Work Text:
The next-door neighbors must be getting agitated, as the music that’s been blasting for the past hour shows no sign of stopping any time soon. Sure, Sero will be heading out in the next few minutes, but if living with a roommate has taught him anything, it’s that Denki tends to get even louder when left on his own, if you can believe it.
“What about this one?” Sero asks, holding up the most wrinkled shirt Denki has ever seen in his life.
“It has all its buttons, which is good,” Denki begins, “but we don’t own an iron, which is bad. You might as well just throw that in the garbage.”
“Dude, no way.” Sero throws it in the maybe pile instead.
“Oh,” Denki gasps, pulling something from the very back of Sero’s closet. “What is this? Please wear it. I’m begging you.”
“I…” Sero trails off, staring at the fluorescent crop top in his best friend’s outstretched hand. “I don’t think that’s mine.”
“Well, it’s not mine.”
“Interesting.”
“Very interesting.”
While keeping intense eye contact, Denki slowly moves the crop top over to the maybe pile, one brow raised, questioning. Sero shakes his head, pointing at the no pile. With a huff, Denki complies, tossing the mystery garment in the ever-growing heap of rejected date night outfits.
“So,” Denki muses, shuffling some clothes around on the bed so he can find a spot to sit down. “You still haven’t told me who you’re going out with tonight.”
“Is that so?” Sero responds, a lopsided grin sneaking its way onto his face.
“Is it the girl from the grocery store?” Denki asks, pulling a handful of shirts onto his lap.
“No, she stopped texting me back,” Sero responds waving his hand. He pulls a surprisingly unwrinkled white shirt from his nearly empty closet. “How’s this one?”
“Looks nice, especially if you roll up the sleeves,” Denki replies, grabbing at a stack of discarded hangers. “Sorry about grocery girl, though.”
“Nah, it’s okay,” Sero shrugs. “She was buying an alarming amount of milk when we met, so…maybe I dodged a bullet.”
“Yikes. So, not grocery girl,” Denki muses, idly tugging tops onto hangers. He can always think better when his hands are moving. “Is it the barista?”
“Not the barista, either. Turns out he was only flirting with me to get a bigger tip,” Sero says, rifling through his dresser for a pair of pants.
“Damn. That sucks, bro,” Denki shakes his head, aghast at his friend’s bad luck.
“Yeah, but I respect the hustle. Plus, he still makes the best cold brew I’ve ever had, so…no hard feelings.” Sero glances over his shoulder at the warzone he used to call a bed. “Do I have any cool pants in the maybe pile?”
“Probably not,” Denki says. He stands and begins to slide a handful of Sero’s shirts back where they belong.
“Rude.”
“You should go for those black jeans we pulled out earlier,” Denki says, gesturing towards the no pile. “And maybe a black shirt instead of the white.”
“I already told you, all-black outfits are more your style than mine,” Sero replies, tugging off his tank top in favor of the much nicer date night button-down.
“Fine,” Denki sighs, grabbing more hangers and returning to his task of cleaning up his best friend’s room. “So, not grocery girl. Not barista boy. Who’s even left? Who else have you been talking to?”
Sero grabs a pair of perfectly fine trousers and flashes Denki a grin, his eyebrows raised, and his chest puffed with pride.
“Wait…” Denki begins, a tiny gasp escaping his lips. “Wait, no way.”
“Yeah.”
“For real?”
“Yeah.”
“No way!” Denki launches at Sero, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him back and forth, excitement lacing his every word. “Hell yeah, dude! You finally asked her out? It’s been, what? Two weeks of pining now?”
“It’s been closer to three weeks of pining, actually,” Sero laughs, a faint blush painting his cheeks. “But yeah. Have I told you about her dog?”
“The little demon Chihuahua-Pomeranian thing? Yes, you’ve told me he’s a menace.”
“He hates everybody. Everybody. Except her. And…” Sero leans in close, “except me. I finally got him to take treats from my hand. He lets me pet him now and everything.”
“You’re so charming even feral dogs can’t resist,” Denki snorts. He begins tidying up the room more hurriedly, knowing that Sero’s too excited to clean it himself at this point.
“It’s true!” Sero practically swoons. “That sealed the deal. When Little Mister Crumbs finally accepted me, she couldn’t resist.”
“The dog’s name is Mister Crumbs?”
“Little Mister Crumbs, yeah.”
“Wow.”
Sero finishes getting ready, spending an inordinate amount of time doing his hair only for it to look the same as it always does, while Denki puts his closet back together. Now, should Sero get lucky and bring his date home, his room won’t look like a category five hurricane visited first.
“Okay,” Sero says, his hand lingering on the front door handle. “How do I look?”
“I’d smash,” Denki smirks, leaning forward to adjust Sero’s collar. “But are you sure I can’t convince you to go all black?”
“Nah,” Sero responds, smiling down at him. “Like I said, all-black looks killer on you, but it’s not what I’m going for. Plus, I think a white shirt on a first date is cool. It shows I’m very confident that I won’t spill anything on myself.”
“Suit yourself, dude.”
Sero begins patting his pockets, going through a checklist of everything he’ll need.
“I’ve got my keys. Got my wallet. Phone’s fully charged. How’s my breath?” He leans down and breathes into Denki’s face.
“Minty fresh, my guy.”
“Excellent.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“Nah,” Sero grins. “She lives nearby. I can walk. Oh, that reminds me…” he trails off, wandering into the kitchen for just a second before coming back with a dog treat. “For Little Mister Crumbs.”
“She’s going to love that,” Denki nods. “They both will.”
“Okay,” Sero repeats. “I guess…I guess I’m good to go?”
“Hell yeah, dude. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Sero bounces slightly on the balls of his feet. “Hey, Kaminari,” he hedges, his grin faltering just a bit. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always,” Denki says, tilting his head.
“I’m…really excited. I have, like…butterflies and shit. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like this.”
A smile spreads its way across Denki’s lips at the shy admission.
“Go get her, dude. I bet she feels the exact same way!”
“Thanks, man!”
With Sero gone and no one around to entertain him, Denki finds himself quickly falling into despair. He cranks the music even louder and tries his best to dance like no one’s watching, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’d much rather have an audience if he’s going to perform.
He could play video games, but those are always more fun with Sero. He could watch a movie, but again, it’s always more fun with Sero cracking jokes after every line. He wouldn’t mind calling Sero and keeping him company on his walk—can’t let a bro get lonely out there, after all—but that might be overstepping.
Denki wanders into the kitchen, bopping back and forth between the pantry and the fridge, hoping that the ideal snack will suddenly appear within one of them the next time he looks inside. The jar of dog treats catches his eye briefly, and though he’s not proud of it, Denki does take one out. He sniffs it, gives it a quick lick and, rightfully repulsed by the taste, puts it back. Little Mister Crumbs can keep those, as far as Denki’s concerned.
He's about to cave and download another dating app just to pass the time when he notices the sink is full of dishes. Well, now, we can’t have that, can we? Not if Sero brings his girl home. This place needs to impress. It needs to woo.
Just as he sets the final dish in the drying rack, Denki’s phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.
“Sero, my man!” Denki answers, taking a few steps backward so the lighting illuminates him perfectly for this FaceTime call. “Miss me already? I know it’s hard to be apart, but come on, it’s just one night…” Denki trails off as he notices Sero’s furrowed brow, his downturned lips, his unfocused eyes.
“Shit, dude, are you lost?” Denki asks, bringing the phone closer to his face as if doing so will give him clues as to what’s going on. “I can navigate for you. Hang on, let me pull up my GPS.”
“Kami,” Sero finally says, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “I want your advice on something.”
“Sure, dude. Hit me.”
Sero takes a deep breath before continuing.
“How…how long should you stand outside someone’s door before you just…give up?”
