened again. The distant voices of their parents faded into background noise. It was just the two of them now, hidden by the trees, the festival lanterns flickering softly in the distance.
Rin’s gaze burned colder, but he didn’t back away.
“Move. Now.”
Shidou’s smirk sharpened, though he obeyed, though not without shoving Rin.
—
The two finally headed back toward the main path. Shidou walked with his usual cocky swagger, hands shoved in his pockets. Rin stayed a step ahead, shoulders stiff, refusing to look at him.
They emerged from the trees just as the last of the helpers were saying their goodbyes near the torii gate. The sky had turned a deeper orange, fireflies beginning to blink in the grass.
Mrs. Shidou spotted them first and waved. “There you are! We were about to send a search party.”
Mrs. Itoshi smiled, though her eyes flicked between their still-bruised faces with mild concern. “Everything okay back there?”
“Fine,” Rin muttered, brushing past everyone toward the path home.
Shidou grinned wide, the cut on his cheek pulling slightly. “Yeah, princess here just couldn’t wait to see me again.”
Rin shot him a deadly glare over his shoulder but said nothing.
Mr. Tanaka chuckled as he adjusted his bag. “You two are like magnets — always pulling each other into trouble.”
Old Mr. Kimura snorted. “Or like stray cats fighting over the same territory. Just don’t break any more festival equipment, eh?”
The group started walking down the narrow road together, parents chatting lightly about the next meeting and how the stalls were shaping up. Shidou and Rin fell into step at the back, side by side as always.
The air was cooler now, carrying the scent of evening rice fields and distant cooking. Their shoulders occasionally brushed when the path narrowed.
Shidou leaned in slightly, voice low so only Rin could hear. “Bet you were disappointed I didn’t take longer.”
“Shut up,” Rin hissed, elbowing him lightly in the ribs — hard enough to make Shidou grunt but not enough to draw attention.
Shidou just laughed under his breath, the sound rough and warm in the quiet evening.
Their families walked ahead, oblivious, the lanterns from the shrine glowing softly behind them.
THE DAY BEFORE THE FESTIVAL
The air in Yanaka felt electric.
Tomorrow the streets would fill with the glow of hundreds of lanterns, the sizzle of yakisoba and takoyaki stalls, the laughter of kids playing goldfish scooping and ring toss, and the rhythmic thump of taiko drums. Tonight, though, the shrine courtyard and main street were still a controlled kind of chaos — the final frantic push to get everything perfect.
Shidou and Rin had been dragged into it all day again. Their families, the usual group of parents’ friends (Mr. Tanaka hauling heavy crates with his booming laugh, Mrs. Sato bossing everyone around with snacks in hand, and old Mr. Kimura complaining while somehow doing the most work), had turned the quiet town into a hive of activity.
By late afternoon, most of the stalls were fully assembled. Colorful noren curtains fluttered in the breeze. Strings of red-and-white lanterns hung in neat rows, ready to be lit at dusk. The large wooden mikoshi stood polished and proud near the torii gate, waiting for tomorrow’s procession.
Shidou wiped sweat from his neck, his blonde hair sticking up wildly from the heat and manual labor. The bruise on his cheek from weeks ago had long faded, but the familiar spark in his eyes hadn’t. He tossed a heavy bundle of rope onto a completed stall with a loud thud.
“Finally. This shit better not fall apart tomorrow or I’m blaming you, Itoshi.”
Rin stood a few feet away, adjusting the last lantern string with precise, irritated tugs. His dark hair was slightly damp with sweat, teal eyes narrowed in concentration. The summer heat had left both of them in light t-shirts and shorts instead of school uniforms, but the tension between them felt exactly the same as always.
“Shut up and stop slacking,” Rin replied coldly, not even glancing over. “If anything breaks, it’ll be because you threw it together like an animal.”
Mr. Tanaka walked past carrying a box of festival masks and chuckled. “You two still at it? Save some energy for tomorrow’s mikoshi carry. We need strong backs!”
