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Hizashi chews his gum like it’s morally offended him and kicks his heel against the rough bricks of the alleyway. Out on the main street, it’s just starting to get properly dusky, the crowds of workers melting seamlessly into crowds of meandering many; some shoppers, others just enjoying the unseasonably warm weather for a stroll before nighttime hits properly.
He’s early.
He’s early because the last thing he wants is to be late and his anxiety had decided to take it to the extreme and force him out the door an hour before he even needed to get ready.
He’s usually not nervous before a dinner date, or before any date, but this is different. This feels different.
It feels different because while not new to the concept of a walk of shame, the one Hizashi had taken out of Shinya’s apartment had actually made him feel guilty. For the first time, he was leaving someone’s house, having slept in their bed and ousted them out of it. Usually, he shared the bed. Usually, he was tangled up in a mess of limbs and sleep-tangled hair after a good fuck, but not that time.
Not that time.
Zashi idly folds the gum over his tongue before blowing a bubble and letting it pop.
That time has been something else entirely. He’d let himself be vulnerable, he’d let someone he barely knows clean him up and take care of him without asking for something in return. He thinks back to how flaccid Shinya had remained in the shower, despite how close they’d been, how clearly aroused Hizashi had been. And that rejection had been… oddly liberating?
It’s no secret that Hizashi sleeps around. He likes it. His partners like it. Everyone’s very well aware of just what it is—something fun, something easy, something safe—and get out of it exactly what they put in. But Shinya… Shinya had looked him dead in the eye and told him he deserved better, that he deserved for someone to take their time.
It had taken Hizashi most of the weekend to not only sober up but think about every single word they’d shared Friday night. He’d replayed their conversations over and over, looking for innuendoes, implications, jokes, manipulation and had found nothing.
Nothing but earnest feelings and genuine promises, and that’s why he’s so goddamn nervous before meeting Shinya for dinner. Because for the first time in his fuckin’ life, Hizashi feels like he owes someone more than a hi-hello, while at the same time feeling like Shinya genuinely needs nothing in return for being a good human being.
It’s uncanny. It makes him somewhat uncomfortable actually, Zashi doesn’t know what to do with his hands or how to cross his ankles as he leans against the alley wall. He’s over thinking every single action, every thought in his head—which is a huge ask since his mind never shuts the fuck up. It’s always loud, endless thoughts on loop; music lyrics, to-do lists, memories, lines from a film he can’t quite place, but knows the exact intonation of. He feels like a siren is ebbing and flowing with every pull of breath, just far enough away to not yet panic over but there. Waiting.
He spits his gum into the trash and checks his phone, turning it over and over and over in his palm before pocketing it again, cursing a moment later when he takes it out a second time because he’d not actually managed to look at the time on it.
They’d made plans for seven, and he has another eight minutes to kill.
The call had been intended to be just an apology, nothing else. He’d wanted to properly express how ashamed he’d been for the shit Shinya had had to witness. But then he was talking to him, remembering how those grey eyes would narrow with a certain lilt of tone, and the thought of wanting to see Shinya again had rattled his bones.
So he’d asked.
He’s spent the last three days at school fighting off Nemuri’s teasing and Shouta’s seemingly indifferent gaze of interest and his students’ playful banter. He’s spent the last three days picking out a goddamn outfit to go to a hole-in-the-wall sushi place that’s older than most buildings in Tokyo.
Fine, maybe nervous isn’t the right word, but excited sure is.
That excitement hits him in the solar plexus around the time his phone pings in his pocket announcing Shinya’s arrival for one reason: he can’t remember the last time he’d gone on a date with someone without the guarantee of a fuck right after dinner. He can’t remember the last time he’d gone out for the sole purpose of going out and then parting ways.
He feels giddy
His smile comes bright and genuine when he steps out onto the main street and lifts a hand in a welcoming wave to the man waiting for him.
“Edge!” He sidles up to him, a gentle shoulder check in lieu of the hug he’d usually pull someone into when catching up. “You dressed up.”
By dressed up he just means it’s the first time he’s ever seen him outside of his ninja costume or traditional Japanese yukata. Well, not counting the time he saw him naked. Don’t think about that, Hizashi.
He’s in a simple black henley with long, rolled up sleeves and gray jeans. His hair, surprisingly, is down and pulled back, not in its usual sharp origami style. He looks good. He looks…really good.
“If I was dressing up, I’d wear a hakama,” he says seriously. His expression is as stern as ever, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes, Hizashi’s sure of it.
“And you’d look fine as hell,” he winks, not skipping a beat. He gestures unnecessarily to the door of the little establishment and leans in a little closer to add: “prepare yourself. The owner is a whirlwind.”
The door opens without a creak into an absolutely tiny little room. It looks almost impossible that it’s a restaurant at all, but a very literal hole in the wall. But once they duck through the first little atrium, the space opens up a little more to reveal seating for up to ten people at a time, a small counter with a kitchen behind it.
