I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it, what the fudge.

At exactly fourteen minutes and five seconds ago, he was a complete wreckage. The words he had oh so graciously said more than ten times in front of his bathroom mirror—things he wanted to say to sound so smooth and romantic suddenly went down the drain the moment he saw you. He wiped his clammy palms countless times on his trousers, fiddled with the buttons of his cardigan to the point some threads were on the verge of being loose, and walked back and forth on the same spot near the cafe he was supposed to meet you at.

“I—” He brings a hand up in greeting, being struck with the realization on why he even did that gesture in the first place when he could’ve reached for your hand instead and kissed the back of your palm like a proper gentleman should. With already pink cheeks and nervous eyes, he musters an awkward smile. “Hi! You look great.”

Great?

Great?

He winces internally, he could’ve said something along the lines of—you look absolutely perfect today or even a you look stunning would suffice. But great? Great sounded mediocre.

Childe quickly fixes his glasses before clearing his throat. “Anyway, shall we go? The sun’s setting soon and we don’t wanna miss watching it.”

At first, the stroll seemed like it stretched on for ages—or at least, it felt like it had, considering every step he took, he was heavily contemplating if he should reach for your hand. It’s your third date after all. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done worse (and worse in his vocabulary meant giving you flowers, or a blind box from one of your favorite series) than to hold hands with you.

He lets his fingers brush slightly against yours intently, far too precisely that he wondered for a moment if you could tell he was trying to initiate something. And as a man who looked like he was on a mission, he could only beg whoever was listening—the heaven, the universe, or even the ones in charge of his destiny—to give him the final push to reach for you and intertwine his fingers with yours.

“Are you cold?”

He wonders out loud, striking blue eyes trailing down to look at you.

“Do you want to borrow my cardigan? It’s not like I’m cold anyway.” A grin makes its way to his face, before ultimately being wiped out when he suddenly sneezes.

Yeah, it was absolutely fucking cold actually.

“Should we hold hands instead?”

There it was, his heart almost stopped at his own words, growing fretful if he even said the right thing. God, he was so shameless. So utterly shameless.

“I mean, we don’t have to!” His voice increases in pitch in the slightest, ears reddening and words becoming a stutter. “I’m not forcing you, haha. I just figured since it’s cold, our hands would be cold and maybe we can keep warm by holding hands?”

He probably sounds like an idiot, and the more he spoke, the more he started to feel worried if he was making you feel uncomfortable with his incessant ramblings.

“Never mind. I’m rambling again, sorry.”