“Oh,” Denki says, his voice quiet.
“Yeah,” Sero responds, his voice even quieter.
A pit begins to form in Denki’s stomach, little tendrils of dread snaking their way from his gut and through his limbs, using his veins by way of transport. If this is how he’s feeling, he can only imagine what must be going on in Sero’s body.
“Shit. Okay,” Denki begins, shaking his head to clear away the concern. This is not the time to be freaking out. Well, not the time for him to be freaking out, at least. “You knocked?”
“Of course,” Sero rolls his eyes. “I’ve been knocking for, like, five minutes.”
“Shit. Did you text her?”
“Yeah.”
“Call her?”
“Yeah.”
“Are the lights on?”
“No,” Sero sighs. “As far as I can tell, Little Mister Crumbs is not home.”
“Are you sure this is her house?” Denki asks, hoping that maybe Sero really is lost after all.
“Maybe it’s not,” Sero shrugs, “but it’s the address she gave me.”
“Damn…” Denki whispers.
“It’s…” Sero begins, taking in a wavering breath. “It’s probably just a misunderstanding, right?”
“Yeah,” Denki says, hoping his word come across more genuine than they feel. “I mean…yeah, maybe.”
“Should I…keep knocking?” Sero asks. “Or…call her again, maybe?”
“How many times have you called so far?”
“…Three?” he responds, knowing it’s already too many, knowing it’s already too late.
“Oh, man.”
“I’ve wanted this for weeks, dude,” Sero whispers.
“I know,” Denki replies, his voice just as soft.
“It’s probably just a misunderstanding,” Sero says, not fooling anybody. Not even fooling himself.
“Yeah, for sure,” Denki responds, playing along with the lie.
There’s a silence between them, Denki staring at Sero as Sero stares at the front door of a girl who will never answer for him. It feels like running fingers across the edge of a sheet of paper—like at any moment, at any sudden movement, at any sudden sound, there could be a sting—there could be the sight of blood.
Denki doesn’t know what to do. He’s been ghosted before, of course. Hell, he’s been a ghost several times, too. But this…to get to know someone for weeks, to think you have a chance, that you’re slowly winning them over, only to be stood up at the last possible second…Denki doesn’t know what to do.
“Well,” Sero sighs, breaking their claustrophobic silence. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
Denki watches the screen shift as Sero bends down, placing the dog treat he had grabbed onto the welcome mat.
“Sero—” Denki begins, finding his voice, but still so unsure. Luckily, he’s interrupted before he gets too far.
“Thanks, um, for helping me get ready,” Sero says, clearing his throat in between some of the words. “I know it didn’t amount to anything in the end, but, um…that was still really fun, so…thanks.”
“Yeah, man,” Denki manages. “Any time.”
Though he’s been alone since Sero left, Denki truly feels it once the call ends. He stands in his brightly lit kitchen, the sink freshly cleaned and the air smelling of dish soap, all done in order to impress a girl he will never meet.
Okay. If he can wash the dishes for the sake of some random girl, he can get the rest of this place ready for a particularly distraught Sero upon his return home. Right?
Denki paces through the living room, racking his brain for all the things he could do in the ten to fifteen minutes he should have before his roommate gets back.
He could grab their matching Jolteon and Umbreon pajamas and some blankets—maybe even throw them in the dryer so they’re warm—and a couple of their favorite corny sci-fi movies. If he’s quick about it, he could run down to the corner store and grab some ice cream, maybe a few bags of chips…
Wait.
No.
Denki grins to himself. He has a better idea.
————
The front door swings open right as Sero’s about to stick his key in the lock. Denki leans against the frame, one arm resting above his head, the other on his hip.
“Hey, handsome,” he says, smirking up at his bewildered best friend. “Here to pick me up?”
Sero opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it again, then opens it, then shuts it, his eyes dancing all over Denki’s form as he does so, taking in his outfit, his choker, and the faintest hint of liner smudged around his eyes.
“What’s going on?” Sero finally manages. “Were you watching through the peephole to see when I’d get back?”
“Not important,” Denki rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the doorframe. “You planned a really nice date for tonight, right?”
“Well, yeah—”
“So, let’s go.”
“Wait,” Sero says, rubbing at his eyes as if Denki is a hallucination that will be gone once he opens them again. “You and me?”
“Yeah.”
“But…”
“But what?” Denki cocks an eyebrow. He holds his arms out to the sides and slowly turns in a circle. “Look, I got all dressed up for you and everything.”
“All black,” Sero chuckles.
“Just how you like me.”
More laughter bubbles out of Sero, hesitantly at first, but growing quicker, more genuine, the more Denki poses.
“Are you sure?” Sero says between laughs. “It was going to be, like, super romantic.”
“What,” Denki scoffs. “You think I can’t handle a little romance?”
“Okay,” Sero muses. “Just don’t fall for me by the end of it.”
“With you looking that good?” Denki says, offering a low whistle. “I make no promises.”
“You know what?” Sero begins, scratching at his chin as Denki shuts and locks their front door. “This is a great idea. I think a guy’s night out is exactly what I need.”
“No, no, no,” Denki says, grasping at Sero’s unoccupied hand. “This is a date. See? We’re holding hands.”
“Yeah, sure,” Sero snorts, pulling his hand free from Denki’s grip. “Our nights out are practically the same as dates anyway.”
“True.”
“The only difference is you don’t ever give me butterflies.”
“Right,” Denki nods, slipping his hands into his pockets. Not yet, anyway, he adds silently, biting down on his lower lip to avoid smirking. If Sero thinks he’s up to something, he’ll drag them both back to the apartment and spend the rest of the night feeling sorry for himself. What kind of friend would Denki be if he let that happen?
Truthfully, Denki wasn’t sure if going on this date would be the best idea. What if Sero spent the whole time wishing his actual date were there instead of his roommate? What if the whole thing was just a slap in the face—a reminder of what he almost had?
But there’s a simple solution, and Denki feels oh so proud of himself for coming up with it on his own. All he has to do is make Sero feel as lovey-dovey on this date as he would on any other. Sure, Denki’s never made Sero feel butterflies before, but that changes tonight.
And who knows? Maybe if Denki does a good enough job, Sero won’t even mind that he isn’t getting a goodnight kiss like he could’ve gotten from that girl.
“So,” Denki says, looking up at Sero through his eyelashes. “Where to first, boss?”
————
There are certain things Denki has only done while intoxicated. The only time he’s ever tried to get back together with his ex, for example, has been through a series of completely incoherent drunk texts. Makeovers, too, tend to happen only after he’s a bit too far gone. Sero still has photographic evidence of Denki with his eyebrows tweezed down to nubs stashed away somewhere, as well as a particularly sloppy video or two of the blue hair dye fiasco from a couple of years ago.
And, of course, baking. Denki only ever bakes if he and Sero are inebriated together during the early hours of the night, desperate for something sweet, but too stupid to just go buy something from a 24-hour store down the street.
Those desserts never turn out very well, but Denki is feeling much more confident in their skills now as he twirls a whisk between his fingers—completely sober and in a room full of several other couples as a baking instructor walks around, teaching everyone how to make the perfect red velvet cupcakes.
“You know,” Denki says, keeping his voice low so that only Sero can hear him. “It’s kind of embarrassing that the couple next to us keeps asking for help. Like, who doesn’t know the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon?”
“Totally, dude,” Sero agrees, dumping baking soda into their dry ingredient bowl. “The labels are right there on the handles. It’s impossible to miss.”
“Excuse me, boys,” the baking instructor interjects. She’s a grandmotherly woman in all the best ways—short and kind and perpetually flour-dusted. “I believe you’ve used a bit too much baking soda there.”
“Did we?” Sero mutters, looking down at the recipe. “It calls for a fourth of a teaspoon.”
