Their faces drew close, like planets whose orbits were set to collide, so inevitable and irresistible that nothing else mattered. 

Jun returned to the plaza where he and Minato danced before. Two round baskets of banana-wrapped and fried pork steamed in his turquoise gloved hands. He spotted Minato chatting happily with several teenagers in the corner of the plaza, where the flattened mountainside stood. Colorful crushed powders were scattered atop cloths, and an array of striking lines and blended blues and reds dusted from the corner of the wall to the floor.

Minato's pastel yellow gloves were short at the wrist. A ribbon flower tied each together–the same one Jun taught him and the kids the night before. The others' gloves were caked in a plume of rainbows, and even a dash of color stuck to their clothes and cheeks. Minato's eyes lit up with bright fireworks. He thanked the people with sunshine bursting from his smile, before stepping around the mural and waving at Jun with an unabashed grin, hopping towards him.

"Jun, look how talented these people are—it's stunning! Is it not against the kingdom's policy of ordinance?"

"No," Jun laughed, "no creativity is stunted within Beijie. Especially during our festival season."

Minato scoffed and took advantage to slip Jun's hand into Minato's own. While balancing the street food precariously in the crook of his elbow, Jun brought the gloved hand to his lip, peppering it with kisses until Minato was forced to pull away, telling him to stop through laughing squirms.

"Fine, fine, I'll take the food. I was just going to ask you something..."

"Ask what?"

Jun carelessly dropped to the ground and patted the place beside him, looking up at Minato with his intense, but focused gaze. The faint tremors of the evening's music drummed against the soles of their sandals. Jun's gloves matched the deep turquoise of his bandana. Today, thin bright blue wires were woven throughout his coils. His wide shoulders sat back loose and upright, and his body boxy, hidden beneath the baggy, but solid pants and half-robed shirt half untucked. By the time Minato scaled up to his soft lips—warmth burned down to the bottom of Minato's cheeks.

Somehow, Jun was even more handsome than yesterday.

Minato sat down, "Nothing."

A white fox perched on the bottom steps of a stairwell across Minato's line of sight, tail thumping expectantly. 'Don't run away,' the fox's eyes seemed to urge.

"No—it's not nothing. Actually I—"

"Hold on, try this first," Jun said, his breath puffing beside Minato's ear. "It's one of our specialties here. The cook knows me well, and I asked he only made the best of the best for you."

Jun rested his hand on Minato's thigh. Minato's every sense evaporated to dullness and left nothing but the warmth of Jun's skin leaking through. It condensed down to the point where Minato didn't notice anything else. Jun hooked up his lips in a teasing smile, before slowly leaning in with the steamed pork. The rich, aromatic scent of thyme, garlic, and pepper wafted up. The steam dampened the underside of Minato's chin. Minato's throat bobbed, his pupils darting from one gloved hand to the other, before finally managing to find the street food, despite it being placed right before his mouth.

Minato muddled through his quickly frying brain—and did the only thing he subconsciously could—grab onto Jun's hand and bite down on the pork. The meat gave way to fatty juice loaded with flavor. Minato managed to gulp, before heaving choked coughs. Jun's hand rubbed circles into Minato's back with light pressure. He apologized profusely—though the laughing tone gave away how humorous he found the sight.

The pair quickly devoured the street food in silence, a sort of experience only reserved for the most delicious kind of meal. Not long after, Minato looked up to see the white fox leap up to its paws and scrape at the ground, before shooting him a nonplussed stare.

Minato nodded and dragged the lethargic Jun deeper through the stairwells, where the noise of the crowds dissipated into the faint hum of the festival. A softer music floated by, slow and delicate.

The balcony was perhaps half the scale of the other, with two people playing stringed instruments that filled their wingspan. Their gloves were matching black—and both had a glove removed. Every slow-dancing pair similarly wore a single glove, where bare hands interlocked. The small, bulbous lanterns had a reflective filter pasted atop them here—the ground dimly lit with wavering colors of low tides.

Farther beyond, the entire kingdom was now lit up with such plazas, glowing a myriad of blues, all together with their loved ones.

Minato's hands sweat through the gloves. His heart hiccupped in his throat, so loud and overbearing it was as if it weren't enclosed in his ribs, but beating close against his skin in the direction of Jun. The man's bandana ruffled slightly in the wind. His pants pattered against each other, silhouette dark but steady in the shadows of the flame-lit arch. Something rushed through Minato's ears—urgent and seeking. It stirred heat throughout his entire body.

Minato closed his fist tight, before putting it to his lip with a deep inhale. The Caller's words echoed with the passing stringed duet.

'Then do everything in your power to prevent it from burning out.'

Minato pulled Jun along, smiling through the trepidation galloping within his shaking arms. "Jun, dance with me?"

Jun pulled Minato gently to a halt, right at the cusp of the low archway. Jun glanced over at the gloveless hands intertwined, an unknown emotion flickering throughout his eyes. Minato understood—Jun knew instantly the meaning of the dance before them.

"Are you sure about this, Minato?"

Minato stepped forward, "I am."

"We haven't known each other for long." Jun's back met with the cobblestone wall.

Minato leaned in, playing with Jun's collar, "That can change."

Jun laughed. "I don't think you understand the true meaning of this—of the ritual of the people dancing out there. The commitment it takes."

Minato didn't respond—his eyes starlit with a whirlwind of passion. His gloved hand cupped Jun's cheek. His thumb traced Jun's brow, then caressed his earlobe. Their faces drew close, like planets whose orbits were set to collide, so inevitable and irresistible that nothing else mattered. Minato kissed his bottom lip first, then his upper, before letting their lips melt together, breaths intertwining with less and less time in between.

"Take my glove off," Minato whispered.

With a playful glint, Jun's teeth caught Minato's thumb. His canines pinched through the thin fabric—Jun didn't break off eye contact while pulling Minato's glove off with the jerk of his chin. His teeth indented Minato's hand with a pleasing scrape, causing Minato's gaze to darken as he stole away Jun's lips. The glove crumpled in Jun's fist.

In a frenzied blur, Minato had pulled off Jun's silken glove—the fabric fell to the floor, forgotten for a moment, as their fingers interlocked tightly. Laughing, Minato rubbed his nose gently against Jun's. They retrieved the glove, and then Minato led Jun out to dance to the music. Together, the night melted away with a fae-like spirit, their conversations dwindling to the sound of the duet singing of an intertwined fate.