The first weekend of August came with the town's annual summer fair — the kind of event that turned the usually sleepy streets into a blur of lanterns, laughter, and food stalls.
The school had volunteered to help with the setup, and somehow, Haruto found himself there early in the morning, wearing a plain volunteer armband and wondering how he'd agreed to this.
He didn't have to wonder long.
"Haruto-kun!" Aoi waved from across the square, her ponytail catching the sunlight. She was holding a bundle of posters and smiling in that way that made people naturally want to help.
"You came early," he said as she approached.
"So did you," she replied. "That makes us both responsible adults."
He raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we're still high school students."
"Then we're responsible students," she said, grinning. "Now help me hang these before the wind does it for us."
---
They spent the morning setting up the school's small art booth — a display of paintings and handmade crafts.
Aoi directed the layout, occasionally stepping back to check how everything looked under the sunlight.
Haruto handed her thumbtacks, tape, and water bottles, quietly filling in the spaces between her movements.
"You've gotten good at this," she said when they finally finished.
"At what?"
"Being around people," she said. "You blend in now — in a good way."
He looked at her, thoughtful. "I think… I stopped trying to hide."
She smiled, gentle and proud. "That's more than most people manage."
---
By afternoon, the fair was alive with color. The smell of grilled food filled the air; kids ran past carrying paper masks; music drifted from a nearby stage.
Haruto and Aoi walked along the stalls, sharing shaved ice from a paper cup.
"You got all the strawberry syrup," she accused playfully.
"You hesitated," he countered.
She laughed, then paused to point at a local artist's booth displaying handmade keychains.
There was one shaped like a tiny paintbrush, and another like an open book.
"They remind me of us," Aoi said.
"How so?"
"Well," she said, holding both in her palms, "you're the book — quiet, steady, full of small stories. And I'm the brush — messy, colorful, a little unpredictable."
He chuckled. "That sounds about right."
Then, after a pause, he added softly, "But they work better together, don't they?"
Aoi blinked, caught off guard, then laughed quietly. "You really need to stop saying things like that so casually."
"Why?"
"Because it's unfair," she said with a faint blush. "People might start thinking you're the poetic one."
---
As the evening settled, lanterns flickered to life along the riverside.
The air cooled, carrying the hum of conversation and the faint pop of distant fireworks.
They sat on the low wall near the bridge, the glow of lanterns painting their faces in soft amber light.
Neither spoke for a while. The quiet wasn't empty — it was the kind that carried all the things they didn't need to say.
> This is enough, Haruto thought.
The sound of her laughter, the light in the air, the way everything felt still and alive at once.
He turned slightly. "Aoi?"
"Mm?"
"Thanks," he said simply.
She looked at him, puzzled. "For what?"
"For being here," he said. "For making all of this… something I'll remember."
Aoi's eyes softened, and for a heartbeat, she didn't know what to say.
Then she smiled — slow, honest, and warm. "You're welcome."
---
Aoi's Thought (Short POV)
When she got home, the faint scent of summer air still clung to her hair and sleeves.
She set the tiny paintbrush keychain on her desk beside a new sketch — the one she'd started that morning.
It wasn't perfect, but the lines felt alive.
> He's still learning how to see, she thought.
And maybe I'm learning how to be seen.
Outside, fireworks bloomed softly over the town — bright, fleeting, and beautiful in their quiet way.