“And you’ve used a fourth of a cup, young man.”
“I—” Sero cuts himself off as Denki begins to laugh.
“You’ll need to start over,” the instructor tells them, patting Sero’s arm sympathetically. “Everything is all out of balance. They won’t bake correctly. Don’t worry about it too much, dear. These things happen.”
“Nice job, dude,” Denki snickers as the instructor walks off.
“Shut up,” Sero grumbles, elbowing Denki in the ribs. “Do we really have to start all over? We were practically finished with the dry ingredients.”
Denki hums for a moment as he thinks, tapping the whisk against the table as he does so.
“I mean,” he says after a second. “We could just…add more of everything else, right? To balance out the baking powder?”
“Baking soda.”
“…Is there a difference?”
“Allegedly.”
What they lack in technical know-how, Sero and Denki make up for in enthusiasm as they measure heaps of extra cupcake ingredients that the recipe does not call for. They pour more and more flour, sugar, and so on into their bowl—nearly filling it to the brim—in amounts they think are accurate, though they can’t really be sure. If measuring ingredients were their specialty, they wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with, after all.
“Alright,” Denki says, eyeing the nearly overflowing bowl warily. “Time to mix this all together.”
After whisking the concoction as best he can, Denki finds himself (and his workstation) covered in a fine layer of white powder. His sleeves, his pants, even his back, somehow, are bespeckled—everywhere his apron doesn’t cover.
“Nice job, dude,” Sero snickers as he watches Denki spill yet another clump of powder on his all-black outfit.
“The bowl’s too full,” Denki grumbles, “it’s not my fault. How are the wet ingredients coming along?”
“Pretty good,” Sero replies, cracking another egg into the comically large bowl they managed to swipe from the instructor’s own station while she wasn’t looking. “I don’t know how many eggs I’ve used so far, but that’s probably fine.”
“So, esteemed chef,” Denki begins, leaning an elbow on the table as he watches Sero work. “I have a question for you.”
“What is it, baking champion of the world?”
“Have I given you any butterflies yet?”
“Have you—what?” Sero’s focus shifts from the egg he was cracking to Denki’s eyes instead, causing his thumb to shoot straight through the shell. The yolk splatters far enough that droplets of it land on Sero’s cheek as well as on the cuff of his sleeve. “Shit,” he mumbles. “Does egg stain?”
“I have no way of knowing that.”
“Shit,” he repeats.
“Is that a yes, then?” Denki prods, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“Shut up, dude,” Sero laughs, wiping at the yolk on his sleeve. “This isn’t a real date; we’re just hanging out.”
“It’s totally a real date,” Denki retorts. “But on that note, I’m curious—why a couples baking class? Isn’t that a lot of pressure?” He gestures at all the other people around exchanging discreet kisses, rings on their fingers, and arms around waists. Clearly, none of these couples are on a first date.
“You think so?” Sero asks, tilting his head. He reaches for another egg. “I’ve always thought that trying new things is perfect for when you’re just getting to know someone. You get to see what people are like when they’re good at something, or better yet, when they’re bad at something. That always tells you a lot about who a person is.”
Sero finishes cracking an absurd number of eggs into his wet ingredient bowl and begins mixing everything together.
“Plus,” he continues, his eyes trained on the task at hand. “The classic dinner date is cool and all, but what happens if you run out of things to say? What if you don’t have that much in common? At least with a task, like making cupcakes, there’s always something to do. And by the end of it, regardless of if there are vibes or not, you have dessert.”
“Huh,” Denki says, pushing himself off the table. Pretty much every first date he’s ever been on has been some variation of dinner and a movie, or sometimes coffee and a walk in the park…maybe a bite of ice cream and a local concert here and there, too. He’s never minded it—those kinds of dates are easy. They’re practically templated, nothing terribly unexpected ever happens, and he’s never once ended up covered in flour during any of those dates before.
But maybe that’s a problem. Sure, his outfit might be in shambles, but there’s a kind of thrill to the chaos of a night uncertain. There’s a kind of thrill to fucking up a cupcake recipe so bad so early on, knowing full well they’ll have to walk out of this building in dirty clothes, on to the next leg of an adventure Denki doesn’t have a template for. There’s a kind of thrill to it all, and maybe Denki’s been missing that thrill for a while now.
“Yeah,” he continues, nodding his head. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“What can I say?” Sero shrugs. “I’m a pretty smart guy.”
“Hello, boys,” the baking instructor says, meandering over to their workstation. “How are we doing over here?”
Her eyes, though smiling, convey murderous intent at the absolute disaster that is their table.
“We’re nearly done, I think. Right, Sero?” Denki asks, fearing for his life.
“Yeah, it’s going super well,” Sero responds, holding two thumbs up as if such a gesture could save him now.
“Right,” the instructor says. “It looks like your next step is to combine your wet and dry ingredients, and my my…don’t you have quite a lot of both?”
“Do we?”
“Looks like the normal amount to me.”
“Right,” she continues. “Well, be sure to add your cocoa before you start mixing them together. I’ve noticed your dry ingredients are awfully white.”
“We were supposed to use cocoa?” Denki whispers to Sero.
“Don’t worry,” Sero tells her, a grin plastered across his face. “We’re totally pros at this.”
There’s a pause as the baking instructor stares at Sero and Denki.
“No,” she finally says with a sigh. “Add cocoa, otherwise it’s not red velvet. Please, please bring me over if you need any help. Please.”
“Sure thing!” Denki calls after her as she’s waved down by another table.
“Dude,” Sero says, grabbing onto Denki’s shoulder. “I think she’s going to kill us.”
“I can’t blame her. Look at the mess we’ve made in her kitchen.”
“Did you know red velvet had cocoa powder in it?”
“No, dude. I always thought red velvet was red flavored. We probably don’t even need the cocoa powder.”
“True,” Sero nods. “Speaking of red flavored…” He trails off, searching around the cluttered workstation for a second, then grabs the red food coloring. “The recipe says we only need a few drops, but we should probably add, like, at least half, right?”
“Yeah,” Denki agrees. “Maybe the whole thing, just to be safe.”
“Good call.” Sero squirts the entire bottle of red food coloring into his bowl, narrowly avoiding some splashback onto his crisp, white sleeves.
“Okay,” Denki says, hefting his surprisingly heavy dry ingredient bowl. “Ready to mix these fuckers together?”
“Hell yeah.”
Denki does his best to pour the dry mixture into the wet as gradually as possible, but there’s little he can do to stop the plume of powder that puffs out, engulfing them both and covering them in yet another layer of dusty white.
With Sero’s help, Denki maneuvers the oversized bowl to their stand mixer, though it barely fits.
“What setting should we start this on?” Sero asks.
“I mean,” Denki shrugs. “If we start it on low, it’ll take forever. Might as well go big or go home, right?”
“Sounds good to me.”
With a confident fist bump and a naïve grin, the two lean in close to watch their cupcake batter blend together as Denki turns the stand mixer on high.
Ingredients both wet and dry, unincorporated and dyed alarmingly red, fly from the bowl as the machine whirs to life. It splatters far and wide, decorating walls, floors, even a bit of the ceiling, but most of all, this batter finds a home on the clothes and in the hair of Denki and Sero. Though aprons protect most of their chests and part of their pants, there is more of their bodies left uncovered than not.
They look like victims of a crime, all splashed in red, and they just might be as the baking instructor heads their way, a strained smile plastered across her face.
“Uh, dude,” Denki says, turning towards Sero. He gestures a thumb towards his cheek. “You’ve got a little something right here.”
————
Don’t look at him, Denki tells himself. He keeps his gaze trained straight ahead at the mirror as he dabs a paper towel against his forehead. Do not look at him, Denki.
