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The second time Date asks him out to dinner, Gotou says yes.
He’ll admit, the timing throws him a little: they’re watching Yumi Sakura’s ambulance drive away, Date’s gentle rejection – Well, I’ve got my hands full right now – settling over them both, warm and weighty, when Date says, “Oden for dinner, then? My treat.”
Gotou doesn’t want to read too much into it. They’ve had a hectic day, and Date could simply be tired and hungry, uninterested in eating alone or with Dr. Maki and his doll. But there’s a hopeful smile on Date’s lips, his eyes soft and pleased, and Gotou, well…
When they first met, Gotou was prepared to hate Date for having what he wanted: the Birth driver, and a real shot at saving the world. Instead, he felt something much more startling, a quieter yearning that hasn’t left him since. He manages not to flee this time, but there’s a similar flutter in his stomach, and he stumbles over his words. “Oh, uh…yes. That sounds good. Thank you, Date-san.”
Gotou knows he’s a fool for wanting, but when has that ever stopped him?
*
“Dig in, Gotou-chan!” Date says as he sets down two piping hot bowls of oden. Gotou bows his head in thanks, looking anywhere but at Date.
Date tries not to laugh. He doesn’t want Gotou to think he’s poking fun, but it’s obvious Gotou hasn’t been treated to dinner much. His nervousness is palpable, but also precious, and a little infectious: Date’s not exactly nervous, but the anticipatory fizzle in his gut makes him want to rush through dinner and see how he can make Gotou smile in earnest.
It's a stupid idea. His head’s a ticking time bomb, and Gotou’s obvious crush could still be founded more on hero worship than actual interest. But right now, Date doesn’t care, wants to feel the rush of someone’s affection and echo it back to them – especially when that someone is Gotou, who Date suspects might not get nearly as much as he deserves.
“Good?” Date asks when he catches Gotou looking.
It’s too dark to see if Gotou blushes, which is a damn shame, but he fumbles with his chopsticks and nods down at his bowl. “It is. Thank you.”
Under the table, Date bumps Gotou’s foot with his own. “My pleasure.”
*
When Date insists on walking him home, Gotou rushes headlong from hopeful into panic.
It’s not that he doesn’t want this – whatever this is, sparkling between them. It’s just…
Gotou likes preparation and planning. He makes lists. He reads manuals. He wants to know what he’s getting into before he gets there, before he missteps, makes assumptions, lets his racing heart dictate what he shows of himself, and to who. It’s difficult shaping his mess of feelings into something coherent and decisive. He’s never been good at translating his own heart, let alone articulating its desires to someone else.
So he lets Date do the talking while he untangles the knots inside him, makes little choices that feel both insignificant and brave: meeting Date’s eyes more often, smiling a beat longer, resisting the urge to shove his hands in his pockets so Date can brush the backs of their fingers together. By the time they arrive at his apartment, Gotou’s made up his mind.
“Would you like to come inside?” he asks, proud of how steady he keeps his voice. “For tea. Or something.”
Date grins. “Or something sounds great.”
*
While Gotou rummages around the kitchen, Date surveys the apartment.
It’s small and tidy, not what Date would call cozy but not unwelcoming. He’s charmed by the not-quite-pristinely made futon, the grasshopper candroid perched atop a pile of papers on the kotatsu, a framed photograph of a toddler-sized Gotou held by a slender woman with long hair – Gotou’s mother, judging by the similarities in the jawline, the cheekbones.
“I don’t think I, um…” Gotou calls. “Sorry, I can’t find anything but tea. I thought I had…but I can’t…”
Date runs a hand over his mouth, smiling. He finds Gotou digging through cabinets, muttering to himself, five or six boxes of tea scattered across the counter. It’s cuter than it has any right to be.
“Gotou-chan,” Date says, taking pity on Gotou and the jittery frustration pouring off him in waves. He steps in close, presses a hand to the small of Gotou’s back. “You know I’m not really here for the tea, right?”
