No. You refuse to call it a date. Or do you? After all, you are the one who thought it in the first place. But it isn't a date, not really. It's just dinner with the ringmaster of a circus whom you met just hours ago. Dinner…which he pays for…um. Maybe it is a date.
He watches you from across the table the entire time. His eyes are on fire, and it's weird, because nobody's ever looked at you that way before, especially not a guy like…him. He didn't take his makeup off for this outing; you suppose it's because it's about ten o'clock at night and it's a pretty sketchy restaurant anyhow. It's alright, though, because you sort of like it. Especially when his smile twitches just a little wider, his speech getting just a little more broken. He's nervous around you now, and you can't say that you're not glad for it.
"Gamzee," you start as he pushes you back towards his home. "You, uh, didn't just need someone to talk to about the circus, did you."
You hear his rough chuckle and you know you're right. You got the feeling when his hand lingered a little too long on your own at dinner. You can't tell if you're disappointed or excited. You actually really like Gamzee, so you don't think you're disappointed. It's just moving really fast. Of course, you think, if it moved much slower, you'd feel trapped.
Thirty-five days remain.
"I liked you, motherfucker," he admits in his casual tone. "This motherfucker just kept getting his stare on. You're a hard guy to miss, my brother. Thought I'd get my greet on, figure out a little about ya."
You feel yourself blush and smile bashfully. Well, there's no time for anxiety to stop you now. "Then, um. Maybe…you should, um, ask me out. You know, um. Formally."
He stops. It's a brief pause, but it happens. Your smile widens and you look down at your hands in your lap. His chuckle is somewhat rueful as you continue your journey.