His desperate, traitorous eyes can’t help but rebel. They flick ever so slightly to the right just as Sero’s eyes shift to look at him as well. For half a heartbeat they stare at each other in the mirror—less cake splattered than when they initially entered the bathroom, but still decidedly disastrous—before dissolving into another fit of giggles.
“Stop!” Denki cries out between laughs. “Stop looking at me! I can’t handle it—you look ridiculous.”
“No,” Sero wheezes. “You look ridiculous! Keep your eyes to yourself, blondie.”
Despite all odds, they manage to pull themselves together. Denki throws an armful of red-spotted paper towels away as Sero runs the tap over some fresh ones, getting ready for another round of wiping down their clothes, their skin, their hair.
“I still can’t believe we got kicked out,” Denki says, scrubbing at some dried red goo on his cheek.
“Really?” Sero snorts. “I’m surprised it took as long as it did, to be honest.”
“Nice of the instructor to let us use the bathroom before being exiled, though.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
Luckily, the red batter doesn’t show up too well on Denki’s black shirt. With just a bit of water and some determined scrubbing, his clothes are more or less presentable. Wet, but presentable.
Sero, on the other hand…
“I look like I just came from a haunted house,” he whines, blotting helplessly at his formerly white shirt. His sleeves and parts of his chest are littered with so much red it would take a miracle to get it all out.
“How am I supposed to get a goodnight kiss from my date looking like this?” Sero laughs and waggles his eyebrows at Denki through the mirror.
Denki chokes on air and expectations as those words leave Sero’s lips. Sure, he and Sero play-flirt all the time, and sure, Denki has been insisting that this is, in fact, a date since leaving the apartment, but Sero’s been denying that aspect of tonight up until this moment. And there’s something about the way he said it…the words are those of concern, but the tone is so relaxed, as if he’s not worried about getting a kiss at all. Not because he doesn’t want one, but rather because he knows he’ll get his way in the end no matter what he looks like.
At least, that’s how it sounds to Denki. And the butterflies in his stomach seem to like that interpretation quite a lot based on how much they’re stirring.
“People on the street are going to think I’m a murderer,” Sero continues, snapping Denki out of his thoughts. “I’m going to get arrested. What a wild first date story that’ll make, huh?”
“You know,” Denki begins, clearing his throat. “My shirt looks pretty normal. We could switch if you want.”
“Really?” Sero asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, I mean…” Denki trails off. “I don’t really care either way, you know? So, if you want to…”
“You just want me to wear black,” Sero smirks, but he begins unbuttoning his shirt, silently agreeing to the switch.
Denki peels off his own shirt, giving it a few shakes to try and dry it off a bit more before extending it out towards Sero.
“Woah,” he says once he notices Sero’s shirt is fully off. He’s seen Sero shirtless enough times to be able to notice when something’s different. Without thinking, Denki reaches a hand out and pokes Sero’s pec, leaving his finger in place. “Bro, have you been working out more lately?”
“Yeah, bro,” Sero grins.
“I can tell. You’re straight jacked.”
“Thanks, bro.” Sero flexes his pecs, which makes Denki gasp and remove his finger from the shock of it.
“Wow,” he says. “I can’t believe I’m on a date with such a hottie.”
“I could say the same,” Sero replies. He looks Denki up and down, wolf-whistling as he does so.
“Oh, my God, Sero,” Denki laughs, the butterflies in his stomach beginning to stir again as he throws his shirt into Sero’s grinning face. “Keep treating me like this and a kiss isn’t all you’ll be getting at the end of our date.”
Sero laughs as he catches the shirt and tosses it down next to the sink. He places a hand on the bathroom counter and leans forward, his height forcing Denki to tilt his chin upward to maintain eye contact.
“Oh, yeah?” Sero asks, his voice dropping slightly lower, slightly deeper. “What else did you have in mind?”
Denki takes a step closer, their shoes nearly touching, their breath intermingling in the air between them.
“Are you asking for a sneak peek?” He places his finger back onto Sero’s chest, then slowly spreads the rest of his hand flush against his pec. It’s a bold move—more than he’d normally try, especially sober, but tonight is a special occasion. Tonight, he’s trying to help his best buddy forget about a heartbreak. If that means feeling him up a bit, then so be it.
Sero covers Denki’s hand with his own and for a moment Denki thinks he’s gone too far—Sero is going to yank his hand away and ask to go home and never speak of this again—but no…he simply holds both their hands there, above his heart. Denki can just barely feel it beating. Fast, he thinks, but he’s not sure how quick a heart is supposed to beat normally.
“I’ll show you, but…” Denki begins, his eyes grazing up and down Sero’s exposed chest. “I need to know something first. Are you feeling a spark yet? Any butterflies?”
“Denki,” Sero begins, his voice sounding a bit hoarse as if he were thirsty—as if he’d inhaled a handful of their dry ingredients right before speaking. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
Sero opens his mouth to respond, but right as he does, a toilet flushes.
They stare at each other and this time there is no laughter.
“There’s someone in here?” Denki whispers hurriedly, tearing his hand away from Sero’s chest and flailing about for his shirt.
They scramble to get dressed, hoping that whoever’s in that stall is in no rush to come out and catch a glimpse of whoever had just been flirting like that.
“Hey, uh,” Sero begins, clearing his throat as he buttons Denki’s slightly too small shirt over his chest. “We should get going. I have dinner reservations.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean…If you want to. If you’re hungry.”
He thinks for a moment it might be a bad idea. Sero’s shirt—the one Denki now wears—is a horror to behold: wet and sticky and awfully stained…but tonight has been so much fun, what a shame to end it early on account of ego, especially since Denki was the one to suggest they switch shirts in the first place.
“So?” Sero asks.
Denki’s stomach growls in response, which is all Sero needs. A cheeky grin spreads across his face as he grabs Denki by the arm, pulling him out of the bathroom. At this point, all Denki can hope is that the restaurant isn’t too nice.
————
Thank God, the restaurant isn’t too nice.
It’s the kind of place you take someone when you want to impress them, but not come across as pretentious; the kind of place that gives you weird looks when you arrive in outfits that belong in the garbage, but not the kind of place that turns you away for it; the kind of place that’s perfect for Denki and Sero.
The menus are several pages long, which might be nice for people who don’t get the kind of analysis paralysis Denki is prone to, but for him? It’s a nightmare. His eyes rove across the list of options as he flips back and forth between several pages, unable to focus on a single dish for more than a second before another catches his attention.
Sero leans back in his chair, watching Denki with an amused grin on his face.
“Have you never been to a restaurant before or something?” Sero chuckles as Denki practically pouts down at his menu.
“No, this is my first time,” he replies sarcastically. “There’s just so many options.”
“Great, so pick one.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Denki chides, kicking Sero under the table.
“Ow! Hey—”
“Is this how you act on a date?” Denki narrows his eyes at Sero disapprovingly.
“No…” Sero replies, his shoulders slumping.
“Exactly. You’re supposed to be wooing me, not rushing me.”
“Fine, fine,” he acquiesces. “Take your time, darling.” He draws the pet name out so Denki knows it’s meant as a joke.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Denki replies, matching his tone perfectly.
As Denki returns to his menu, he almost doesn’t realize their waitress has arrived, notepad in hand, poised to take their drink orders. He’s been so focused on picking out his meal that he hasn’t spent a single second thinking about what to drink. He flips quickly to the beverage section, hoping that one of the options will jump out at him.
“Sounds great, thanks,” he hears Sero say, and the waitress walks off.
“Did you order?” Denki asks, looking up from his menu.
“Yeah.”
“For both of us?”
“Mhm. Some red wine.”
“Thanks, man,” Denki feels some of the tension in his neck and shoulders evaporate as there’s now one less decision to make.