Gotou stills under Date’s hand. He nods, too fast, and shuts the cabinet door.
Date doesn’t want to rush this, but it’s hard not to rush things these days, to feel like he’s racing a clock, amassing as much happiness as he can before—
Until. Until he gets his hundred million, collects enough money to save his life and enough desire to last that new lifetime in full.
For Gotou, though, he’ll spare a little of that want for the here and now.
“Make some if you want,” Date says, “but if you don’t, we could…” He leans in, slips his hand around to Gotou’s hip and tightens his hold.
Gotou turns without much prompting, his gaze flitting over Date’s face, from his eyes down to his mouth and back again. “Date-san, I…can I…”
Date laughs, relief and delight sweeping up from his toes, so potent he could float. “Yes,” he says, and hoists Gotou up onto the counter, catching his mouth with his own.
*
Gotou hasn’t kissed many people, but kissing Date is like nothing he’s experienced.
Date clearly enjoys kissing. He takes his time, holds Gotou’s face in his hands, smiles into his mouth. Gotou’s only ever been kissed as a prelude to something else, something he was never quite sure he wanted. But Date seems to be savoring this, kissing Gotou because he wants to, not just because he wants something in return.
Gotou doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he balls them up in the front of Date’s shirt. He tries to match Date’s enthusiasm but gets overwhelmed fast, lightheaded and breathless, unused to being held close and touched in ways that weren’t the brief, perfunctory contact of day-to-day life. His head spins.
“Hey,” Date says, breaking the kiss to push Gotou’s hair back from his forehead. “Catch your breath.”
“Sorry.” Gotou closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his heart pounding. “Sorry.”
Date laughs. “Only you would apologize for kissing the life out of someone.”
“No, it’s not…” Gotou shakes his head. “I just know I…I’ve been told I can be a little…intense.”
“Yeah.” Date pecks him on the nose. “Still not something you need to be sorry about.”
Gotou nods, takes another breath, and tilts his head up to continue the kiss.
*
Date’s in trouble.
He likes Gotou, always has liked Gotou, but kissing him is another thing entirely. He’s blindsided by having Gotou so close, holding him when he sways, stroking his back when he shivers, feeling Gotou’s tongue brush tentatively over his own lips. This was never going to be a one-nighter, not with Gotou, who’s so serious, so dear, but…
Damn it, now Date wants more.
He’s not allowed to want more. He made a promise to himself, to channel all his energy and desire into the hundred million yen, his only shot at salvation. No detours or distractions. He’s not supposed to imagine a future, not with his current grasp on life so tenuous.
But he can imagine one with Gotou. Laughing in the kitchen. Holding hands at the store. Him stretched out on the futon while Gotou works at the kotatsu. Mornings in bed together, nights wrapped around each other. Fighting side-by-side.
Yeah, he’s in trouble, alright.
“Gotou-chan.” Date strokes down Gotou’s arms as he pulls back. “Maybe I should go home. Hell of a day, yeah? I’m beat. You must be, too.”
“Oh.” Gotou blinks, a little dazed, but nods in agreement. “You’re right, we should…we should take this slow.”
“We should,” Date says, even though his heart leaps at the prospect of this – something lasting, something theirs. He can’t resist kissing Gotou again – on the lips, the cheeks, the eyes, the forehead. “We definitely should.”
He helps Gotou off the counter and slips back into his shoes, shrugs on his jacket, collects his can of medals. At the door, he tucks a piece of hair behind Gotou’s ear and smiles. “Thanks for the tea.”
Gotou laughs, sharp and surprised, and Date can’t help but laugh, too. They kiss once more, Gotou pushed up on his toes, until Date forces himself out onto the landing before he changes his mind, stays in Gotou’s warm apartment for the rest of his life, however long or short that may be.
“See you tomorrow, Date-san,” Gotou says from around the door.
“Looking forward to it, Gotou-chan.”
Date turns and walks back out into the night, his heart wanting and wanting and wanting.