The applause for the curtain's close was still echoing faintly in the air when the boom of the first firework thundered outside. It startled a few of the Umas, drawing their gazes skyward. Through the tall windows, streaks of red, gold, and violet illuminated the dark night, each one followed by the soft crackle of sparks raining down like stardust over the Mejiro estate.
Tachyon was still hunched over Akuma's coat, sniffling like a broken faucet. "Mmh… s-so many equations… so many emotions…" she muttered through her clogged nose, blowing loudly into the fabric without a shred of shame. Beside her, Special Week copied the gesture with childlike enthusiasm, though her eyes were still shimmering from the play.
"Akuma-saaaan, I can't stop crying!" she hiccupped, tugging the edge of the coat for another wipe.
Akuma, standing between the two, simply stared down at them with an expression flatter than the snowy plains outside. "…You both do realize that's my only winter coat, right?" His voice was dry, but his eyes betrayed him, faintly reddened from the tears he'd been too stubborn to wipe away.
Before he could reclaim the poor garment, the second firework blossomed in the sky, louder, brighter. The hall erupted into cheers. Adalbert, still on stage, didn't join in. Instead, his gaze followed the fire into the heavens, though only after it slipped past Opera's shoulder. Rice Shower, huddled near the back, wasn't looking at the sky at all—her eyes were fixed squarely on him, small hands clutched to her chest as though afraid of what that warmth inside her might grow into.
The crowd pressed closer to the windows, craning their necks. In the shuffle, McQueen reached out, her slender hand catching Akuma's sleeve. "Come with me," she whispered quickly, tugging before he could even object.
"Eh? Wait, where are we—"
"No questions. Just follow."
And just like that, he found himself being pulled through the side doors and out into the frosted night, leaving behind the laughter, the noise, and the faintly baffled cries of Special Week who wondered where her "coat buddy" had gone.
The air outside bit colder than the ballroom, their breaths fogging as they trudged through the thin snow that blanketed the courtyard. McQueen, still tugging at his sleeve, didn't stop until they reached the side of the venue, where a narrow staircase led upwards.
"…We're climbing that?" Akuma deadpanned, looking at the slippery steps dusted white.
"Yes," McQueen said simply, already planting her heel firmly on the first stair. "Unless you're too tired."
"…I didn't say that."
He sighed and followed after her, steadying her once or twice when the snow made the steps treacherous. By the time they hauled themselves onto the rooftop, their boots left a scattered trail behind them. From here, the whole estate stretched out like a painting—snow-draped trees, lanterns glowing dimly, the skating rink glittering under the exploding light above.
McQueen huffed lightly, brushing snowflakes from her sleeves as she sat on the ledge. Akuma lowered himself beside her, stretching his arms across his knees. For a while, they just watched in silence, listening to the muffled boom of fireworks echo across the hills.
Then McQueen broke it with a frown. "…Why was it sad?"
"Hm?"
"The play," she said firmly, turning to him. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her violet eyes sharper than the fireworks' glare. "It was supposed to be a New Year's celebration, wasn't it? Why end on something so…" She struggled for the word, lips pressing thin. "…so melancholic?"
Akuma tilted his head back, watching as a comet-tail of green burst overhead, showering them both in its fleeting glow. "Because," he said softly, "sometimes sadness lingers, even on nights meant for joy."
"That's—" She cut herself off, biting her lip. "That's unfair."
He chuckled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tell me about it."
For a while, neither said more. Snow drifted lazily down, collecting in McQueen's hair until Akuma reached over without thinking, brushing the flakes away. She blinked at him, startled, but didn't comment.
"…Thank you," she murmured instead.
He grunted in acknowledgment, returning his gaze to the fireworks. They exploded in rapid succession now, filling the sky with such light it was almost like midday. McQueen tilted her head, her expression softening as she studied him instead of the display.
"…Thank you for this year."
He turned at that. "For what?"
"For everything," she said, voice quiet but steady. "For standing by me, for believing in me… for taking me in as your trainee.'" She paused, her hands twisting together in her lap. "I promise… next year, I'll win even more races for you. I'll be stronger. Braver. Worthy of the faith you've put in me."
Akuma blinked at her, thrown off by the sudden intensity in her voice. "McQueen…"
Before he could reply, another gust of cold air swept by. She shivered, shoulders hunching. Without a thought, Akuma tugged the scarf from his neck and wrapped it around hers, pulling it snug.
She froze. "Wha—"
"You'll catch a cold," he said simply, averting his gaze as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her heart thudded in her chest. "…You're far too good," she muttered under her breath, though the warmth spreading through her had nothing to do with the scarf.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, pulling the scarf tighter as though it might hide her flushed face.
The fireworks crescendoed above them, bathing the rooftop in waves of gold and crimson. McQueen leaned slightly closer, her shoulder brushing his. He didn't move away. Instead, they sat together in the quiet, the world below cheering and laughing, while up here it felt as though there were only two of them — the snow, the fireworks, and the unspoken things that lingered in the cold night air.
For once, Akuma didn't feel the weight of expectations pressing on him. For once, McQueen felt free of her family's shadow.
And for once, neither of them needed words.
They stayed until the last firework faded, embers drifting down like falling stars. Only then did McQueen finally whisper, "Shall we head back?"
"Yeah," Akuma replied, standing and offering her his hand.
She took it, fingers slipping into his palm without hesitation. And though neither said anything more, their hands remained clasped all the way down the snowy steps, back into the warmth of the estate — and their family..