Double Date Night

“D’you think they’ll h… oh, they’ll have cake there?” Shibani asks, soft voice lilting around a mid-sentence yawn. He leans against Dan’s shoulder, and he quickly shifts his feet so he can support his weight and still walk. 

“Don’t know,” Dan says, rolling his eyes with a scowl. “Do you think you could walk by yourself?”

Shibani giggles, tail twining around Dan’s. “Hmm… depends on the day,” he replies airily, and Dan has to press his lips together to stop his face from melting into a decidedly more embarrassing expression.

Dan exhales slowly through his nose for four seconds, hands shifting around the box of mochi held between them. The street around them is bathed in the burning orange light of late sunset, giving way to deep blues and purples where the dimming light can’t quite reach. The chill in the air makes it even more apparent how close to winter they truly are now. He rolls his shoulders slightly, enjoying the chill on his exposed chest— then has to pause when he feels Shibani shiver slightly against his shoulder.

“Demons below, I told you you should’ve worn something warmer,” Dan grunts, and shoves the box into Shibani’s hands as he shrugs off his haori. 

Shibani laughs again, sheepish this time. “Sorry, I forgot…” he mumbles, half-hiding another little yawn.

Dan grunts, and doesn’t reply, just drapes the haori across Shibani’s shoulders as he takes the box back. Shibani draws it closer around his slim shoulders with a content hum, expression bordering on smug.

…He’d just fallen for that stupid trick. Again. 

Dan swallows back a groan, and rubs a hand over his face. After a beat, he keeps walking, faster now— as if to escape his own embarrassment. Shibani trails behind at a much more sedate pace, which leaves him free to grumble under his breath. Harley’s apartment building stands ahead on the left, about a hundred feet ahead of them— right above Harlequin Romance’s storefront. 

Dan has been looking forward to this for a while, truth be told. Harley invited him and Shibani over for dinner at her place about a week ago, when he’d been at the Harlequin buying new shibari rope. It isn’t often Dan gets to show off his mochi while not in his store, and he fights back a tiny smile at the thought, fingers flexing around the flimsy cardboard. It’s one of the ones he rarely makes too, only selling it in the fall— chocolate sprinkle mochi. 

His smile widens despite himself when Shibani skips ahead of him to ring Harley’s doorbell. A beat passes, during which Dan catches up to Shibani. When the door opens, Holland is standing on the other side of it, for once lacking a gag or any restraints. “Hey,” he greets them, with the slightest upturning of his lips. His voice barely manages to cross the short distance between them.

Shibani smiles at him with all the brightness of a lightbulb. “Heya Holly! Can we come in?” he chirps, and Holland simply steps aside, opening the door wider.

Dan enters with a polite nod, Shibani close at his heels. The sound of something sizzling echoes from what is presumably the kitchen. Their apartment is… quaint, for lack of a better term. Small, warmly lit, comfy-looking mismatched furniture. There’s what looks like a black padded bench with restraints opposite the couch, and Dan walks past it with barely a glance on his way into the kitchen. 

“Dan, hey! Glad you and Shibani could make it,” Harley says, voice half as bright as her smile. 

Dan inclines his head to her in greeting, and opens the fridge, carefully setting his mochi on one of the few clear spaces. Harley doesn’t seem bothered by his relative silence, simply humming some song Dan doesn’t know as she checks the inner temperature of the turkey. 

Shibani’s voice floating from the living room catches his ears. “…nd I’m not sure how I didn’t get him, I played it like three times…”

“It senses when you want something,” comes Holland’s response, barely audible amid the liquid crackle of oil popping on the stovetop.

Dan comes over to stir the vegetables without a word, and Harley gives him a relieved look half a second before shooing him briefly aside to put the turkey back in the oven for a few more minutes. “I’m glad Shibani decided to come, he really likes Holland’s gachapon,” she murmurs, fondness blanketing every word. 

