—You sure it starts at five? —Saval asked, checking his phone as they walked.
—Yeah, checked twice. We've got time for popcorn, —Semiel replied, hands tucked in his pockets.
The setting sun painted the streets orange. The cinema marquee glowed with new releases. Semiel pointed at The Boy and the Heron poster as they arrived.
—There it is. Looks incredible on the big screen.
Saval gave a small smile and nod.
—Missed it during its original run. Wanted to see it with you.
—Me too, —Semiel said, the words slipping out softer than intended.
They bought a large bucket—half buttered, half caramel. When Saval reached for his wallet, Semiel stopped him with an arm.
—My treat today.
—But—
—You streamed with me for two hours yesterday. Least I can do, —he winked.
Saval just chuckled quietly and relented. They climbed the stairs with tickets, drinks, and their shared bucket, entering as the trailers ended.
They took seats in the second-to-last row where fewer people sat. The theater was half-full—mostly friend groups, a few couples. Semiel liked this spot. Felt closer to the sky up here, even in a darkened room.
The film began without fanfare. Just soft music, lingering shots, and the quiet certainty this would ache beautifully.
Saval grabbed the popcorn bucket and placed it between them. The first minutes passed quietly, each taking occasional handfuls. Then at the twenty-minute mark, their hands brushed inside the bucket.
Saval froze. So did Semiel.
Just a second, but the sensation hung in the air. Neither looked. They pretended nothing happened. Then it happened again. This time, when their fingers touched, neither pulled away.
Semiel felt warmth travel up his arm to his chest. He wanted to look at Saval, say something. But there was perfection in this silence. The film played on—dreamlike imagery, poetic dialogue. A world seemingly made just for them.
Saval slowly lowered his hand and, without a word, let it rest beside Semiel's on the seat. Semiel took it.
Not tightly. Not fearfully.
Just held it.
They watched the remainder like that. Hands linked, sharing the same popcorn, the same air, the same story.
Semiel could barely focus. The film was gorgeous, but his mind kept circling back to this gesture. How effortless it had been—how natural—yet how long he'd secretly wished for it.
When the credits rolled, neither spoke immediately. They sat a few extra seconds watching names scroll upward.
—Great film, —Saval said, voice tinged with excitement.
—Yeah, the studio's animation is breathtaking, —Semiel agreed— You can really feel the director's influence.
They didn't let go standing up.
Walked the aisle still hand-linked like it was the most natural thing. Maybe no one noticed. Maybe they did. It didn't matter.
—Wanna grab coffee? —Semiel asked descending the theater stairs.
—This late?
—Yeah. To walk a bit longer, —he said, not releasing his grip.
—Alright.
And they kept holding hands, shutting out the world for just these stolen hours.