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ephemeral

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“Well this is awkward,” Kuramochi says disinterestedly, examining the fine silverware.

“Yep,” Miyuki replies jauntily, surveying the tasteful decor and black tie waitstaff. He turns his eyes to Kuramochi. His jacket has spikes coming out of the shoulders.

“This was a terrible idea,” Kuramochi moans miserably. “Why did I listen to you?”

Miyuki smoothes a hand down the front of his patterned button down.

“If you were anyone other than you, we wouldn’t stand out so much,” Miyuki says with a forced smile.

“Are you kidding me?” bursts from Kuramochi before he can stop it, and he sinks into his chair sheepishly before continuing on quietly. “Maybe if your shirt wasn’t louder than a rock concert, people would stop staring at us.”

Miyuki’s face twists in insult.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Kuramochi says, jabbing a finger through the air emphatically, “that your shirt is really ugly.”

“Well, your face is really ugly,” Miyuki snaps back immediately.

Kuramochi’s expression crunches up angrily.

You asked me out tonight, so that’s your problem.”

They glare at each other over the classy centerpiece on the table until a waiter clears his throat beside them.

“We need a minute,” Miyuki bites out before the waiter can say anything. Miyuki watches him march off haughtily from the corner of his eye.

“This was a bad idea,” Kuramochi mutters, repeating the sentiment from minutes before. Miyuki takes a deep breath, forcing the frustrated tension from his shoulders on an exhale. Kuramochi is absolutely right, but Miyuki doesn’t want to admit it.

“Only because you have no taste,” Miyuki grumbles half-heartedly.

“Like you can talk,” Kuramochi replies. He taps his fingers against the pristine white table cloth moodily, staring pointedly over Miyuki’s left shoulder. Miyuki chews on the inside of his bottom lip, torn between stubbornly refusing to admit how uncomfortable he is and wanting to have actual fun with Kuramochi. It’s an exasperated sigh, and Kuramochi turning away from him, that makes him give in.

“Okay,” he sighs reluctantly. It means several things, but mostly; okay, you’re right and okay, let’s do something else. Kuramochi side eyes him doubtfully before leaning forward, elbows propped against the table.

“You know, there’s a game on that I really wanted to see tonight,” he offers nonchalantly.

“I’ve really been craving pizza lately,” Miyuki replies abashedly. Kuramochi grins brightly.

“We can pick up a six pack on the way home.”

Lifting his eyes to hold Kuramochi’s gaze, Miyuki smiles tentatively.

“So… want to get out of here?”

Kuramochi is on his feet before Miyuki even reaches the end.

“I thought you’d never ask.”