Giggles didn’t say the word date out loud.

He just showed up.

Bike rumbling outside your place, helmet tucked under his arm, that familiar manic grin carved into his face like it always was. He looked… different. Cleaner. New shirt — black, still, but without grease stains. Boots wiped down. He’d even shaved the sides of his jaw, nicked himself doing it.

Effort, by his standards.

“C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the bike. “Got a place.”

You’d dressed for something else entirely.

Not fancy — intentional. Hair done. Clothes chosen. You looked like someone hoping for clarity. Like tonight might finally decide whether the thing between you had a name.

The ride was loud, hot, familiar. His body solid in front of you, one hand steady on the throttle, the other reaching back once to make sure you were holding on. You were. Of course you were.

He took you to a diner.

Not ironic-cute. Not retro. Just… cheap. Neon buzzing. Vinyl booths cracked with age. The smell of old oil and overworked fryers clinging to everything.

Giggles lit up like he’d brought you somewhere sacred.

“Told ’em to keep us in the back,” he said, proud. “Quiet. No assholes.”

He slid into the booth across from you, stretching out, relaxed, like this was perfect already. Ordered without looking at the menu. Ordered for you, too — confidently, like he knew.

When the food came, Giggles didn’t wait. Reached straight across the table, stole a handful of your fries, stuffed it his mouth and laughed.

“These are better than I remembered,” he said, crumbs at the corner of his grin. “Salty, yeah?”

You stared at him.

At the place. The noise. The way he genuinely looked pleased, like he’d nailed something important.

“You’re not… excited?” he asked, squinting at you. Half teasing. Half confused.

You tried. You really did. You smiled, picked at your food, laughed when he nudged your foot with his boot under the table. But the disappointment sat heavy in your chest, unwanted but undeniable.

He noticed. Of course he did.

The laughter came easier after that — louder, sharper. He filled the space with noise like he always did when something felt off. Told stories about the club, about a guy who spilled coffee on him last week. He leaned over the table, elbows wide, crowding your space like proximity might fix it.

In his head, this was romance.

He’d chosen the place. Brought you somewhere he liked. Changed his clothes. Gave you a ride on his bike. What else was there?

When it was over, he paid fast. Too fast.

The ride back was quieter.

Giggles still rode steady, still made sure you were holding on, but his shoulders were tense now. When he dropped you off, he didn’t kill the engine right away.

Just sat there.

You could see it then — the way his jaw worked, the way he wiped his face with the heel of his palm like sweat was the problem. Lips pressed together, hard. A man trying very badly not to do something he’d been taught not to do.

Finally, he spoke.

“I thought you’d like it,” he said. Not defensive. Just… small. Almost self-deprecating.

Silence stretched.

He swallowed, voice rougher when he tried again. “I don’t—” He stopped, shook his head, laughed once without humor. “I don’t really know how to do this shit.”

His eyes stayed fixed on the ground.

“I’m sorry you didn’t like it.”

There it was. Raw. Unpolished. The crack he tried to hide with noise and bravado. His voice betrayed him — thin at the edges, like he’d reached for something and missed.

“I tried,” he added, quieter. “This is me trying. That’s all i can do.”

Not pretty words. Just effort, clumsy and sincere, offered with both hands.

“Probably should’ve bought you flowers or chocolate…” he scoffed, amused by his stupidity.

“Dumbass. I was so sure you’d like it, I didn’t even—“ and Giggles shook his head, trailing off.