Dan hums his agreement, leaning forward to lower the heat on the vegetables just a bit. He glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes crinkle slightly at the edges— over the kitchen bartop, he can see Shibani’s made himself at home, curled up on the couch in a particularly comfy-looking spot. Holland’s curled up beside him, knees against his chest, looking a little like he might fall asleep. Still, he’s facing Shibani, smiling mostly with his eyes. It’s the expression of someone talking about one of their favorite things in the world, and while he can’t stand the thought of someone seeing him in such a way, he also can’t help but relate.

As he watches, Holland stifles a yawn. Dan can’t exactly blame him for wanting a nap; Shibani’s sleepy aura is contagious at the best of times. But hopefully those two would save their nap for after dinner. 

“What kind of mochi did ya bring anyways?” Harley asks, and Dan redirects his attention. He finds her eyes on him, one hip leaning against the counter beside the stove. She smiles when their eyes happen to meet, adjusting her harness— this one colored a deep red with orange rings, likely to celebrate fall. Her usual nipple pasties are even autumn leaf shaped, an observation that nearly makes him snort. Harley’s grin turns knowing, but she doesn’t say anything, tail flicking back and forth lazily. He takes a moment to appreciate the view, which Harley indulges by crossing her arms so her chest becomes more prominent. Neither he and Shibani nor she and Holland were exclusive— buns so rarely were— but he was still glad for it in this moment all the same.

After a beat, Dan leans his hip against the counter and crosses his arms as well, unconsciously mimicking her body language. “Chocolate sprinkle mochi,” he says, voice coming from somewhere low in his chest. 

He feels it warm slightly when Harley lets out a little oooohh of delight, clapping her hands together. “That’ll be perfect to go along with my dessert, I made sweet potatoes with marshmallow toppings!”

“Mhmm,” Dan agrees with a slight nod, and they’re both instantly at attention when the oven timer starts beeping. 

Harley slips on her oven mitts, and eases out the turkey, Dan switching off the timer as his tail curls around the oven handle and closes it. “Okay guys, dinner’s almost ready to go!” she calls out, and gestures to Dan with her head to check the veggies. He does as he’s told, and pokes them around the pan before nodding to himself, pulling them off the hot burner. 

The sound of movement from the living room nearly drowns out the soft click as he switches the burner off, and follows Harley’s lead as they plate the food. “Table’s already set,” she tells Dan, who nods as he uses the spatula to nudge an errant snowpea into a more aesthetically pleasing position. 

He follows Harley’s footsteps out into the dining room, and pauses to take in the sight of the set table. The tablecloth alone was beautiful— off-white and trimmed with delicate lace, the four placemats contrasting it in vivid indigo. Harley sets the turkey center stage, and goes back in to get the cranberry sauce while Dan places the vegetable stirfry alongside it. 

Shibani yawns, leaning forward to admire the turkey. “Oooohh, that looks tasty~” he says, and Dan swats his hand away when he goes to cut into it with his knife.

“Harley is our host, we shall wait for her to carve it,” he says with a huff, ignoring Shibani’s little pout. Holland, seated beside him, snorts into one of his sleeves. Dan nods to him, and goes to sit across from Shibani, leaving the seat across from Holland open for their aforementioned host. She appears from the kitchen as if summoned, setting a little porcelain bowl of cranberry sauce on the table alongside a platter of deviled eggs. 

“You have truly outdone yourself,” says Dan, and Harley looks just a touch smug. 

“Aw, well it would’ve taken a lot longer at the end there if you hadn’t offered your help! Plus, Holland here made the cranberry sauce.”

Holland ducks his head, half-hiding his face in his shirt sleeve. “Oh wow Holly, I can’t wait to try it!” Shibani chirps, nudging him with his elbow to give him an encouraging smile, which is returned a touch awkwardly.

“Well boys,” Harley says in an exhale and a bright smile, putting her hands on her hips. “I guess it’s time for us to dig in, huh?”