Mrs. Sato handed them each a cold ramune bottle. “Here, cool down before you kill each other. The fireworks setup crew is arriving soon — try to behave until then.”
Old Mr. Kimura leaned on his cane nearby, shaking his head. “Back in my day we didn’t bicker this much while working. Just got it done.”
The parents’ friends gradually wrapped up their tasks as evening approached. One by one they started heading home, waving goodbyes and reminding everyone to be early tomorrow.
“Ryusei, Rin — you two finish checking the last few stall ropes and then head home too,” Mrs. Itoshi called as she and Mrs. Shidou gathered their things. “Dinner at our house tonight. Don’t be late.”
Shidou grinned, cracking open his ramune with a loud hiss. “Wouldn’t miss it, Mom.”
Rin said nothing, just tightened one final knot with more force than necessary.
As the last of the helpers disappeared down the path, the courtyard grew quieter. Only the two of them remained under the soft orange sky, fireflies already starting to flicker among the trees.
Shidou took a long swig of ramune, then wandered closer to where Rin was double-checking a food stall’s stability. He leaned against the wooden frame, arms crossed, that sharp feral smirk playing on his lips.
“Big day tomorrow, princess. You ready to carry that heavy mikoshi without crying?”
Rin straightened up slowly, turning to face him. The space between them felt smaller than it should in the empty courtyard. His gaze burned with the same cold intensity it always did when Shidou pushed.
“I’ll be fine. Try not to drop it and embarrass yourself like the embarrassment you are.”
Shidou stepped even closer, voice dropping low and teasing. “Or maybe we’ll end up shoulder to shoulder again… just like old times. Bet you secretly love it.”
Rin’s jaw tightened. For a second, his eyes flicked to Shidou’s mouth, then back up. The air crackled with weeks of built-up tension.
“Keep dreaming,” Rin muttered, but he didn’t move away.
The lanterns above them swayed gently in the breeze, waiting to be lit.
—
The walk back from the shrine was short, like always. The narrow streets of Yanaka were already starting to feel festive — a few early lanterns glowing from some houses, the distant smell of someone testing takoyaki batter.
Shidou kicked a small stone ahead of him the whole way, hands shoved in his pockets. Rin walked beside him in silence, arms crossed, the faint bruise from weeks ago long gone but the memory of every shove and glare still fresh.
They reached the Shidou house first. It was one of the older wooden homes on the block, slightly bigger than the Itoshi place but just as worn-in. The front door slid open before they even knocked.
Mrs. Shidou poked her head out, smiling. “Perfect timing! Dinner’s almost ready. Rin, your parents are already inside — they brought extra side dishes.”
Rin gave a small, reluctant nod. “Thank you.”
Shidou bumped Rin’s shoulder on purpose as they stepped into the genkan. “Don’t act all polite now, princess. We both know you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“Shut up,” Rin muttered, kicking off his shoes harder than necessary.
Inside, the low table in the living room was already set. Steaming bowls of chazuke, grilled mackerel, pickled vegetables, and a big plate of tamagoyaki waited. Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi were chatting with Mr. Shidou about tomorrow’s mikoshi route while Mrs. Sato’s leftover onigiri from earlier sat as an extra snack.
The two families settled in naturally, side by side as always. Shidou dropped down across from Rin, stretching his legs out under the table until his foot “accidentally” brushed Rin’s calf.
Rin shot him a sharp look but didn’t pull away immediately.
Mrs. Itoshi served rice with a gentle smile. “Big day tomorrow, boys. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep after dinner.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Shidou said, already reaching for the tamagoyaki. “We’ll be fine. Right, Rin?”
Rin stayed quiet, grabbing a tamagoyaki after Shidou did, then with a quiet huff, he muttered. “Don’t talk to me like we’re friends.”
Shidou laughed under his breath, the sound low and rough. “We’re not. But you still keep showing up everywhere I am.”
Their parents continued chatting, used to the bickering by now. Mr. Tanaka had sent a message earlier saying he’d be early tomorrow to help with the fireworks setup, and old Mr. Kimura had already threatened to scold anyone who slacked during the procession.
