Chapter 7: The Not-Date Date (Revised)
“It’s not a date…”
Ted told himself for the fifth time, smoothing down his hair in the reflection of a shop window.
“It’s just… sushi. With a man who makes my knees weak and my heart do Olympic gymnastics.”
He exhaled, tried not to trip over the curb, and walked into Sakana Omakase, a cosy little sushi bar tucked between a vape shop and a dry cleaner. Paper lanterns glowed in the window, and the faint scent of soy, grilled eel, and citrus floated into the cool evening air.
Aaron was already there.
Seated at the counter, posture relaxed but alert. He wore a soft navy jumper that looked like it belonged in a men’s fashion editorial and had no right fitting that well.
“Ted,” he said, nodding.
Ted grinned and slid into the stool next to him.
“Hello, non-date.”
Aaron looked at him.
“Non-date?”
Ted flushed.
“Never mind. Bad joke. Nervous energy.”
Aaron tilted his head, eyes gentle.
“You don’t need to be nervous.”
“You say that like you’re not built like a Greek statue with mysterious eyes and a tragic past.”
Aaron blinked slowly.
“I don’t think I’m that mysterious.”
“That’s the mystery part, Aaron.”
Aaron’s mouth quirked. Just a little.
Ted beamed. “You love it.”
The chef greeted them with a cheerful “Irasshaimase!” and set down miso soup and a small bowl of pickled daikon. Behind the counter, a sushi knife flashed beneath soft lighting, slicing through tuna with meditative precision. The clink of dishes, low murmur of conversation, and gentle jazz drifting from a speaker above made the space feel warm—held.
Aaron sipped his soup, watching Ted quietly.
“You grew up eating this?”
“Every day. My mum would cook the rice too hard, and obāchan—my grandma—would tell her she was trying to kill her. I’d hide under the table with the tofu.”
Aaron chuckled, soft and genuine.
“Sounds like a lot.”
“Oh, it was a whole production,” Ted said, swirling the daikon with his chopsticks.
“Every family gathering ended with passive-aggressive compliments and someone crying into the green tea.”
Aaron nodded slowly.
“That’s familiar.”
Ted leaned in with a grin.
“Wait till you meet Ken’s family. They throw shade with tea ceremony precision.”
Aaron hesitated for a moment.
“Think they’d like me?”
The question came so quietly, so sincerely, it made Ted’s heart stutter.
“I mean… Ken likes you. And he’s basically my emotional border collie. So yeah. I think they would.”
Aaron looked down at his chopsticks.
Then said, barely above a whisper, “I want to be good at this.”
Ted tilted his head.
“At sushi?”
Aaron glanced at him, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
“At… this. Dating. Not-dating. You.”
Ted’s chest went soft. Like a mochi left in the sun.
“You’re doing fine,” he said, voice low.
Their eyes met. And for a moment, the world dimmed. No jazz. No knife tapping. Just the quiet hum of something beginning.
The first round arrived: a shining platter of nigiri, mackerel sashimi, and something Ted didn’t recognise but pretended to.
Aaron picked up a piece with careful ease, then glanced at Ted.
“I looked it up once,” he said.
“Thought I should try.”
Ted narrowed his eyes.
“You researched sushi etiquette?”
Aaron gave a slight shrug.
“Seemed respectful.”
Ted’s heart, already unstable, launched into a new rhythm.
“I am the etiquette,” he muttered, just as a slippery slice of tuna slipped from his grip and flopped dramatically into the soy sauce.
Aaron smiled faintly, then reached over to adjust Ted’s grip. His fingers brushed Ted’s, warm and steady.
“Here. Like this.”
Ted forgot how to breathe.
A heartbeat passed.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
He could still feel Aaron’s touch, quiet and deliberate, lingering in his fingertips.
Halfway through the meal, Aaron excused himself to the loo.
Ted sat there, heart humming like a plucked string, and checked his phone.
A text from Ken lit up the screen.
Ken: If he so much as looks at you like you’re dessert, make a move. You’re glowing like a bloody lantern.
Ted snorted and replied:
Ted: We’ve only made prolonged eye contact over raw fish. Chill.
Ken: That’s basically married in Japan.
Ted grinned, pocketed the phone, and sipped his tea.
When Aaron returned, he looked thoughtful.
“You alright?” Ted asked.
Aaron nodded, easing back into his seat.
“Yeah. Just… haven’t done this in a long time.”
Ted tilted his head.
“Been in a sushi restaurant?”
Aaron let out a breath of quiet laughter.
“Let someone in.”
Ted’s heart squeezed.
“Well,” he said gently, “you let me in.”
Aaron met his eyes. Open. Unfiltered.
“I did.”
When they left the restaurant, the city was hushed. Rain misted in the air, soft and silvery under streetlamps. They walked in silence, shoulders brushing—too close to be casual, not quite close enough to be bold.
Then Aaron stopped beneath a shop awning.
Ted turned.
“You alright?”
Aaron looked at him, serious now.
“I don’t know if this is a date.”
Ted blinked.
“Do you want it to be?”
Aaron nodded. Slow. Certain.
Ted stepped forward. Close enough to feel the warmth of him.
“Then it is.”
Aaron smiled.
Ted smiled back.
They didn’t kiss.
Not yet.
But the air between them promised: soon.