Mira teased, "You look like you’re about to pass out. Are you okay, Adrian?"
Adrian replied dryly, "I’m fine, just recovering from the thrills of the coaster."
Mira laughed at his sarcastic tone, and as the elevator ascended, she leaned against the glass wall, her eyes wide with excitement. Adrian tried his best to keep his composure, though his hand was still gripping the rail a little too tightly.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal the observation deck. The panoramic view was breathtaking, offering a sweeping vista of the ocean, the bay, and the bustling city beneath them. Mira immediately stepped forward, her face lighting up in awe as she took in the sights.
"Wow, this is beautiful! Look at that view, Adrian! It’s like we’re on top of the world!" she exclaimed.
Adrian turned toward her, an unexpected warmth stirred in his chest, and before he could stop it, a small, unthinking smile found its way to his lips. Being near her like this—without questions, without pressure—felt strangely like breathing.
Without a word, Adrian slowly closed the small distance between them. The glow of the city below melted into a blur, as if the world had folded inwards, leaving just the two of them in the hush of glass and light. Mira turned, sensing the shift, her breath catching slightly at how close he now stood. Her lips parted, a question forming—but Adrian’s voice came first.
"You’re right. It is beautiful."
She looked at him, then out at the view again, before nudging gently, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Any change if I’m not?”
She tried—truly tried—to hold back the teasing smile. But it slipped out anyway. “Nothing changes. But next time, you’ll be better.”
“There is no roller coaster next time,” he muttered.
Under the soft hush of city lights, they might’ve looked like any other couple—caught in the unspoken almost of something fragile blooming. But Mira couldn’t help it. Amusement bubbled up inside her. She covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking slightly with laughter.
Adrian let out a low breath and gently patted her head with his large, steady hand.
“Could you be quiet and enjoy the scene for one moment?” he said dryly. “At least pretend to have some romantic sense.”
That did it.
Mira nearly choked on her laugh. “Did I hear that right? Did Adrian Vale just mention romance?”
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“Mira…”
His hand, still resting against her hair, now moved—slowly, deliberately—sliding down to the curve of her cheek, brushing a few strands aside with a touch far too careful for someone supposedly unbothered. His face hovered a few inches from hers. Time slowed. The laughter she'd clung to just moments ago dissolved on her tongue.
His presence was like the calm at the eye of a storm. Then, in the soft hush between city light and breath, his voice came enough for the words to reach her ear alone.
“I’m a perfectly functional man. Don’t tempt me,” he whispered.
The tone was weightless, almost clinical—except it wasn’t. It brushed against something far too intimate.
Mira froze.
The heat rose to her face all at once, too fast to hide. Her voice barely came out—thin, broken by surprise.
“Wha—what are you…”
Adrian didn’t pull back.
He traced her face with his eyes—the flush on her cheek, the shape of her lashes, the softness that formed along the curve of her lips—and the pull toward her settled deeper and undeniable.
She always did this—retreat the instant a moment grew too real, turn her head, laugh too fast, and search for any excuse to break eye contact. She tried to outrun closeness every time it reached for her. Then, only seconds later, she forgot. She reached for him again without hesitation, took his hand, tugged him forward, spoke to him with the ease of someone who had shared a thousand summers by his side. She trusted him without realizing it, returned to him without deciding to, and treated him as if he belonged beside her before she even thought to question why.
He could feel the quick rhythm beneath her skin where his hand remained, feel the warmth that radiated from her, feel the sweet trace of osmanthus that seemed part of her very breath. Yet every muscle inside him resisted the pull to close the remaining space between them, afraid a single step too heavy would send her running again.
Just as the tension stretched too far to hold and the space between them felt thick with a question neither had dared to ask—
Ding.
The elevator chimed open.
A family stepped out—parents and two small children.
“Wowww,” the older kid gasped, running to the windows. “Look at the lights!”
The little girl pointed squarely at Mira and Adrian.
"Are they kissing?" she enquired, her voice clear.
Mira's soul almost left her body at that moment.
Her entire face went crimson in half a second. With a small gasp, she shoved Adrian’s hand off her cheek—not harshly, but fast, flustered, and frantic—and turned sharply back to the windows as if her life depended on it.
“Stop joking around like this, Adrian,” she muttered under her breath, face burning.
Adrian didn’t respond.
Not verbally.
He was just behind her now, close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back.
His eyes weren’t on the bay.
They were on her.
As if to say, without words: I wasn’t joking.
The sea waited below in darkness—then, without warning, a single firework bloomed over the horizon. A white chrysanthemum of light opened far beyond the harbor, petals scattering before collapsing into sparks that drifted down like falling snow, an early celebration marking the start of Yokohama’s festival week, the Sunday before Halloween, when even the calendar bent toward celebration.
"Fireworks!" Mira gasped, already pressed against the glass, pointing like a child who’d just discovered magic existed after all. Just seconds ago, she was flustered, cheeks pink and heartbeat all over the place—but wonder had always been her fastest escape route. She bounced back to excitement as if nothing in the world had ever scared her.
Adrian exhaled, defeated in a way that wasn’t defeat at all. She didn’t even notice what she’d done to him—how she had disarmed whatever edge of tension between them just by existing like this.
Outside, another firework shot up—green, then blue—its reflection scattering over the bay.
The glass stretched out before them, revealing the endless sweep of Yokohama’s night: silver-blue water threaded with city light, ships drifting slow and patient across the harbor.