Dinner moved on with the usual clink of dishes and quiet conversation. Every so often Shidou’s foot would press against Rin’s shin under the table — sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. Rin never shifted away.
When the bowls were finally empty and the table cleared, Mrs. Shidou stood and stretched.
“Rin, you’re staying over tonight. It’s easier this way — you can both head straight to the shrine together in the morning. The guest futon is already laid out in Ryusei’s room.”
Rin’s chopsticks paused mid-air. “What??”
Shidou’s smirk widened instantly. “What’s wrong? Scared you’ll end up fighting me in your sleep?”
Rin’s ears tinted red, but his voice stayed flat and cold. “I’m not scared of anything. Especially not you.”
Their mothers exchanged the same tired, fond look they always did.
Mrs. Itoshi patted Rin’s shoulder. “It’s settled. Be good, both of you.”
The parents said their goodnights and slowly filtered out, leaving the house quieter. Shidou and Rin headed upstairs without another word.
Ryusei’s room was messy in the way only Shidou’s could be — soccer gear tossed in one corner, clothes half-hanging off a chair, posters of aggressive strikers on the walls. The guest futon was neatly laid out on the tatami right beside Shidou’s bed, just like every other forced sleepover.
Shidou stripped off his sweaty t-shirt and tossed it onto the floor, revealing the faint tan lines from all the outdoor work. He flopped onto his bed with a loud sigh.
“Big day tomorrow, Itoshi. Try not to dream about me carrying the mikoshi better than you.”
Rin changed into the spare pajamas Mrs. Shidou had left out, keeping his back turned. When he finally faced the room again, his expression was pure ice.
“Keep your hands to yourself.”
Shidou propped himself up on one elbow, that dangerous grin returning as the lights dimmed.
“No promises.”
The room went dark after Shidou pulled the lamp string. The whole room went pitch black except for the faint glow of a streetlamp outside the window. In the quiet, the sound of their breathing filled the small space.
Tomorrow the festival would explode with noise and lights.
—
The next morning came early, the sky still pale with the first hints of dawn.
Shidou woke first, blinking at the ceiling for a moment before rolling out of bed with a stretch that made his back pop. He glanced over at the futon on the floor. Rin was already stirring, teal eyes cracking open with that familiar grumpy scowl.
“Morning, princess,” Shidou muttered, voice still rough with sleep. He didn’t wait for a reply — just grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom.
Rin sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. The futon was uncomfortable as always, and sharing a room with Shidou felt even more annoying in the quiet morning light. He waited until he heard the shower turn on before standing and folding the futon neatly.
When Shidou emerged ten minutes later, hair dripping and wearing only loose shorts, he tossed a bundle of clothes at Rin without warning.
“Here. Mom said you can wear these. Your stuff from yesterday is still sweaty.”
Rin caught the bundle, unfolding it with a frown. It was one of Shidou’s old t-shirts and a pair of shorts — clearly from last year or earlier. The fabric was soft from washing, but when Rin pulled the shirt over his head, it hung a little loose on his frame. The shorts sat lower on his hips than he liked, the hem reaching just above his knees. Shidou had always been a bit taller and broader, even if the difference wasn’t huge.
Rin tugged at the collar, irritation clear on his face. “These are too big.”
Shidou leaned against the doorframe, grinning as he looked Rin up and down. The shirt swallowed Rin’s shoulders slightly, making him look softer than usual — almost vulnerable. It was weirdly satisfying.
“Look at that. My clothes actually suit you. Kinda cute, Itoshi.”
“Shut up,” Rin snapped. He adjusted the shorts again, trying to make them sit better. “I’m only wearing this because I have no choice.”
Shidou laughed and ruffled his own damp hair. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
They headed downstairs together. Mrs. Shidou was already in the kitchen, humming as she set out breakfast — rice, miso soup, grilled salmon, natto, and some leftover tamagoyaki from last night.
Mr. Shidou sat at the table with his coffee, nodding at them. “You boys ready for today? The mikoshi isn’t going to carry itself.”