“Hizashi Yamada!” the voice is shrill but not particularly loud, and it’s coming from… about waist height. Glancing down, Hizashi meets the eyes of a truly tiny woman, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed in displeasure. “Young man, you are a bag of bones. What did I tell you about eating properly?”
“Kamihara,” Hizashi laughs quietly, nodding towards her. “Mikka-san.”
Mikka appraises Shinya with one arched eyebrow and a pinched expression. Hizashi bounces back and forth on the heels of his feet, feeling oddly…expectant? Like the woman really is his grandmother and he’s waiting for her seal of approval on his choice of a date. It’s silly, juvenile , honestly. And his expectations aren’t met anyway because she finally clicks her tongue in annoyance.
“Does no one feed you pro heroes anymore?! You’re just as bad as he is!” She jabs a finger into Shinya’s chest, making him grunt in surprise. “Too skinny.” Her eyes narrow. “Too short.”
“Mikka-san!” Hizashi tries to stifle a snort against the back of his hand before gently taking Shinya by the elbow and guiding him around to a small table in a secluded alcove. “You’re supposed to put in a good word for me!”
“Ma,” the little lady shakes her head and shuffles towards the counter. “And you’re supposed to listen to me and eat! But here you are, starved as a scarecrow, with another one just as bad. Sit. Sit! I’ll bring miso.”
Hizashi just watches her before turning to his friend. His date. He finds himself unable to hide another smile at the look of shock on Shinya’s features, eyes wide and everything. Instead of asking, he pulls out a chair for him instead.
“The first time I met her,” Zashi says, taking his own seat once Shinya sinks down, “she beat me with a wooden spoon for making a mess of her front door. Not my fault some asshole decided to use me like a squash ball against it.”
Shinya’s still recovering, looking a little startled and maybe even flustered by the encounter. At one point, he reaches up like he intends to pull up his usual mask, just to find it missing from his attire. A moment later he relaxes, and his lip twitches with the threat of a smile. “That must have been a sight to see.”
“Tsch, yeah,” Zashi rests one elbow to the table and lays his palm against his arm as he gestures with the other. “I was kicking ass actually. Once I got the villain down, I got a beatdown from Mikka-san before she dragged me into the restaurant to feed me and clean me up. I think it’s divine punishment.”
Its at that moment that Mikka returns with two steaming bowls of miso soup and a plate of edamame for them to share.
“Eat,” she commands, but leaves them without further judgment. Hizashi watches her go with a fond expression before turning to his date. “Sorry, fuck, I’m doing that thing again where I don’t shut up about nonsense. I’m sorry. I assume you found the place okay? Day keep you on your toes?”
Shinya doesn’t answer, at least not right away. His gaze, intense and hooked on Hizashi’s, feels like it’s looking deeper than beyond the green of his irises. “You don’t have to do that,” he says finally. Hizashi’s mouth opens to respond but just sort of hangs there as he tries to make sense of these words. “Apologize,” Shinya elaborates. This time, he does smile, gentle and encouraging. “You don’t need to apologize for talking. Ever.”
If Hizashi was unable to speak before, he’s completely mute now. It takes a long time for him to be able to do anything more than blink, jaw slack in surprise. When he does, it’s to laugh and drop his head into his hand, fingers buried in golden strands before he moves to rest his chin against his palm instead.
“Them’s fighting words, Edge,” he teases. “I can sell ice to an eskimo, you sure you wanna go there? I know such nonsense that even the bowels of the internet shudder in fear.”
“Really?” Is all Shinya says. So Hizashi starts talking.
He talks about his day and his students, as Mikka brings them sashimi and grilled eel.
He fills in the details of a job several years ago that Shinya remembers reading about but hadn’t been part of, when those dishes are replaced with snow-white rice and side dishes, two rows of perfectly rolled and decorated sushi on a long plate between them.
He gently touches Shinya’s shoulder as he excuses himself to take their plates away and bring back a steaming pot of green tea, right as Mikka sets a bowl of mochi down for the two of them.
It’s easy to talk, and he knows that Shinya is listening. He’s not just humoring him. His eyes following the way Hizashi’s hands move as he gesticulates, his lips twitch when Hizashi makes a particularly awful pun. And every time Zashi lets slip a pet name, he sees heat pinken those cheeks of his, just enough that he can sense it’s welcome, rather than off-putting.
And it’s… nice.
It’s so goddamn nice to just sit with someone and enjoy their company.
And it isn’t as though he does all the talking. Once he’s talked himself out, he listens just as intently to Shinya, eyes on his elegant fingers as he lifts a soft mochi up to take a dainty bite of, other hand careful to catch the powder that drops from it before it can hit the table. He sips his tea and cups his cheek and lets himself take in the man before him; handsome and stoic and composed, though relaxed here, together.