“No problem,” Sero shrugs. “You looked like you were panicking. Plus,” he says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “That’s my move. It shows I’m both confident and generous.”
“Generous?”
“Yeah, because I’m paying for dinner,” Sero says casually. “So, if I order us drinks, it’s like ‘Oh, wow, he’s going all out for me,’ you know what I mean?”
“Wait,” Denki sits up straighter in his chair. “You’re paying for dinner? Didn’t you pay for the baking class, too?”
“I mean…yeah,” Sero says, scratching at the back of his neck. “But I am the one taking you out, right? So, I should be the one to pay. My treat.”
“Dude…” Denki whispers, staring deep into Sero’s eyes. “That makes this so much easier.”
“It—what?”
Denki picks up his menu with renewed fervor, flipping to a page in the middle and scanning the items listed like an animal starved.
“As a rule,” he begins, eyes still focused on the menu in front of him. “I don’t order meals that are over $12 when I go out to eat.”
“Bro,” Sero laughs. “That’s so stupid.”
“I’m trying to be financially responsible, Sero.”
“So, when you take someone out,” Sero muses, “you give them a budget? How often does that get you laid?”
“No, I don’t—that’s not…” Denki trails off, a bit flustered. “Well. Okay. Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
The waitress returns with their wine, giving them generous pours and setting the bottle on the table for them to continue drinking at their leisure. She takes their order, praises their choice in cuisine, and walks briskly away from the odd pair.
The two pick up their glasses, give a quick cheers, take a sip, and then the focus returns to Denki and his secret.
“I’ve stopped asking people out,” he says, the words mumbled almost to the point of incoherence, but Sero hears them anyway.
“For real?” he asks, incredulous. “Like, you’ve stopped dating entirely?”
“No, no, no,” Denki laughs nervously. “I’ve just stopped asking people out. Here’s the thing: when you ask out every beautiful person you ever meet, sometimes they say yes. And then you have to pay for all these dinners and movies and drinks and stuff. It’s fun, but it’s…”
“Expensive?”
And empty, and boring, and templated…Denki adds silently.
“Yeah, exactly,” he replies. “But if you wait for beautiful people to ask you out instead…”
“Oh, my God, Kami,” Sero laughs.
“What?” Though he knows it’s at his expense, Denki can’t help but join in with the laughter.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey, man. It might sound a little weird, but it works.”
“Does it?” Sero asks, taking another sip of his wine. “When was your last date?”
“I don’t know, like two months ago maybe?” Denki gulps his wine, pleased that Sero ordered his favorite.
“Okay,” Sero nods. “And before you stopped asking people out…how often were you going on dates?”
“Like…at least once a week.”
“Sheesh.”
“I know,” Denki sighs. “It’s a drastic change.”
“How’s it treating you?”
“I kind of like it, actually,” Denki begins, leaning his head on his hand. “It was exhausting to go out all the time only for it to never lead anywhere. I got a lot of first dates, but not a lot of second dates, and even fewer third dates.”
“And that’s something you want? Third dates, fourth dates…?” Sero asks, leaning his head just like Denki, his attention focused so entirely on the conversation at hand that it’s almost intimidating, almost overwhelming.
“I mean…I don’t know,” Denki replies hesitantly, his eyes roaming from just above Sero’s shoulder to down at their table, to the window, to anywhere, anywhere but the person in front of him. “I guess so. I like the companionship, you know? Feeling comfortable with someone. Feeling close with someone. Having someone to go home with.”
“To go home with?” Sero asks, the corner of his lips raising in a lopsided grin. “What about me? I’m at home.”
“I know, I know,” Denki laughs. He sits up a bit straighter, taking his weight off his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re usually the best part of my date nights. Coming home to you—if I’m coming home at all—is always a breath of fresh air.”
It's true—Denki frequently finds himself sitting in some booth at some restaurant across from some person, counting down the minutes until he can reasonably feign enough exhaustion that the date must come to an end. He doesn’t know what it is about himself that always attracts such unappealing partners. It’s not that they’re boring, or unattractive, or rude…it’s not that there’s anything wrong with the people he goes out with, per se…He’s just always more excited to go home to Sero than he is to continue the date. He’d almost be willing to give up dating completely if he didn’t find himself longing for late-night intimacy on occasion.
“But it’s like you said,” Denki shrugs. “With us, there’s no…” he waves his hands around, searching for the right words.
“Butterflies?” Sero offers.
“Yeah,” Denki says. Not yet at least, he adds silently.
The butterflies he felt in the bathroom don’t count, obviously, since anyone in his position would’ve been a bit overwhelmed with such a handsome (and shirtless) man standing so close and being so flirtatious. It had nothing to do with Sero and everything to do with the situation. Duh.
At least…that’s what Denki is telling himself.
Plus, he’s the one who’s supposed to be making Sero feel butterflies, not the other way around. This night won’t be complete until his best friend feels totally and completely romanced, just like with any other date.
“Yeah,” Sero says. “I get it. But, hey, like you said…if tonight goes well…” he trails off, winking at Denki as he lets his meaning settle in.
“I like this energy, Sero,” Denki replies, returning the wink. “Keep this up—and get enough of this red wine in me—and you’ll have to fight me off you once we get back home.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sero snorts.
“Yeah. Red wine makes me slutty.”
Sero opens his mouth to say something—pauses, as if whatever he’s about to say next could be a mistake—then continues, because what is tonight if not a series of fun little mistakes?
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
“That’s why I ordered it.” Sero hides a grin behind a large hand.
“You wanted me to be slutty?” Denki says a bit too loud.
“No, no, I just mean…” Sero trails off as their food arrives, the waitress looking a bit taken aback at Denki’s outburst. Sero waits for her to leave again before continuing. “Red wine kind of does that to people, you know? It sets the mood. I always order it when I take people out. Like I said earlier, that’s my move.”
“Yeah, sure,” Denki says, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head. “All I’m hearing is that you want to get in my pants.”
“Kami, oh my God—”
“Listen, bro. If you want me to be a little sluttier around the apartment, all you have to do is ask. I can go without a shirt more often. Hell, I could even walk around in nothing but my briefs, if you want. Just say the word—”
“Kaminari,” Sero leans forward, pressing a hand to Denki’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. The light in this restaurant isn’t the best—some might even deem it romantic—so Denki can’t be sure, but there appears to be something like a blush spreading across Sero’s face. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Denki relents from behind Sero’s hand. He’s tempted to lick his palm, but he knows he’s already been flirting with Sero pretty relentlessly this evening. He doesn’t want to go too far, and the desperation with which Sero lunged across the table to get him to shut up tells him that maybe—just maybe—he’s pushing his luck here.
They eat in silence, but only for the first bite or two. The food is too good not to talk about, the conversation too easy not to continue, the laughs too contagious to quiet down. Their feet find each other under the table, though it’s unclear whether it was Denki’s foot sliding to meet Sero’s first, or the other way around. But they rest there comfortably, shoe to shoe. It’s nice.
“You know,” Denki begins, emptying the last of their wine into his glass. “I’ve never had the ‘what do you want in a relationship’ conversation while on a first date before.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sero says around a bite of food. “So, you’re saying I’m not like other boys?”
“Ha! No, I just mean—well, actually…” Denki stops and thinks for a second, giving Sero a stern once over. “Yeah, actually. You’re not like anyone I’ve dated before.”
“Because we’re not really dating?”
“This is a real date, Sero. Don’t forget that. But, no—it’s because we’re friends. Best friends, even. I’ve only ever dated, like…strangers, or loose acquaintances.”
“Huh,” Sero says, tilting his head. “Yeah, me too, now that you mention it.”
“This is kind of nice, right?” Denki asks, trying his best not to slur any words. He’s not drunk by any means, but the wine is definitely buzzing through his system. “Like, there’s no awkward pauses in conversation. No topics I’m nervous to bring up. I already know how to make you laugh, so I get to see that cute smile of yours any time I want. It’s nice.”