Shidou dropped into his chair and immediately started piling food onto his plate. “Hell yeah. I’m gonna make it look easy.”
Rin sat across from him, moving more carefully in the borrowed clothes. Every time he reached for something, the loose shirt shifted, reminding him of how it wasn’t his. Shidou kept stealing glances, that sharp smirk never fully leaving his face.
Breakfast was quick and mostly quiet, broken only by Mrs. Shidou reminding them to stay hydrated and not fight during the procession.
“Ready?” Mr. Shidou asked as they finished.
Both boys nodded.
The four of them stepped out into the cool morning air. The streets of Yanaka were already showing signs of life — a few early vendors setting up extra stalls, neighbors hanging more lanterns. The walk to the shrine was short, filled with the distant sound of taiko practice starting up.
As they approached the torii gate, Rin’s parents were already there with Mrs. Sato and old Mr. Kimura. Mrs. Itoshi waved them over with a bright smile.
“Perfect timing! We were just about to start the final checks.”
Rin moved to stand beside his parents, but the borrowed Shidou clothes made him feel exposed. Shidou stayed close, shoulder brushing Rin’s as they joined the group.
Mr. Itoshi clapped Shidou on the back. “Good to see you both ready. The mikoshi carry is going to be the highlight — lots of people watching this year.”
Mrs. Sato handed out cold drinks. “You two look good together in those clothes, Rin. Shidou’s old things really fit the festival spirit!”
Rin muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “They don’t fit,” while Shidou just grinned wider, clearly enjoying every second of Rin’s discomfort.
The group quickly dove into the last setup tasks — straightening stall signs, testing lantern strings, and positioning the mikoshi for the afternoon procession. The sun was climbing higher now, promising a hot, lively day.
With both families and their friends gathered, the air felt charged with excitement.
The festival was about to begin.
—
The festival kicked off in the late afternoon as the sun began to dip, painting Yanaka’s narrow streets in warm gold and orange.
By the time the first visitors trickled in — families from neighboring towns, curious tourists, and locals in yukata — the shrine grounds and main street were alive. Lanterns glowed softly overhead, casting flickering red and white light. The sizzle of yakisoba and takoyaki filled the air, mixed with the sweet smell of cotton candy and grilled corn. Kids laughed at the goldfish scooping ponds, while taiko drums thumped rhythmically from a small stage near the torii gate.
Shidou and Rin had been roped into helping all day, but now the real work began.
The mikoshi procession was the highlight. The heavy wooden portable shrine, decorated with bright banners and fresh flowers, needed to be carried through the streets by teams of young men. Both families had volunteered their sons, of course.
“Stick together, you two,” Mrs. Shidou called as she adjusted the hachimaki headband on Shidou’s head. “And no fighting while you’re carrying it!”
Mrs. Itoshi tied a similar headband on Rin, smiling despite the boys’ matching scowls. “Smile a little. It’s a festival!”
Shidou grinned anyway, feral and bright, his old t-shirt swapped for a simple white festival shirt that clung to his shoulders from the heat. Rin, still in the slightly oversized borrowed clothes from that morning.
They joined the line of carriers at the mikoshi. Mr. Tanaka and a few other locals took the front poles. Shidou and Rin were assigned spots right next to each other on one of the long side beams — shoulder to shoulder, hands gripping the thick wood.
“Ready, princess?” Shidou muttered as they lifted on command. The mikoshi was heavier than it looked, the weight pressing down on their shoulders.
Rin grunted, adjusting his grip. “Just don’t drop it, demon.”
The procession started with a cheer from the crowd. Taiko drums pounded louder. The mikoshi swayed as they began the slow, rhythmic march through the lantern-lit streets. “Yoisa! Yoisa!” the carriers shouted in time, bodies moving in sync.
Shidou and Rin were pressed close by necessity — arms brushing, shoulders bumping with every step, sweat already making the borrowed shirt cling to Rin’s back. The crowd lined the path, clapping and taking photos. Fireflies danced in the trees beyond the street.
