John fishes inside the grease-stained paper bag, frowning at its boxed contents. "Did you get the shrimp rolls?"

"I got the shrimp rolls," Dorian says patiently. "And the rangoons. And your noodles. You know, if you keep eating this way, your waistline will-"

"Shut up." John pulls his head out of the bag and folds the top down grudgingly, tucking his dinner beneath his arm as they stroll along the waterfront. The sun's just set, the streetlights beginning to turn on one by one, and it's warm enough for John to forgo his usual drive from his apartment to the Chinese food stand a few blocks away.

Dorian shrugs good-naturedly, his arm brushing against John's as they walk. "Just looking out for you, man. You've been getting kind of squishy lately."

"Shut up, you love it," John grumbles absently. He digs back in the bag and pops a crag rangoon into his mouth deliberately, chewing noisily around the cream cheese filling.

"Stop that, you shouldn't eat while you walk." Dorian reaches up and grabs John's wrist, pulling his hand away from his face, but he doesn't let go. John waits for a few seconds, wondering if it's just a fluke of the moment, but Dorian seems blissfully unaware, ignoring the grease on John's skin as he weaves their fingers together and holds on.

"Um," John says thickly, forcing himself to swallow the rest of the rangoon. "What-"

"Shh," Dorian says blithely, turning a dopily bright smile on him, and John's heartbeat seems to fumble for a second.

He wonders wildly for a moment if Dorian's been right all along and he's about to have a heart attack from one too many nights at the ramen stand.

"Just enjoy the moment, okay?" Dorian continues, looking back ahead as if nothing happened. "I am."

They walk on in silence for a couple minutes more, John growing increasingly conscious of his left hand. Dorian's hand is warm, just slightly cooler than his, but it feels like it's growing hotter by the second, and John can hear his own pulse pounding in his ears. The take out bag suddenly seems unbearably heavy, and he shuffles it discreetly in the crook of his right elbow.

"Here, let me," Dorian says, noticing his struggle. He reaches over and John instinctively shies away, raising his left hand in a reflexive attempt to bat Dorian away, but Dorian's hand comes with him and he ends up staring at their intertwined fingers dumbly.

"John, you okay?" Dorian asks tentatively, after a long moment of John frozen in computing mode. He squeezes their hands and John jumps.

"Um," he says.

"You said that already," Dorian points out. He tilts his head, concerned. "Is something wrong?"

John stares at him, then glances down at their hands. His chest feels full, his throat tight, like there's a million things waiting to be said, but he has no idea what those things are, or if he even wants to say them.

"No," he says at last, and Dorian's responding smile melts him faster than the rangoons he can feel seeping through the paper bag in his hand. "Everything's perfect."