Sero beams at the praise, his shoulders raising to his ears. It might be the wine they’ve been drinking, but Denki swears he sees that blush again, painted prettily across his friend’s cheeks.
“Yeah,” Sero replies. “You’re right. It is nice.”
“So,” Denki muses, his eyes fluttering. “About those butterflies…”
“Oh, my God, Kaminari,” Sero laughs. “Eat your damn food.”
They finish their meal with conversation flowing easily, happily, cracking jokes and trading bites of their food like they always do. Denki could almost forget this isn’t just a regular dinner out with his best friend, but the shoe pressed against his own under the table is an element of closeness that’s never been there before. It’s nice. It’s so nice.
The check comes. Sero pays, as promised. Denki pretends to swoon, then nearly swoons for real when Sero offers his arm as they leave the restaurant, both a bit wobbly from the booze. If anybody were to look at them now, they’d probably see a real couple. It makes Denki a bit giggly, the idea that he and his best friend could be so close, arm in arm, and look to all the world like men in love. It makes the butterflies in his stomach begin to stir again, though he tells himself it’s the wine. It’s the wine and it’s the handsome man opening the door for him and it’s the situation. Anybody would feel like this.
It’s the wine, that’s all.
————
They walk through the city, buzzed and beaming, giggling like children as they try to avoid stepping on any cracks in the sidewalk—a feat that would be much easier if they would unlink their arms, but they’d sooner trip and fall because of a silly game than let go of each other.
“Where to next, boss?” Denki asks, eyes trained on the ground ahead.
“What, you think there’s more?” Sero asks, tugging Denki closer just in time, as he was about to step on a particularly small crack. Though there’s plenty of room to spread back out, they stay smushed together as they continue forward.
“Well,” Denki begins, resting his head on Sero’s shoulder. “I did notice you declined the dessert menu back at the restaurant, so…”
“Ah,” Sero says. “You want dessert.”
“It’s not that I want dessert,” Denki responds, holding up the hand that isn’t attached to Sero’s arm. “I’m just saying, we never got to eat our cupcakes.”
“Oh, so you don’t want dessert?” Sero teases, looking down at Denki.
“No, I just meant—”
“Well, fine, if you don’t want dessert—”
“No, Sero—”
“There’s this lovely bakery nearby I’ve been dying to show you, but if you don’t want dessert—”
“Sero, baby.” Denki stops in his tracks, forcing Sero to do the same. He reaches up and grabs Sero’s cheeks, bringing his face towards his own, forcing Sero to meet his eyes. “I want dessert. Any place you want to show me, I want to see. Okay? Stop being a dick.”
They stand like this, frozen in place, maybe for a second, maybe for a minute, maybe for an entire day and night, looking into each other’s eyes, their faces separate things, but only just so.
A smile begins to form on Sero’s lips, sweet at first, but quickly growing cocky.
“You’re standing on a bunch of cracks right now,” he says.
“Am I?” Denki asks, releasing Sero’s face and looking down to find that, yes, he is in fact standing on a bunch of cracks. “Dammit.”
“Come on,” Sero says, smiling down at Denki as he tries to position himself in a crack-free zone. Sero interlocks his arm with Denki’s again and tugs him forward. “The bakery closes soon. We should hurry.”
As he follows, Denki decides to try something that could go poorly, because what is tonight if not a series of fun little mistakes?
Steeling his nerves, Denki slides his grip down Sero’s arm into his hand, intertwining their fingers together.
I’ll say it’s for mobility, he tells himself. It’s easier to dodge cracks like this than with our arms linked. Or I’ll say it’s for balance, so I don’t knock into him. Or I’ll say…
He doesn’t finish the thought as Sero glances towards him. Denki expects a raised eyebrow, perhaps a confused laugh—at the very least, he expects Sero to pull his hand away. Instead, however, he gets a crooked grin and a light squeeze.
“Your hand’s kind of cold. Want me to warm it up for you, baby?” Sero says, using that same sarcastic tone for the pet name again. But there’s something a bit different about it this time. There’s a fondness in there—a warmth, a hint of authenticity he probably meant to disguise better.
“Yeah,” Denki replies, smiling up at Sero. “I’d appreciate that, handsome.” He doesn’t even try to match Sero’s tone this time. This authenticity is not disguised at all, not even a little bit.
And there it is again. That suggestion of a blush dusting the tops of Sero’s ears and cheeks. Denki wishes it wasn’t getting dark so he could really see his friend’s face—really see what effect his words have. He’d love to be sure of this. He’d love to know exactly what’s going on—but that’s what templates are for, and this night is decidedly freeform.
————
Now that Denki’s here in a tranquil park sitting on a bench next to his handsome date eating the most delicious red velvet cupcake he’s ever tasted in his life, he almost regrets getting kicked out of the baking class before finishing their recipe. It would be nice to have a dozen more of these things waiting for them, ready to be eaten at any time.
But, he supposes, if they hadn’t gotten kicked out, they wouldn’t be in this park in the first place, laughing and munching and enjoying the evening air together. So, really, it’s not much of a loss.
“Bro,” Sero gasps, freezing in place. “Don’t move.”
“What, why?” Denki asks, immediately panicking, though he does his best to remain motionless.
“A butterfly just landed on your shoulder.”
“For real?”
“Dude, you’re like…Snow White or something.”
“Dude.”
Denki can’t help but snort at the look on Sero’s face—all serious and intent on staying still so as not to disturb their little insect friend. The sound must scare it, though, and the pretty little butterfly flutters away, all shades of red and maroon disappearing further into the park.
Sero slides his foot over to press against Denki’s as they watch it go.
“What is it with you and butterflies tonight, man?” Sero asks. And though Denki knows he means it rhetorically, he feels inclined to answer.
“Can I tell you a secret? Denki asks.
“Always.”
“The butterflies…they’re part of my master plan,” Denki says, licking a bit of frosting off the top of his cupcake. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been flirting with you all night.”
“You always flirt with me. You flirt with everyone.”
“Sure, but I’ve been doing it more tonight. And with you specifically.”
“Okay…” Sero narrows his eyes, watching as Denki licks his dessert.
“I’ve been trying to make you feel butterflies. Like, on purpose. I wanted to give you the most realistic dating experience possible, and that’s part of it. I figured you’d need that in order to forget that girl who stood you up.”
“Bro,” Sero begins, grabbing onto Denki’s shoulder, a sly grin teasing the corners of his lips. “Are you trying to make me fall for you?”
“Maybe!” Denki laughs, feeling bold and happy in his buzz. He scoots a little closer to Sero as he talks. “You’re such a catch, dude. You’re so fun and, like, hot…it’d be crazy for me not to at least try, you know?”
“Totally,” Sero agrees, sliding closer to Denki as well. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, but about you. Like…damn, isn’t it kind of weird that we’ve never hooked up or anything? We’ve lived together for so long and we’ve never so much as kissed.”
“That is pretty wild,” Denki agrees, closing the distance between he and Sero. They sit thigh to thigh, hip to hip, eating their cupcakes in tiny bites to savor them for as long as they can.
“Have you been to this park before?” Sero asks, looking around at all the trees, the running paths, the open patches of grass perfect for energetic little dogs on which to run around.
“Maybe,” Denki shrugs. “Parks all look the same to me unless they have playgrounds. What about you?”
“Yeah,” Sero says, his voice growing soft. “A bunch of times. It’s where I met my date for tonight. And Little Mister Crumbs, of course.”
“Oh, God—oh, shit,” Denki splutters, whirring to face his friend. He prepares himself for the worst—tears, maybe, or even anger—but instead he finds the same old Sero he’s used to. Calm. Relaxed. A crooked grin.