Every few minutes Shidou would lean in just enough to speak near Rin’s ear, voice low under the noise.
“Feel that? We’re actually working together for once. Kinda hot, right?”
Rin’s jaw clenched, cheeks flushing from more than just the effort. “Focus on the mikoshi, idiot.”
But he didn’t pull away. Their hands were inches apart on the beam, knuckles occasionally grazing when they adjusted their hold. The rhythm of the carry forced their bodies into a strange, heated coordination — push, sway, step. The festival noise swirled around them, but the space between their bodies felt electric.
Halfway through the route, during a short break when the carriers set the mikoshi down for water, Shidou wiped sweat from his brow and smirked at Rin.
“You’re breathing hard already. My clothes look good on you when you’re all worked up like this.”
Rin shot him a cold glare, tugging at the loose collar of the oversized shirt. “They’re too big. And stop staring.”
“Can’t help it,” Shidou said, stepping closer under the pretense of handing him a water bottle. Their fingers brushed again. “You keep fidgeting in them. Makes me want to—”
“Boys!” Mr. Kimura’s voice cut in from nearby. “Less talking, more hydrating. The second half is steeper!”
They drank quickly, eyes still locked. The break was short. Soon they were lifting again, shoulders pressed together once more as the procession continued toward the main shrine square.
The night deepened. Lanterns burned brighter. The smell of street food grew stronger as they passed stalls. Somewhere ahead, fireworks were being prepared for later.
With every synchronized step, the forced closeness built. Bruised knuckles from old fights, weeks of tension, and now this — bodies moving together in the heat and noise of the festival.
As they finally set the mikoshi down in the square for the final cheers, the crowd erupted. Shidou turned to Rin, breathing hard, that dangerous grin splitting his face.
“Not bad, Itoshi. We make a pretty good team when we’re not trying to kill each other.”
Rin wiped sweat from his neck, the borrowed shirt damp and clinging in places. His gaze burned, but there was something else in it now — something sharper than pure hatred.
“Don’t get used to it.”
—
The festival reached its peak as night fully settled over Yanaka.
The streets were packed now, bodies shoulder to shoulder under the glowing lanterns. Taiko drums thundered louder, echoing off the old wooden houses. The mikoshi procession had circled back to the main shrine square for the final, most intense leg — the steepest part of the route where the carriers had to push harder, voices hoarse from shouting “Yoisa! Yoisa!” in unison.
Shidou and Rin were still locked side by side on the heavy beam, sweat soaking through their shirts, muscles burning from the long carry. The crowd pressed in close, cheering wildly, phones flashing. Every step jolted them together — arms brushing, shoulders slamming, hips bumping when the mikoshi swayed. The heat between their bodies had built all evening: weeks of rivalry, forced proximity, stolen touches at dinner and setup, now amplified by the physical strain and the electric festival energy.
Shidou’s voice came rough and low between shouts, barely audible over the noise. “Keep up, Itoshi… or are my old clothes weighing you down?”
Rin’s breath was ragged, teal eyes narrowed in concentration and irritation. The oversized shirt clung damply to his skin, the fabric shifting every time they moved. “Just… shut up… and lift.”
Their hands gripped the wood so tightly that knuckles turned white, fingers occasionally grazing. The rhythm forced them into sync — push, sway, breathe. The air smelled of sweat, incense, grilled food, and summer night. Shidou’s feral grin never faded, even as his shoulders ached. Rin’s cold glare burned hotter with every forced collision.
The climax hit when they reached the final incline in the square. The carriers roared louder, muscles straining to the limit. The mikoshi felt twice as heavy. Shidou and Rin were pressed flush together now, chests heaving in time, the heat and pressure almost unbearable.
Then — finally — the signal came.
They lowered the mikoshi together with a heavy, collective thud onto its stand. Cheers exploded from the crowd. The carriers stepped back, breathing hard, laughing and slapping backs.
Shidou rolled his shoulders with a groan, wiping sweat from his face. He shot Rin a sharp, satisfied smirk. “Not bad, princess.”
