Shade didn't call it a date.
Blaze didn't call it a date.
Blaze called it a celebration — like it was normal. Like it was casual. Like it didn't matter that it would be just the two of them.
Shade tried to treat it like any other outing.
She wore what she always wore: dark clothes, covered skin, hoodie layered over something fitted enough to remind her she had a body. Nothing too exposed.
Nothing obvious.
Except…
She sprayed perfume.
Once.
Then, because she was apparently insane, she sprayed it again.
Shade stared at herself in the mirror afterward like she'd committed a crime.
It wasn't for Blaze.
Obviously.
Blaze chose the place.
A small Japanese spot lit with warm paper lanterns and quiet gold light — the kind of restaurant that felt calm even when it was busy. The smell of miso and rice and grilled fish wrapped around Shade the moment she stepped inside.
Blaze was already there.
Beanie on. Casual outfit. Hands in her pockets.
She looked like she'd walked in without thinking about it.
Like she hadn't stood in front of a mirror.
Like she didn't care.
Then Blaze's gaze flicked over Shade — quick, subtle.
Not staring.
But definitely… noticing.
Blaze's mouth twitched.
"Hey," Blaze said.
Shade kept her expression flat. "Hey."
Blaze leaned slightly closer.
"…You smell good," Blaze said, like it surprised her.
Shade's brain flashed white.
She forced her voice to stay normal. "It's perfume."
Blaze's eyes sparkled faintly. "Yeah."
Shade didn't like that "yeah."
It sounded like Blaze knew exactly what Shade had done.
They sat.
The menu was simple. Clean. Balanced. The kind of food Blaze would pick because her body mattered to her.
Of course.
Shade stared at the choices and felt her stomach tense before anything had even arrived.
Blaze noticed instantly.
"You don't like Japanese?" Blaze asked.
Shade lifted her gaze. "I didn't say that."
"You're hesitating," Blaze said, calm as ever. "It's okay."
Shade's jaw tightened. "I'm fine."
Blaze smiled slightly.
"Sure."
Shade hated that Blaze's "sure" was always a knife.
Blaze tapped the menu once. "I picked it because it's clean food. Protein. Rice. Soup. It won't wreck your body."
Shade's heart skipped — annoyed at itself.
It sounded… considerate.
Blaze looked at her.
"What's your favorite food?" Blaze asked. "Hope this works for you."
Shade froze for half a second too long.
Favorite food.
That question felt… normal.
And Shade didn't do normal.
"I don't care," Shade said, shrugging.
Blaze's eyebrow lifted. "Anything?"
Shade nodded once.
Blaze leaned back slightly, studying her like she was trying to solve a riddle.
"Okay," Blaze said slowly. "We'll start small."
When the waiter came, Blaze ordered with ease.
Then she looked at Shade — waiting.
Shade forced herself to speak.
"Miso soup," Shade said. "And… salmon rice bowl."
Blaze nodded like that was a good choice.
No commentary.
Shade appreciated that.
When the food arrived, Shade told herself she was fine.
She took a sip of soup first.
Warm. Gentle. Safe.
Okay.
They ate in comfortable silence for the first few minutes — not awkward, just quiet. Blaze didn't fill space just because she could.
She just existed.
Shade found herself watching Blaze without meaning to.
Blaze's hands were strong. Calm. Steady.Like everything about her knew where it belonged.
Shade hated how soothing it was.
"So," Blaze said after a moment, "how long have you been in Echora?"
Shade blinked once, pulled out of her own thoughts.
"Not long," Shade admitted.
Blaze nodded. "Recently discovered."
Shade's eyes narrowed slightly. "How did you—"
Blaze smiled. "It's obvious."
Shade didn't like that either.
She stabbed a piece of salmon like it had personally offended her.
Blaze watched, amused.
"So what's your thing?" Blaze asked. "Besides recruiting random singers."
Shade's face stayed blank. "I don't recruit random singers."