“Are you okay?” Denki asks anyway, just to be certain.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure? We can leave.”
“I’m fine, Kami.”
“You promise?”
“Yes,” Sero laughs, nudging Denki with his shoulder. “Listen, you’ve done a really good job at making me forget about her. Up until now, at least. I don’t even care anymore, honestly. I’m…kind of glad it happened.”
Sero averts his gaze, turning his head away from Denki and rubbing at the back of his neck, a low chuckle emanating from his chest.
Denki could scream, he really could, because for the third time tonight he swears he sees Sero blush, and for the third time tonight, it’s hidden from him to the point he can’t be sure.
With a huff, Denki reaches his hands up to grab Sero’s face again. He’s going to force this man to look at him whether he wants to or not because Denki will be damned before he misses another chance to see Sero flushed red.
Right before he can make contact, however, Denki notices there’s frosting on his fingers. He pulls back at the last second so as not to get any on Sero’s cheeks.
The movement catches Sero’s eye, though, and he turns in time to see Denki staring at his frosting-tipped fingers. He takes one of Denki’s hands in his own, holding it up to investigate this discovery.
“Damn,” he says. “You’re a really messy eater, aren’t you?”
“Shut up, it’s because I’m tipsy. Did we get any napkins at the bakery?”
“No,” Sero shakes his head. “Don’t worry, though. I got it.”
He takes Denki’s pointer finger and presses it to his lips for just a second before sliding the tip of it inside his mouth. He licks at the frosting there, removing all the sugary cream with just a few flicks of his tongue. Denki gasps at the sensation, but before he has the chance to do anything else, Sero opens his mouth again and adds Denki’s middle finger to the mix. His tongue swirls expertly around and between Denki’s fingers as he sucks the frosting away, leaving Denki a bit lightheaded.
Denki feels a heat welling up in his chest, his stomach, his face, his everything and everywhere the longer his fingers are in his best friend’s mouth. The butterflies in his stomach no longer flutter but instead riot and rage and threaten to collapse his lungs with how furiously they beat their wings against his ribcage.
His breath hitches as Sero removes Denki’s fingers from between his lips, a thin line of spit still connecting the two together. Denki wonders briefly if he should move in closer, if he should press something else to Sero’s mouth now that it isn’t so busy, if he should—
“Better?” Sero asks, cocking his head.
“I—huh?” Denki manages, his brain simultaneously malfunctioning and going a million miles a minute.
“What’s wrong?” Sero says, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Did I give you butterflies?”
“Don’t…don’t make fun of me!” Denki snaps, his cheeks burning. He knows they’re a shade of red bright enough to be seen even in the evening light, and he knows he can’t blame it on the wine this time.
“I’m not!” Sero replies.
“Whatever,” Denki huffs, standing to make a dramatic exit in his embarrassment.
“Hey, wait—” Sero snatches at Denki’s hand and pulls him back until he stands in front of the bench. He continues to tug him closer, closer, until Denki stands between his legs. Sero rests his hands on the back of Denki’s thighs, holding him in place so he doesn’t try to run off again.
For once, it’s Sero looking up at Denki as he asks, “Did I?”
“Did you what?”
“Did I give you butterflies?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
“…Yes.”
That cocky grin splits across Sero’s face again. It’s infuriating and beautiful and Denki hates the sight of it and he never wants to look away.
“It’s getting late,” Sero says, his voice low and soft. His hands squeeze where they hold Denki’s thighs, and if he were a little less tipsy or a little less full of butterflies, Denki might’ve been able to hold in the gasp that escapes him at the feeling. He closes his eyes, chin tilted towards the sky, trying to resist the urge to ask Sero to do it again. “We should probably go home. Don’t you think?”
————
There must be dozens of cracks in the sidewalk that Denki steps on during their walk home. Maybe even hundreds, he can’t be sure. He’s not paying attention, not this time. Sero’s hand rubbing up and down his back as they go is far too distracting, as are his own thoughts.
Denki is happy his friend seems to have gotten over the girl who stood him up—really, he is. But now he’s feeling competitive. Sero has laughed at him every time he’s asked about the butterflies and then has the nerve to turn around and suck on Denki’s fingers? To give him butterflies? And, sure, this isn’t the first time tonight Sero’s given Denki butterflies, but still. It’s the first time he’s done it so deliberately. So maliciously. That is not best bro behavior.
He has about ten minutes before they get home. Ten minutes to figure out some way to give Sero undeniable butterflies the way he did in the park. Ten minutes to—wait a second.
Denki narrows his eyes at Sero, noticing a tiny bit of frosting on the corner of his mouth.
Alright. It’s now or never.
“Uh, dude,” Denki says, putting a hand on Sero’s chest to stop him. He gestures a thumb towards his cheek. “You’ve got a little something right here.”
Before he has the chance to react, Denki pulls him down by the collar and licks the frosting off, his tongue just barely capturing the corner of Sero’s lips.
“Don’t worry, though,” Denki coos. “I got it.”
Sero stares at Denki, his face unmoving, completely silent, for long enough to make Denki panic.
“Hey, man,” Denki begins, worrying he finally, finally went too far. “I’m sorry, I told you red wine makes me slutty. I wasn’t thinking—”
“Don’t apologize.”
Sero grabs his hand and tugs him quickly forward until they find an alleyway just a few steps up the street. Sero pulls him inside and pushes him against the wall, one hand on his chest and the other cupping his cheek.
“I was going to wait until we were home,” Sero says. “But you make it hard to be a gentleman.”
Sero kisses him. It’s a red flavored kiss—red wine, red velvet, red butterflies dancing around on their tongues. Fingers find their way into Denki’s hair and onto the small of his back, their grip strong and wanting, tugging and squeezing and proving beyond a doubt that this is real.
It’s been a while since Denki’s made out with anyone—in an alleyway or otherwise. He’s not sure where to put his hands, so he decides to put them everywhere. On Sero’s hips, his waist, his chest, his neck, his face, tangling into his hair, then making their way back down again, roving over and over and over his body like they’re trying to memorize something.
Sero moves his thigh up between Denki’s legs, smiling at the soft “oh,” Denki lets out at the feeling of it. Their bodies move together, rolling and pushing and pulling each other closer and closer as all the world melts away.
They separate for just a second, just a breath before Sero begins kissing along Denki’s jaw, his temple, his neck.
“You know,” he breaths into Denki’s ear, his low voice sending shivers throughout Denki’s body. “I was going to tell you something in the bathroom before we were interrupted.”
“That’s right,” Denki mutters, his hands grasping at Sero’s shirt, the fabric riding up to expose a hint of his stomach. “You had a—a secret.”
“Mhm,” Sero muses, taking Denki’s earlobe between his teeth for just a moment. “I was going to say: you gave me butterflies as soon as you opened that door wearing all black.” Sero kisses right beneath Denki’s jaw. “And again in that baking class,” —a kiss on his neck— “and again at dinner,” —a kiss on his collarbone— “and again and again. All night. Fucking relentlessly.”
Sero’s fingers find their way to the buttons on Denki’s shirt, undoing them one by one, as his teeth find their way into his shoulder, leaving little red marks to fawn over later.
“Fuck, Hanta,” Denki breathes, his hands sliding up the front of Sero’s shirt as Sero continues to ravage his neck.
At the sound of his name, Sero’s hands stop their work at Denki’s shirt and move instead to his pants, working hastily, clumsily, to unbutton them.
“Fuck,” Denki whispers again, his hands shooting down to Sero’s belt to do the same. The adrenaline pumping through his shaky fingers makes it difficult to slip the leather off, but Denki is determined—focused so singularly on undressing Sero, on kissing Sero, on feeling Sero, that he almost doesn’t hear when someone clears their throat.
