kashimo doesn’t understand why you’re holding his hand like this.

it’s not restraining. not guiding him into battle. not even bracing for impact.

you’re just… holding it.

your fingers lace between his like this is some kind of binding vow, and he glances down at it with mild suspicion.

“where are we going?” he asks.

you smile at him — too calm. too peaceful. “on a date.”

he narrows his eyes.

“a what?”

“a date,” you repeat, like that clarifies everything.

kashimo hajime has lived for the thrill of battle. the crackle of cursed energy. the split-second before impact when the world sharpens into something bright and alive.

a date does not sound like that.

“so,” he says slowly, testing the word in his mouth like it might explode, “this is… a fight?”

“no,” you tell him. “it’s when two people who like each other go somewhere together. to talk. or eat. or just spend time together.”

he stops walking.

“…without fighting?”

“yes.”

“…on purpose?”

“yes.”

he stares at you like you’ve just admitted to a serious character flaw.

“that sounds boring.”