Rin straightened slowly, tugging at the loose collar of Shidou’s old shirt. His chest rose and fell rapidly. For a moment he just stood there, letting the adrenaline fade, the noise of the festival washing over them. His gaze flicked to Shidou — something unreadable flashing behind the usual ice.
They had a short break before the next event. The square buzzed around them, people milling, food stalls doing brisk business, kids running with sparklers.
Then came the fireworks.
The sky lit up with the first loud crack. Bright bursts of red, gold, and blue exploded overhead, showering sparks that reflected in the lanterns below. The crowd oohed and aahed, faces turned upward. Taiko drums faded into the background as the display built.
Shidou and Rin found themselves pushed toward the edge of the square by the shifting crowd, near a cluster of decorative fire lanterns and a row of food tents. The noise was overwhelming — cheers, laughter, the constant pop and boom of fireworks.
Rin’s expression darkened. He hated this part: the crushing crowd, the endless noise, the chaos pressing in from all sides. His shoulders tensed, jaw tight.
Shidou noticed immediately. That familiar wicked spark returned to his eyes. He leaned in close, elbow poking Rin’s side playfully.
“What’s wrong, Itoshi? Too loud for your delicate ears?”
Rin swatted the poke away. “Back off.”
Shidou didn’t. He leaned heavier against Rin’s shoulder, voice teasing near his ear. “Come on, it’s a festival. Loosen up a little—”
Rin shoved him — hard.
Shidou stumbled back a step, laughing. He shoved Rin back, playful and rough, the way they always did. “Oi, don’t be such a—”
But Rin wasn’t playing tonight. The irritation from the crowd, the heat, the constant proximity, everything boiled over. He shoved Shidou again — harder, with real force.
Shidou lost his balance. His back hit one of the tall, whimsical fire lanterns standing nearby. The thin paper and bamboo structure toppled instantly with a crack.
Flames scattered across the ground.
At first it was small — just a patch of dry grass igniting near the base, flickering harmlessly.
Then the wind caught it.
The fire raced across the grass and licked up the side of a nearby food stall tent — the thin canvas catching instantly. Orange flames climbed fast, hungry and bright against the night sky. The tent began to collapse as fire spread to the wooden frame and scattered food wrappers.
Shouts erupted from the crowd. “Fire!” Someone screamed. People started backing away in panic as smoke rose and the first stall awning flared up.
Shidou stared at the growing blaze, eyes wide for once. “Shit—”
Rin froze, the anger draining from his face, replaced by cold shock.
—
Hours later, when the fire was finally extinguished and the square was left blackened and soaked, the two families gathered near the torii gate under harsh emergency lights.
Everyone was furious.
The parents’ friends had already gone home, leaving only the Shidous and Itoshis. The air was thick with smoke and anger. They all knew exactly whose sons were responsible.
Mrs. Itoshi’s voice cracked with rage as she turned on Mrs. Shidou.
“This is your son’s fault! Ryusei can never stop teasing and provoking. If he had just left Rin alone for once—”
Mrs. Shidou’s eyes flashed. She stepped forward, voice sharp.
“Excuse me? Your son has those awful mood swings and lashes out at everyone! Rin made it ten times worse. If he could control his temper for five seconds—”
The argument escalated quickly, both mothers lashing out while the fathers tried — and failed — to calm them.
Shidou and Rin stood off to the side, silent and tense.
Then the yelling turned on them.
Mr. Itoshi grabbed Rin by the shoulder. “What were you thinking?!”
A sharp slap landed across Rin’s cheek.
Mrs. Shidou rounded on Shidou next. “You never know when to stop!”
Her hand cracked against Shidou’s face with a loud smack.
Both boys’ heads snapped to the side. Red marks bloomed on their cheeks. Neither spoke.
The walk home was completely silent.
The two families split at the usual corner without a single word. No goodnights. No plans for next time. Just the sound of footsteps fading in opposite directions under the smoky night sky.
For the next week, the Shidous and Itoshis did not speak at all.