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The sun is shining, and the late summer breeze offers a promise of coolness, especially in the shade of the trees. Before them, the lake ripples shimmer as distant people boat back and forth, dipping oars and into the water. The sound of laughter and birds fills the park air with a kind of cheerful peace.
It would be easier to enjoy their picnic view, to appreciate the food carefully packed into their basket and then spread out across the checkered blanket, Kouta thinks, if he wasn’t so excruciatingly embarrassed.
It’s just so awkward. Hanging out with Hiragi can be weird for Kouta at the best of times, so knowing this is a date is a thousand times worse. He’s so tense he can barely move, and his armpits prickle with nervous sweat.
Beside him, Hiragi is quiet. There’s no way he can’t sense Kouta’s awkwardness, and that makes Kouta cringe all over again every time he thinks about it. He can’t even bring himself to look at Hiragi.
He wants to, though. He really, really wants to. Wants to look, and talk, and—the mere idea of touching is so much that Kouta flushes hard enough that his hands twitch, spilling dribbles of iced latte all over his knuckles.
“Shit—!”
“Whoa, you okay?”
Kouta shakes droplets of coffee onto the grass, turning away bodily so Hiragi can’t see how red his cheeks are. “Fine,” he squeezes through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t hot, so…”
“Here, I packed some wipes—figured they might be useful during a picnic.”
Kouta’s so stiff that he could swear his spine creaks as he turns back around. Hiragi is smiling, gentle and a little rueful, a soft wipe held in one hand. Kouta’s eyes skitter away.
“...Thanks.”
He sets his latte down and reaches out blindly, but instead of damp coolness, his fingers meet warm skin. Hiragi catches him before he can recoil, grip light enough that Kouta could break free as easily as breathing, if he could get a single thought past the blaring panic in his head.
His jaw is so tight it hurts. “What–- I—”
“Let me help,” Hiragi offers quietly, and then, more hesitantly, “Sorry, is that weird?”
Kouta might be sick if he keeps cringing this hard. Not only is he being awkward, he made Hiragi feel uncomfortable.
“It’s fine,” he snaps.
Hiragi huffs, a tiny noise Kouta can’t interpret without looking at him. “Alright. Won’t be a second.”
He wipes Kouta’s skin clean with an attentiveness that’s so horribly embarrassing Kouta can barely enjoy how gentle it is. Hiragi’s hands are larger than Kouta’s, long and blunt but careful as they work. The wipe glides across Kouta’s knuckles, followed by one of Hiragi’s thumbs, as if he’s drying him off—or just being affectionate.
Kouta darts a glance at their joined hands, and then looks away again, hardly able to breathe.
“You… you didn’t have to,” he says, mouth trembling at the corners.
“Yeah, I know.”
Something in Hiragi’s tone draws Kouta’s gaze, despite the way he can feel sweat beading at his hair line. He’s still smiling. It’s such a soft expression that it almost hurts to look at, freezing Kouta in place as he stares at him, shivers of tension running up from their hands.
“Thanks,” he squeaks, and then flushes hard.
Hiragi’s smile goes lopsided. “You’re welcome. Hey, Sako? Are you, uh, are you actually enjoying yourself? You just seem kind of… tense.”
Kouta wants to shrivel up and die.
He looks at Hiragi, at the genuine concern on his face, feels the way his thumbs rub across the backs of Kouta’s fingers, not even pretending to clean anymore, just holding. It draws Kouta towards honesty, no matter how uncomfortable it is.
“I—” he tries, and then curses viciously under his breath. When he looks back up, Hiragi’s eyebrows have lifted in amusement. “I’m just—nervous.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s fair enough.”
Kouta jerks. “It is?”
“Sure,” Hiragi says, squeezing Kouta’s hands with a shrug. Kouta really, really hopes Hiragi can’t feel how sweaty his hands are getting. “Who doesn’t get nervous doing this kinda thing?”
“You, apparently,” Kouta mutters.
Hiragi’s snort is startling, and his smile splits into a rueful grin. “I’m so nervous that I finished off all my stomach medicine before we even met up this morning.”
He looks so earnest, gaze fixed on Kouta, dappled shade dancing over his face and softening his expression, that Kouta finds himself unwinding just the tiniest bit. He still hasn’t let go of Kouta’s hands. Heart racing, Kouta fixes his gaze stiffly on Hiragi’s face, and tries to ignore the way his fingers begin to unclench into Hiragi’s broad, warm palms.
“Really?”
“Yeah, of course,” Hiragi says, his thumbs drifting back and forth over the bumps of Kouta’s knuckles. “I think it’s normal to be nervous when you’re around someone you really like.”
“Someone you—” Kouta repeats, and then cuts himself off with a snap of his teeth. Someone you really like. Heat, uncooled by the gentle breeze, blooms in his cheeks as he stares at Hiragi.
Maybe it should’ve been obvious, given that they’re on an actual date, but hearing it stated so plainly in Hiragi’s voice makes something swell in Kouta’s chest, like a giant, buoyant balloon pressing against his ribcage.
Hiragi studies his face, pink in his own cheeks now. “You… you did know that, right? I like you, Sako. I like you a lot.”
Everything is suddenly so overwhelming, with Hiragi’s warm hands and his honest eyes, and that soft look on his face, that Kouta’s pulling away before he realises it. He clutches the front of his thin sweater, trying not to look like he’s about to have a heart attack.
“I—” he blurts. “I mean, uh… I like you too. Obviously.”
He finishes in a harsh whisper, and immediately recoils with the force of his own mortification. Why does he always have to sound so weird and mean about everything? Hiragi probably thinks Kouta hates him, no matter what he just said. This whole thing was a huge mistake, he—
“Yeah?” Hiragi’s voice cuts through Kouta’s panic.
He doesn’t sound weirded out, so Kouta risks a glance. There’s a faint hint of pink on his sharp cheekbones, but otherwise he seems unruffled by their joint confession, smiling small and fond as their eyes meet. He leans back on his hands, shirt pressing against him in the breeze; Hiragi is really too cool.
Kouta clears his throat. “Yeah.”
“Kinda lucky, considering we’re on a date,” Hiragi comments, and the corner of Kouta’s mouth twitches. “Speaking of which, wanna try some of the cake you brought?”
The ice cubes in Kouta’s coffee rattle pleasantly as he picks it back up and sips, willing his heart to calm down. Hiragi takes his silence for the agreement it is, and busies himself unpacking the cake from its little ribboned box. He looks so funny, so tall and broad and sharp to be holding the little cake box so delicately, that Kouta sips again just to stop himself from laughing.
Kouta still feels horribly embarrassed, like one wrong move might send him bolting off the blanket and deeper into the shade of the trees to hide, but it’s a little easier now they’ve addressed it.
Like Hiragi said, it’s normal to be nervous on a date with someone you like.
As they eat cake that melts on their tongues, Kouta glances at Hiragi’s hands, broad and warm, and his mouth, sharp and soft at once, and is assaulted by thoughts about what else is normal on a date.
This time he blushes so hard that the whole cup of coffee goes down.