Honestly, it’s surprising how well this is going. Hizashi was afraid it would be awkward—that he and the leader of the Lurkers, famed Edgeshot, wouldn’t have much to talk about at all. They’re so different. Shinya’s not into partying or concerts or loud music. He’s down-to-earth, likes nature, has a pet fucking lizard apparently? Hizashi almost ends the date right there with that bit of info.
Yet, somehow, despite the obvious differences between them, there are never uncomfortable silences and Hizashi…isn’t bored? That’s right…he’s not bored. He’s not tapping his feet waiting for this to be over so he can check his phone or go to the next event or check in on Shou–
No. None of that, Hizashi.
For the first time in a long time, for the first time in maybe ever, Hizashi is having fun just spending time relaxing with someone.
He’s thinking about this and doesn’t realize he stopped talking. He’s thinking about their phone conversation leading up to the date. Their agreement that this could be a casual outing and apology, or it could be romantic. What is it? It feels more…comfortable and softer than a casual hangout, but does that mean…?
It’s the silence that alerts him. No sound of dishware or chopsticks, no sound of Hizashi’s own voice. It’s silent because he’s not talking, and neither is Shinya, and in this space between sound, he finds Shinya looking at him. Not just looking. Looking .
Zashi's lips twitch and he tucks his mouth against his palm for a moment, just looking back. At the way some hair has slipped out of the loose tie Shinya has it in, at the way his features look soft… he's looking at Zashi with the kind of interest Hizashi can't remember ever being directed at him before.
It's not lust, there isn't that simmer there, but it's interest. It's a desire, just not one that immediately implies getting into Hizashi's pants.
"Careful, Edge," he sighs, "you're gonna charm me right back into a ramble."
“Would that be so bad?” Shinya asks. The way his eyes linger on Hizashi’s lips suggest he’d be perfectly content to listen to him talk all night long. Usually, someone’s gaze combing over his lips like that would be sensual—charged with unspoken fantasies about his lips doing things other than talking. It’s absolutely jarring to look at this man and see none of that expectation. Not for the first time, he wonders if he should feel insulted. Hizashi knows he’s hot. People want him. Men, women, heroes, civilians. They want him and they want to fuck him.
Not Shinya, though.
And he should probably feel insulted or rejected, and it’s weird as fuck, but he doesn’t. All he feels when he sees him admiring his lips and tracing the lines of his jaw and cheekbones with a gaze that feels adoring, is… happy .
"Lord, I was born a ramblin' man," Hizashi sings softly in English before sitting up a little straighter. "Ya know, rambling used to mean walking? Long, aimless meanderings around the country?"
"A similar tendency to run on and on?" Shinya asks and Hizashi grins wider, nose wrinkling and eyes narrowed.
"Yep!" He lets the word roll off his tongue and arches back, stretching with his arms up over his head. "Honestly, I'd keep you here rambling a good long while if I could."
"What's stopping you?"
"The restaurant is closed," Zashi notes, amused.
The flutter of Shinya’s eyelashes and look of astonishment is cute. The blush that paints his cheeks when he looks around and realizes they’re alone is adorable.
He clears his throat and straightens up to regain composure. Is he embarrassed that a hero lauded for his keen attention to detail let his guard down so much? “Ah,” he says, putting on an air of indifference that Hizashi can see right through. “So it is.”
Fuck, I could kiss him.
"But I won't say no to an encore," Zashi replies, settling again.
Fuck, I really want to kiss him.
"Can't say I would either," Shinya tells him, and Zashi sucks his bottom lip into his mouth hard before letting it slip free. For a moment they're quiet, and then Hizashi moves to stand, gentle fingers against Shinya's shoulder to keep him sitting as he goes to pay.
He is, predictably, stopped from doing so and he and Mikka get into an overly loud and entirely not serious argument over the matter, before Zashi returns to his date with two paper bags in tow filled with snacks.
"Need a lift anywhere?"
"So eager to spend more time together?"
"Yes," Hizashi admits, entirely in earnest, and lets Shinya exit the little shop in front of him.
Shinya comes to a stop outside. His gaze drifts up to the dark sky, down to rooftops and street lamps, then rests on Hizashi. “I think that’s enough for tonight, Hizashi.”
It should feel like rejection. Again, it doesn’t.
“It was a pleasant date,” he says with a soft smile. “And I’d like to see more of you. I’ll choose the venue next time.”
Next time. Yeah. Next time. They’re doing this. Really doing this. It doesn’t have a name yet, whatever it is. Or rules or boundaries or expectations, but they’re doing it. One sushi shop at a time.
Zashi steps closer, close enough to be able to hook his little finger around Shinya's, close enough to properly hold his hand.
"You're on," he murmurs, before bringing their joined hands up and kissing gently against Shinya's knuckles, eyes never leaving his. It's a lingering thing, but soft, a brush of heat and breath, before Hizashi steps back, hands still joined, and gives the man another lazy smile.
"Get home safe, hero," he tells him, letting their hands remain joined for a moment more before relaxing his grip. "Good night, Shinya."