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"So, Egbert, where are you taking me on this "world-renowned" first date of yours?"
You huff slightly, folding your arms. "It's a surprise, stupid! You aren't meant to know."
"Do you even have anything planned or are you just making it up as you go?" He quirks an eyebrow at you.
"Of course I have a plan!" Okay, no, that's a complete lie, but you tried.
"Uh huh." He says in an extremely cynical tone.
"Okay, well, maybe I don't have a plan, but this is still gonna be the best date of your life!"
He glances at you, or at least you assume he does (it's a bit hard to tell with the shades), as you walk along the street. "As long as we aren't going to the Ghostbusters thing they're doing at the movies. There is no way in hell you're making me sit through those shitfests again."
That had actually been your original plan, but you don't mention it. You hum thoughtfully as your pace slows, a vague idea forming in your brain. Your pace speeds up and Dave seems confused, so you grab his hand, pulling him with you until you're almost running. Passers-by give you weird looks but you don't really care because you just had the best idea for a first date ever!
You come to a sudden stop and Dave nearly bowls you over. "Fucking hell John, give a man some warning next time."
You ignore him, instead making sure that the place is open, because if it isn't then you're well and truly screwed. Luckily for you, it is open, and mostly empty. Dave realises that you've arrived at your destination and looks at you for an explanation.
"It's the arcade!" Dave doesn't react, so you continue. "You were going on about how your bro took you to one once and how great it was so I thought you might like it because you miss him sometimes and yeah."
Dave's expression softens, a change only noticeable to the lucky few who know him really well, of which you are one. "Thanks, you dork."
You only realise that you're still holding his hand as you walk towards the front doors, the word "arcade" flashing above the doorframe in neon letters. Your heart races and your cheeks heat like you're back in middle school, and you're thankful that Dave isn't facing you because you probably look ridiculous.
"Oh my god they have Pacman, that game is the shit." He drags you over to the machine, patting at his pockets until he finds some change. You feel a bit disappointed as he releases your hand; you don't know why, it's not like you've never held hands before, but this seems different. Before, it had just been when you were kids, a normal thing between friends. Hell, you became friends in kindergarten because you took his hand and declared him your husband, but that was different. It meant something else, something less serious.
You don't even notice as Dave dies, swearing profusely and earning himself curious looks from children and angry looks from the parents of said children. You notice him when he takes your hand again, saying something about whooping your ass in DDR, which you will most definitely not allow.
After several extremely intense rounds of DDR, Dave finally admits that you are the best and he is inferior (actually it was more along the lines of "you're pretty okay at it" regardless of the fact that you beat him 5-1) and leads you outside. You'd both exhausted your coin supply, so there wasn't much point in staying.
You mutually agree that the next step is food, so you begin walking in tandem towards what has become "your" cafe, the one where you spend most of your time. The feel of his hand in yours still makes you blush, and this time, he notices.
"Is there any particular reason you look like a tomato?" This just makes you blush more, and you respond with a very rapid "no" that is not at all convincing. He just looks at you, arching an eyebrow and you look away.
"Ireallylikeholdingyourhandbecauseit'sanicereminderthatwe'reactuallydating," you mutter quickly, hoping he understands and doesn't make you repeat it, since you already feel like a huge idiot. Great job, Egbert, you shitlord.
"Jesus Egbert, are you twelve?" He responds with his usual sarcasm, betrayed only by the squeeze he gives your hand.
You smile, telling him to shut up as you push open the cafe door, the soft tinkling of the bell signifying your entrance. The blonde waitress greets you by name (actually, "greets" might be the wrong term; it was more like a screech, but that's just how Roxy is), before noticing your joined hands. The ridiculous winks and obscene hand gestures are worth it just for the faint blush on Dave's cheeks.