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I' ll show you every version of yourself tonight.
I'll get you out on the floor,
Shimmering beautiful.
“Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not scared, Hinata.”
“You’re a little scared, Omi-san. But that’s okay.”
Sakusa scoffs, shaky hands betraying him as Hinata guides him backward onto the roller skating rink floor. Hinata, apparently well-practiced in the, to Sakusa, mostly foreign art of roller skating, switches smoothly from foot to foot as Sakusa wobbles, willing his muscle memory to kick in.
It’s unknown to Sakusa why he agreed at all to a first date 1) in public, and 2) at a skating rink of all places. He has not roller skated since he was in junior high. He knows Hinata likes roller skating much more than he does. And, as much as he will deny it later, probably over a milkshake sitting on the same side of a diner booth with Hinata, Sakusa knows that when one person knows how to roller skate and the other person quite doesn’t there results in a usually-desirable amount of hand-holding.
Hinata giggles as Sakusa’s cheeks barely redden, flush creeping over the top edge of his mask. “What’re you thinking about, Omi-san?”
“Nothing.” In distress, though, not a moment later, Sakusa grips Hinata’s hands even tighter as a practiced couple glides past them; with his infinite patience, Hinata doesn’t complain but for a little snicker and just pulls them along the edge of the rink a little closer to the wall.
“Nothing? Really?” Hinata swings their hands between them with a little grin. “But your face is red.”
Sakusa balks as Hinata laughs again, turning them around in a little circle. Heart racing, Sakusa thinks he’s about to get his feet tangled and his balance turned all around but- Hinata grips his left hand a little tighter, squeezing so hard their fingers smush together and skin turns white at the edges of a desperate but careful grasp.
His right hand, Hinata’s right hand, Sakusa realizes, comes up to his waist and stays there until they right themselves again. Hinata’s hand is skimming under Sakusa’s unzipped jacket, holding him over the thin material of his t-shirt, and Sakusa barely recognizes that he’s been staring at Hinata the whole time.
And Hinata stares back. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners, and he blinks and smiles like nothing’s happened. Sakusa’s face turns impossibly redder, but he manages a smile, too, even as his heart feels like it’s jumping on the back of his neck begging him to do something. Anything.
Luckily, they’re in their own little world. Time can be taken sweetly and slowly.
Everything around them slows to a glacial pace, everything except each other’s lovestruck faces a little blurry and unfocused at the edges. The lights, in strobe setting above them and shining every hue from rich red to snow white to royal purple, seem to soften a shade or two. Sakusa feels, on all sides, like he’s on the cusp of some monumental discovery. Or rather that Hinata Shouyou, in front of him and beautiful and so, so lovely, is putting pieces of Sakusa back together with the softest hands he’s ever held.
Hinata rebuilds Sakusa on roller skates and grins the whole damn time.
A burst of rose, magenta, lands on Hinata’s face, and Sakusa in a moment of startling clarity brings his free hand to cup Hinata’s jaw. Leaning ever into his touch, Hinata’s gaze softens and flicks down once, then back to Sakusa’s eyes. His hand is still on Sakusa’s waist, Sakusa remembers.
His hand is on Sakusa’s waist and Sakusa’s hand is on Hinata’s skin under warm shades of light, orange and dandelion yellow melting into the baby pink and lavender, and they’ve been hanging out at the edge of the rink the whole time. Which is a shame, Sakusa thinks.
The orange courage that is Hinata Shouyou, his every bit of bravery bleeding into Sakusa’s skin, is right here in front of him.
“Shouyou,” Sakusa breathes out, and Hinata’s eyes snap open again.
“Omi.” Hinata swallows, just as Sakusa brushes his thumb barely across Hinata’s parted lips. Soft lips.
Sakusa watches, hands still and thumb resting, as Hinata’s breath ghosts over his hand; and, then, he lets the barest bones of a smile cross his face and Hinata’s cheeks darken a shade or two pinker.
He knows exactly what Sakusa means by it.
Their little world, slowing for the past ten minutes, kicks itself back into real-time.
Hinata slips his hand from Sakusa’s waist and holds it palm-open between them, and his smile grows back into a grin when Sakusa replaces his hand in Hinata’s.
It’s not Hinata, though, who propels them into moving again. Who moves them ever-further from the wall’s edge at the outskirts of the rink. Who guides them around other couples with careful attention. Whose eyes barely leave Hinata the whole rest of the night.
It’s Sakusa who spins Hinata one-handed under his arm and feels like a kind of artist when Hinata’s face comes back to him, beaming and flushed and in love.
I'm still on my tallest tip-toes,
Spinning in my highest heels, love,
Shining just for you.