By late August, time had once again proven relativity true— the happier you are, the faster it slips through your fingers.
Just like always, Yukio was meeting Karuizawa in the small wooded patch outside the first-year dorm building.
When he saw the two sticky notes Kei had brought, he tilted his head. "What's that for?"
"Making wishes~! Making wishes!" Kei handed him one of them, bright-eyed and delighted. "They say on Tanabata, if you write a wish on a note and hang it on bamboo leaves, it'll come true."
"…." Yukio blinked.
He wasn't confused about Tanabata itself—he'd looked it up beforehand. For historical reasons, they celebrated Tanabata here too, and the general idea was the same as wishing on a shooting star.
The problem was the timing.
"Isn't Tanabata on July 7th?"
Back then, everyone had been buried in finals prep, then that massive summer special exam. Nobody had time to spare for festivals.
Now it was late August. Celebrating Tanabata now was… a little late, wasn't it?
Kei didn't care at all. It was obvious she just wanted one last romantic moment with him before summer ended.
"It's different," she said breezily. "Every place has its own customs."
"In Karuizawa, we usually do Tanabata in late August."
It was kind of interesting, actually. Long ago, Japan had an edict that basically forced everyone—nobles and commoners alike—to adopt surnames. That was a huge headache for ordinary people who could barely read, let alone invent a family name.
So they picked what they saw around them. Someone lived by a mountain? Yamashita. Someone near a river? Okawa. Someone by a well? Inoue.
"Karuizawa" was also a place name that became a surname—so people with that surname often ended up visiting the area at least once, out of sheer curiosity about where their name came from. Kei clearly had been there, because she talked about the local customs like she'd grown up in them.
Yukio cut her off before she could go on a full history tour.
"Okay, okay, I get it. So what are you wishing for?"
And to keep her from continuing, he didn't even ask the obvious follow-up—where are we getting bamboo leaves in this little grove?
But Yukio could tell what this was.
Kei wanted romance. So he'd give her romance.
Writing wishes wasn't that different from watching the ocean—what mattered wasn't which ocean you were looking at, but who you were looking at it with.
Wishes were the same. It didn't matter what you hung it on. What mattered was the person beside you.
"Ah, you can't ask!" Kei held her note in her left hand and her pen in her right, then crossed her arms into a big X. "If someone sees your wish, it won't come true~!"
Yukio waved the note in his hand. "Then you won't look at mine either?"
"Ugh…" That clearly hit Kei right in the weak spot.
Her eyes practically screamed I WANT TO KNOW, but she couldn't bring herself to be a hypocrite—she'd just declared it not allowed. And she didn't have the shamelessness to flip-flop in front of him.
Still, she quickly found a workaround.
Fine. I'll write mine, then I'll go hang them… and I'll peek at his while I'm at it.
Feeling very proud of herself, she raised her chin. "Nope. Not looking. If I look, it won't come true!"
Yukio's eyes turned amused—he'd basically guessed her plan already. But he didn't call her out. He just took the pen, and the two of them started writing.
Yukio finished first. Way too fast.
He immediately sidled up to Kei. "Let me see yours?"
"Huh?" Kei jolted. She hadn't expected him to be that quick, and she turned her face away, trying to fend him off. "No! Didn't I just say—if you look, it wo—mmph!"
A moment later, Yukio finally pulled back.
A nearly invisible, delicate thread connected them for a heartbeat before snapping—Kei's mind blanked, heart thundering, her entire face flushed like sunset.
"Are you going to show me your wish?" Yukio asked again, voice low and annoyingly calm.
That tiny thread broke with the motion of his lips.
Kei's cheeks burned hotter. She couldn't handle him asking like that.
"I said you can't see it, it won't come true—mmph!"
Another long kiss.
When he finally let her breathe, Kei was lightly panting. The red in her face deepened until she looked like she'd gotten heatstroke.
"Y-You're cheating…" she complained.
It was supposed to be an accusation, but coming from her it sounded more like sugary flirting—soft and sweet and completely defenseless.
Yukio didn't argue. He didn't deny it.
He just kissed her a third time—thoroughly punching straight through what was left of her resolve.
Kei surrendered.
"Okay, okay! Look, look! I'll show you!"
She shoved her sticky note into his hand like she was throwing a towel into the ring.
Yukio grinned, satisfied, and glanced at what she'd written:
I hope every time I call Yukio-kun, we can talk for more than three hours.
It was unexpected.
Not "together forever," not "till death do us part," not some dramatic vow.
Just three hours on the phone.
And somehow that made Yukio's chest tighten even more. It was so simple—and so honest. Kei didn't think far ahead. She didn't want grand promises.
She just wanted him—more time, more attention, more being together.
"Hmph. Happy now?" Kei's face was still blazing. She looked away, too embarrassed to meet his teasing gaze. "You probably think my wish is kind of childish…"
"No," Yukio said instantly—then leaned closer again. "I just think it could be edited a little."
"Huh? How?"
"Not three hours on the phone." Yukio's mouth curled. "Three hours of… that."
"W-Wha—?!"
And only then did Kei finally see what Yukio had written on his own note.
It was ridiculously short—no wonder he'd finished so fast:
I hope Kei and our child are safe and healthy.
Kei went from flustered to stunned in one second—then shy and happy all at once.
He was thinking so far ahead…
So far ahead he'd already leapt straight to mother and child safe and sound.