Almost.
Their heads snap up in unison to find a custodian standing a mere five feet away, trash bag in hand, trying to get to the dumpster beside which the pair had been making out without even realizing it.
“Uh, don’t mind us,” Sero says after maintaining prolonged eye contact with the man, still tangled up with Denki, though they’ve halted all movement for the time being.
The custodian nods and approaches warily, keeping an eye on the boys as he throws the trash away. The smell that emanates from the dumpster as soon as he lifts the lid is enough to kill any mood, but Denki and Sero don’t move an inch—not to separate, not to continue, not even to wretch—until the custodian is out of sight once again.
Denki is the first to laugh. It starts slowly—just a snort, a giggle before it becomes a guffaw. Sero follows suit, bringing Denki in close for a hug—the kind friends with a secret might share; the kind new lovers might share.
“Let’s go home,” Sero says, nuzzling into Denki’s neck, planting a few sweet kisses there on the bruises he’s surely left behind.
“Okay,” Denki says, running a hand up and down Sero’s back. “Let’s go home.”
————
If Denki knew heartbreak would find him at the end of his date night, he might have played his cards differently. For starters, he might’ve ordered something more expensive at dinner, and he definitely would’ve gotten a second cupcake at that bakery. But most of all, Denki wouldn’t have booted up his game of Animal Crossing after they got home, since that’s what’s broken his heart in the first place.
“It’s like they all hate me or something,” he whines as another one of his villagers asks to move off the island. Denki is lounging in such a way that half of his body hangs off their couch in a decidedly uncomfortable position, but he’d rather stay like this and get a cramp than put in the effort it’d take to move.
“You don’t have to let them leave, you know,” Sero calls from the kitchen where he fills up two glasses of water.
“Yeah, but forcing them to stay feels wrong,” Denki sighs. He pushes the hood of his Jolteon onesie forward, nearly covering his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch his favorite villager get all excited about abandoning him.
“Did you do the dishes, by the way?” Sero asks, joining Denki on the couch in his matching Umbreon onesie. He sets Denki’s water on the table, noting that he’s too focused on the game to drink it right now, and takes a sip of his own.
“Oh, yeah,” Denki says, keeping his eyes focused on the TV. “I was thinking, you know…if you brought a date home or something…I wanted the place to look nice.”
“That’s…really thoughtful,” Sero smiles. “Thank you.”
“It’s no prob—oh dude, Sero, I just caught a new type of butterfly!”
“Hell yeah, man.”
Sero shifts closer to Denki on the couch, grabbing his legs and draping them over his lap in a way that’s much more comfortable for the both of them. The two sit in relaxed silence for a bit as Denki continues with his game, catching butterflies and planting red tulips. Sero runs his hands up and down Denki’s shins, squeezing softly here and there, just as a little reminder that while Denki’s favorite villager might be gone, at least he still has Sero.
“I’d like it if you always called me Hanta, by the way,” Sero hedges after a moment.
“Oh, for real?” Denki asks, turning away from his game and focusing instead on his friend.
“Yeah, I mean…” Sero begins, shying away from the intensity of Denki’s attention. “It was nice, you know, in the alleyway. But I think it would be nice all the time, too.”
“Sure,” Denki says, a grin lighting up his face even more than the glow of the television. “You can call me Denki, too, if you want.”
“Okay, Denki.”
“Okay, Hanta.”
Denki sits up, stretches, and finally takes the water Sero—no, Hanta—got for him. They both take a moment to hydrate, and once again Denki can’t help but giggle every time they make any sort of eye contact.
“What?” Hanta asks, laughing as well, though he doesn’t know why.
“Nothing.”
“Is there something on my face again?”
“No! It’s just funny,” Denki says, setting his water back down again.
“What is?”
“I don’t know!” Denki throws his hands into the air. “This! Us!”
“Us?”
“Well, not like…not like us us…I know there’s not an us.”
“Do you want there to be?” Hanta asks, his voice soft, his hands growing still on Denki’s legs.
“I…” Denki begins, staring at his friend. His friend who’s always been his friend and nothing more. His friend who he’d do anything for—who he’d clean for, who he’d get all dressed up for, who he’d make a fool of himself for, who he’d switch outfits for…his friend who’d he’d go to the ends of the earth for if it meant seeing hi smile—seeing him laugh.
His friend who he’d make out with in an alleyway by a dumpster.
His friend. His best friend.
“You can think about it if you want,” Hanta adds quickly. “But I had fun tonight. I’d love to take you on one of those elusive second, third, fourth dates. If you want. But if not, I’ll drop it and we never have to talk about this ever again. Nothing between us has to change. I promise.”
Denki nods at his friend. His best friend.
He scoots forward on the couch until it’s his thighs resting in Hanta’s grasp instead of his shins. He places a hand on Hanta’s cheek and pulls him forward slowly, gently, until their lips meet again. This time, soft and sweet and tasting more of toothpaste and much-needed showers and matching pajamas warmed in the dryer than anything red, red, red. This time, tasting more of a love than an affair, of a promise than a secret, of Denki and Hanta than Kaminari and Sero.
They break away but dare not go far from one another. Hanta keeps both his arms wrapped tightly around Denki’s back, holding him in place, as they rest their foreheads together.
“Is that a yes?” Hanta asks.
“I’m not going to make out with you and then say no, Hanta,” Denki snorts.
“Just making sure,” Hanta replies, leaning in for another kiss.
“There’s one condition, though,” Denki interjects, and Hanta freezes in place a mere breath away from Denki’s lips.
“Okay…” he says warily.
“I want to take you out next time. Let me do all the planning, all the paying—”
“Can I spend more than $12 on a plate?” Hanta interrupts, a grin spreading across his face.
“For you?” Denki hums. “I’ll bump it up to $15.”
“Okay,” Hanta says, planting a quick peck onto Denki’s lips. “Deal.”
Denki untangles himself from Hanta, polishes off his water, and stands with an exaggerated yawn.
“I have a lot of flowers I need to plant,” he says, gesturing towards the TV that still displays his game of Animal Crossing. “But I think if I stay up any longer, I’ll end up accidentally mixing my roses with my hyacinths.”
“What a nightmare,” Hanta says, standing as well.
“It would ruin my entire island’s aesthetic, Hanta.”
“Okay, okay,” Hanta laughs, turning off the TV. “Let’s go to bed. For your island’s sake.”
Denki takes a few steps towards his room but is stopped by the sound of Hanta’s voice.
“Actually,” he hedges, and Denki’s heart swells at the undeniable blush that paints itself across Hanta’s cheeks. “I meant, you know…” he trails off, gesturing over his shoulder at his own bedroom.
“Oh!” Denki says, his eyebrows shooting up.
“No pressure,” Hanta says, holding up his hands. “Just…if you want to.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” Denki asks, grinning ear to ear.
“Always.”
“I’ve wanted to since we got home,” he coos, heading towards Hanta’s bedroom instead.
“Well, I’ve wanted to for longer than that,” Hanta says, opening the door for him.
“It’s not a competition.”
“Really? Because you kiss like you have something to prove.”
“What the hell?” Denki says. “I’m a great kisser.”
“Oh, yeah?” Hanta muses, shutting the door behind them. “Prove it then.”
The next-door neighbors must be getting agitated, and perhaps the downstairs neighbors too, as the noise coming from Hanta’s bedroom does not let up until well into the night. Sure, they’ll tire themselves out eventually, but if living together has taught them anything, it’s that there is no better feeling than being home. There is no better feeling than being with one another. So while tonight’s commotion may die down soon enough, they have endless days together to make up for time wasted in the arms of others. And if anything is certain, it’s that Denki and Hanta bring a beloved type of chaos with them wherever they go, and now wherever they go, they go together.