Miyuki's hand feels heavy in his own, not shifting the slightest even as Miyuki gets to his feet. Miyuki agreeing without a thought, quick and unsteady movement to get upright, was not a part of Hisashi's mental calculations. He was expecting hesitation, reluctance, but he supposes he should have known better than to expect Miyuki of all people to give him a free out.

They could go back to reviewing matches like they usually do, scorebook and rewinds a buffer against the raw edge Hisashi feels when they're alone; people nearby if he has to seek refuge from the worst of Miyuki's running commentary. But it all sort of feels like overwrought excuses, and Hisashi knows the pause to think has run awkward.

He twists his wrist to lace their fingers together, distribute the weight of warm skin between them.

"I didn't really have anywhere in mind, yet," and leans in a little to say it, like it could be a secret, just the two of them.