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It wasn't a date.
Ichiro looked good in his yukata, one so red it practically glowed like a roaring flame. The smile that lit up his face, when he lifted a hand to wave to Samatoki through the festival crowd, was even brighter.
Samatoki almost wished he'd bothered to put on a yukata himself, or at least something nicer than jeans and a shirt Ichiro had already seen him in half a hundred times before.
But it wasn't a date.
"You look nice," Ichiro said, when Samatoki reached his side. "That's my favorite shirt."
Samatoki grunted.
Maybe he'd known that, when he grabbed it out of his closet earlier that afternoon. Maybe he'd checked earlier in the week, just to make sure it would be clean and ready for this night.
But it wasn't a date.
They'd always gone to this festival together, for as long as Samatoki could remember. Ever since they were kids, when Ichiro's parents had first offered to take Samatoki and Nemu along. Every year, every summer. Ichiro and Samatoki went together.
The only difference, this time, was they were alone. Jiro and Nemu had decided they wanted to go with their own friends, and Saburo had insisted he didn't want to go at all.
Ichiro had been a bit bummed, until Samatoki knocked their shoulders together as they walked home from their part-time jobs one day.
"I'll be there," Samatoki said. "Ain't that enough?"
It worked. Ichiro didn't stop smiling the rest of the day.
But it wasn't a date.
They each bought their own food, though they shared everything as they walked. Takoyaki, yakisoba, a candy apple (which Samatoki held, lifting it for Ichiro whenever he wanted a bite, because Ichiro somehow managed to make a sticky mess of himself every time he got his hands on one).
They played some of the festival games, conceivably competing against each other, but every time one of them won a prize, they gifted it to the other like it was a matter of fact.
But it wasn't a date.
When they found a place to sit for the fireworks show, Ichiro let his head rest on Samatoki's shoulder. His hand bumped Samatoki's, and his breath—warm, and still a little sweet from the apple they'd shared—fanned out across Samatoki's cheek as he turned to whisper into Samatoki's ear.
"This is a date, right?"
There was a faint quiver in Ichiro's voice, just a little uncertainty, and a whole lot of hope.
All the effort Samatoki had put into not getting his own hopes up melted from his shoulders in an instant. He breathed a half-disbelieving laugh, more at himself than anything, and bumped his head against Ichiro's like an overgrown cat that finally knew its affections wouldn't go unanswered.
"'course it is," Samatoki murmured, as though he'd always known. "Like you even need to ask."
"You weren't sure either," Ichiro accused, reading Samatoki like an open book. But with that accusation came a grin, a bright, beautiful, and eminently kissable grin.
And, well, who was Samatoki to resist.