Blaze's smile widened. "Sure."
Shade exhaled through her nose.
Then, against her own instincts, she answered honestly.
"…Acting," Shade said.
Blaze's expression shifted — interest sharpening.
"That's why you were on set earlier," Blaze said.
Shade nodded once. "It's… the dream."
Blaze didn't tease.
Just listened.
Shade continued, quieter: "Echora aligns with it. Nova promised music videos. Direction. Roles."
Blaze hummed softly, like she approved.
"That makes sense," Blaze said.
Shade took another bite.
Her stomach tightened.
A warning.
She ignored it.
"What about you?" Shade asked, mostly to move the focus away from herself.
Blaze shrugged, casual.
"I didn't really have a goal," Blaze admitted. "When I was younger."
Shade blinked.
Blaze continued like it was nothing. "I just liked singing. So I uploaded a few tracks. Riven found me. Pulled me into Neon Static."
Shade stared at her.
"That's… it?" Shade asked before she could stop herself.
Blaze smiled slightly. "Yeah."
Shade didn't understand how someone could drift through life like that.
Like the world just… opened doors.
She swallowed, trying not to show the envy she didn't want to admit existed.
Blaze caught it anyway.
Blaze always caught things.
Shade forced another bite.
Her stomach twisted harder.
No.
Not here.
Not now.
Heat crawled up her throat.
Shade's hand tightened around her chopsticks.
Blaze kept talking — something about touring, about training schedules, about balance — but Shade heard none of it.
The room blurred at the edges.
Her body remembered.
Her body remembered too much.
Shade set her chopsticks down carefully.
Too carefully.
Blaze stopped talking instantly.
"Shade?" Blaze asked.
Shade lifted her gaze.
Her expression was controlled. Perfect.
Her stomach was not.
"I'm fine," Shade said automatically.
Blaze's eyes narrowed. "You look pale."
Shade shook her head, too fast.
"It's nothing," she said. "I just need—"
Her throat tightened.
Shade stood up.
Slow. Calm.
Not rushing.
Definitely not rushing.
"Bathroom," Shade said, voice steady. "I'll be right back."
Blaze didn't move. But her gaze followed Shade the entire way.
Shade walked as if nothing was wrong.
Like her organs weren't trying to crawl out of her body.
The moment she reached the bathroom door, she locked it behind her and finally let herself break.
She barely made it to the sink.
The nausea hit like a wave.
Shade gripped the edge of the counter, breath shaking — then leaned forward and threw up.
Once.
Twice.
Her body trembled after, furious and weak and humiliated.
Shade stared at her own reflection for a second, eyes glassy, jaw clenched.
Not now.
Not here.
Not in front of Blaze.
She rinsed her mouth. Washed her hands. Smoothed her hair.
She rebuilt her face.
Like nothing happened.
Like she was fine.
Shade opened the door.
Blaze was waiting outside the bathroom.
Not sitting at the table.
Outside.
Close.
Like Shade mattered.
Blaze's eyes flicked over her — quick assessment, sharp instinct.
Shade's throat tightened again.
Blaze's voice came low.
"…You didn't just go to the bathroom," Blaze said.
Shade stared at her.
Then she lifted her chin, cold.
"It's none of your business," Shade said.
Blaze didn't flinch.
Blaze's gaze softened just a fraction.
"Okay," Blaze said. "Then I won't ask."
Shade's heart stuttered.
Blaze stepped slightly closer, voice still calm.
"But you're not finishing this alone," Blaze added.
Shade's breath caught.
That sentence hit harder than any flirtation.
Because it wasn't a game.
It was protection.
Shade swallowed, forcing control back into her voice.
"Let's go," Shade said.
Blaze nodded.
No arguments.
Just… presence.
They walked out together.
And Shade realized something terrifying:
Blaze was steady.
And if Blaze ever decided to hold her like that again…
Shade didn't know if she'd be able to let go.