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Grayson actually was a remarkably hard catch, though not for the reasons one might think. For one, while he was attracted to a great number of people, he very rarely developed actual feelings for them. He tended to not date unless there was at least some emotional investment, and even then, odds were against him ever getting around to making something official. Typically, it had to be the other party who initiated things, and even then, there was still no guarantee that he would pick up on the advances.

It wasn't that he didn't notice. It was just that, if he didn't feel that way in return, he would pretend he didn't notice. It wasn't as though he had to be in love with someone to go out with them, as he certainly had not loved Benny, and -- oh, Benny. His lips twisted into a frown, briefly, as he thought about his late prom date.

He'd liked Benny. Really liked him, and it surprised him a little bit how much, considering how short their acquaintance was. He'd been agreeable to the idea of dating him, even, which couldn't be said for many people. But Benny was gone, and he'd never gotten the chance to properly know him.

And Jude was flicking him on the forehead? Ouch.

His heart tripped at the touch, a blush following the path of his finger. Yes, it would certainly take him a while to get used to Jude being affectionate.

He was suddenly thankful for the three date rule.

Shutting the door behind him, Grayson hoped his cheeks were back to their usual color and rounded the front end to join Jude. He gave him a brief look, then glanced around for the stand.

"There it is." He pointed, seeing the vendor he liked (he always put extra relish on for Grayson) and smiled. He did like hot dogs.

No innuendos, please.

In Grayson's mind, you could never put too much on a hot dog. They were designed to be loaded with condiments of every shape and size, and were best hot and loaded. He could not, however, pinpoint exactly why Jude would know that. When they'd been patrolling lately, he was pretty sure they hadn't stopped to eat. And yet, the scene was feeling a little too familiar.

He tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "I don't know. But I do put everything on my hot dogs."

It brought him a little pause, made him wonder for the first time since Barren Pines about a past that he hadn't realized was unavailable to him until just then. He could remember a fire, the fire that had originally killed him, but what about before that? Surely he'd made connections with others before then, should have memories about being a member of the Guard before his death?

Why didn't he?

His brow furrowed, deeply. "I think I just realized I forgot something."

If there was one thing to be said for Jude, he knew how to make Grayson's thoughts scatter. He was mulling over the troubling realization that he didn't have a hell of a lot of memories before Barren Pines when Jude looped an arm around him, and that was enough to make him blink. The whisper, though, and the way he said his name -- Grayson -- sent a shiver straight down his spine. Either he was exceptionally weak when it came to breathy voices against his ear or he was incredibly hard-up for physical affection.

Both were true, actually. Grayson had a thing about his ears. God help him if Jude ever bit them.

And then he went scarlet, because he'd just thought of Jude biting his ears, and God if that wasn't a distracting thought in and of itself.

He gratefully accepted the hot dogs, not thinking twice about Jude purchasing them because his mind was full of other things concerning his blue-haired friend. He looked down, approving of the heavy hand with the relish, and said, "Thank you."

He was getting used to perpetually blushing around Jude, and rather unexpectedly, too. It still made him feel a little cranky, but he was getting used to it.

One hot dog was halfway to his mouth when he stopped, one eyebrow going straight up into his hairline, and asked, "I'm the youma magnet?"

His expression clearly stated he thought otherwise. His voice was skeptical, too. "And what do you mean, hero-like?"

One hot dog was balanced on his knee, the other one being cupped carefully in his other hand. The most obvious downside to loading your hot dogs was that something was always trying to fall off them. Grayson didn't particularly like wearing his food, and he was being a little more careful that day because it was a date. Honestly, it was Jude, and Jude probably wouldn't have cared too much if he dropped some relish on his pants, but it was the principle of the matter.

Also, Grayson was a little vain, and he didn't want food all over himself on his first date in a long time. There was nothing wrong with that.

"Dani is very talkative," he decided, taking a bite and thinking of their mutual blue-haired friend. "She's nice."

He hadn't spoken to her in a bit. He figured she was avoiding him just as intensely as he had been avoiding her, for the same awkward reason. He'd have to take care of that.

At the next question, he gave Jude a brief, bewildered look. "No?"

Why would he want to yell at a youma? If he was fighting it, he wanted to kill it. If he killed it, there was no reason to try to deliver a message that would never make it back to its evil counterparts.

He considered his hot dog, glanced back over. "Why, what kinds of things would you say?"

The really, Jude? expression had faded, and Grayson was back to his hot dogs. He didn't eat as quickly as Jude, but he didn't take all day about it, either. Chewing also gave him time to consider what he would say to a youma if he was ever inspired to say anything "in the moment."

Likely Radiant Light, he decided, though he didn't think his attack would count. Jude would probably not think so.

At the suggestion they go find a youma, Grayson give him another look. This wasn't a really, Jude? look, but more a Sometimes I just don't know what to do with you, Jude look. Faintly exasperated, mostly confused, but with an undercurrent of appreciation for him despite it all.

"You want to go find one."

It wasn't a question, though the way it was phrased, it maybe should have been.

"Right now?"

That one was a question. He looked down at the half of a hot dog that remained, started on it again just in case.

There weren't many people he would willingly go hunt youma with, but he had a hard time saying no to Jude. About much of anything, really.

They were on a date and Jude wanted to... go fight a youma.

Grayson considered this, debated with himself while Jude prattled about girls liking bad boys and sleeping with them for dangerous reasons. While it was true he didn't mind fighting youma, it was more that he didn't mind fighting youma when he had to. He wasn't the type to go out and look for trouble, and these days, didn't patrol unless someone else was dragging him out to do it. He supposed this would count as Jude dragging him out, but he wasn't sure he wanted to add the possibility of death to the potential outcomes for their first date.

Call him crazy.

"I don't go looking for youma." He wrinkled his nose, thinking that the admission probably leaned toward the idea that he was a youma magnet, but that wasn't true. He was distracted from that, though, when Jude reached over and tucked some hair behind his ear.

Jude was good at that. Distracting him.

"Well. I don't see why not." He was out of hot dogs, so he didn't have anything to do with his hands but place them on his knees. "I suppose it's not very responsible of us to not go looking if we're together."

That didn't sound very romantic or date-like, but. Well.

It really wasn't.

It would be a lie if Grayson said he was hoping they wouldn't find a youma. Not only did he consider patrolling a fair waste of a date (not that he had any better ideas) he didn't exactly relish the idea of getting thrown around and going home with more bruises and scrapes. He did, however, enjoy the walk, and the conversation that flowed. It was always a good time when they were talking about the Colts, save for very rare circumstances (14-1).

"I like their colors." It was a little cold, so his hands were still in their pockets. If he sounded a little defensive, well, it was because Jude was making fun of their team's colors, all right. "And if it's not particularly dangerous, that's all right. They're subtle."

They turned a corner, and he added blandly, "Look at Oakland. The badass combination of black and silver isn't doing anything for them."

The poor Raiders. Maybe when Al Davis died they'd actually be able to string together a decent roster and start winning regularly. Until that day, they were subject to being the butt of many jokes, only to be slightly less abused than teams like Detriot and St. Louis.