#cute dates

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The aquarium was dim, humming with the low, filtered thrum of water tanks and the distant squeals of children. You half-expected Ronin to complain about the smell or the overpriced tickets or the fact that he couldn’t bring his knife, but he hadn’t stopped smiling since you got in.

He looked almost… giddy.

In his own, terrifying way.

“Y’know,” he said, dragging you toward the first massive tank, “sharks don’t have bones.”

You blinked. “What?”

“They’re made of cartilage,” he continued, his face pressed near the glass as a sleek, pale shark glided past. “Like your ears. And your nose. Fuckin’ freaky, huh? They’re basically one big angry nose swimming through the ocean.”

You snorted. “That’s not how that works.”

“Don’t ruin this for me, darling.”

You smiled as he wandered along the curved glass, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes darting with manic focus. His reflection in the tank was warped and eerie, matching the movement of the creatures behind it—smooth, ancient things with dead eyes and endless teeth.

Ronin looked… at home here.

Not just comfortable. Right.

You watched as he crouched to get a closer look at a bottom-dwelling shark with mottled skin.

“This one,” he muttered, tapping the glass gently, “is a wobbegong. They ambush shit. Hide under sand, then chomp. Nature’s little sleeper agent.”

“Wobbegong is a stupid name,” you said.

“So’s ‘Ronin,’ and yet here I am. Sexy and full of facts.”

You laughed under your breath and followed him down the next corridor, deeper into the winding, watery maze of glowing blue tanks and bioluminescent signage. The crowd thinned the further in you got. Most people weren’t willing to read the tiny placards or endure the heavy, aquarium-dark silence that settled the deeper you went.

But Ronin thrived in it.

He stopped in front of the shark petting pool—a shallow exhibit lit by a weak overhead glow. A staff member stood by with a half-hearted smile, bored and chewing gum.

Ronin looked at the sign, then at you, then leaned down to swirl his fingers in the water.

You were surprised how gentle he was.

“They feel like sandpaper,” he said, brushing along the spine of a passing bamboo shark. “‘Cause their skin’s covered in tiny tooth-like scales. Dermal denticles. That’s your second shark fact. Keep up, darling.”

You watched his eyes gleam with childlike awe.

“You like sharks a lot, huh?”

He looked up at you. “Of course I do. All they do is eat and survive. No bullshit. No morals. No pretending. If a shark doesn’t like you, it bites you. That’s it.”

“That’s also how you work.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

He flicked a bit of water at you, and you pretended to be offended, smacking his arm. He caught your wrist in a flash and kissed your knuckles with mock elegance.

“Don’t test me,” he murmured, “I will drown you in the stingray tank.”

“You’d get kicked out.”

“I’d get banned with pride.”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking, but his hand stayed laced with yours. Warm. Tight. Covered in half-faded sharpie doodles and a bandage over his knuckle.

He didn’t let go even when the hallway narrowed, the floor beneath you becoming glass, revealing a tank filled with nurse sharks and eels.

Ronin pressed his face to the side glass like an absolute menace.

“Third shark fact,” he whispered. “Sharks can detect electrical fields. Like tiny pulses in the water. Heartbeats, muscle twitches. It’s how they know you’re alive.”

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

“I’d find you in the dark, darling. Even if you hide.”

You swallowed.

Of course he’d say that.

Of course your heart would beat faster when he did.

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The jellyfish room was quiet.

You stepped through a curtain of black and into an endless glow of floating, gelatinous ghosts. The only light came from the tanks—soft blues, purples, and reds pulsing like slow heartbeats in the dark. The floor muffled your footsteps. Even the signage was hushed.

It felt like being underwater.

And Ronin?

Ronin looked spellbound.

He stood in front of a wall-sized tank filled with translucent bells and drifting tendrils. His silhouette was backlit, shoulders relaxed, hair haloed by the neon pink light.

You moved up beside him. He didn’t say anything at first.

Then: “You ever feel like you’re dreaming, darling?”

You glanced at him. “Right now?”

He nodded, still watching the jellyfish.

“Sometimes I feel like I died a long time ago. And this is just the weird limbo where I get to hold your hand for a bit.”

You blinked. “That’s… incredibly depressing.”

He snorted softly, finally looking at you. “You’re the one who dated me. You knew what you signed up for.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

Ronin turned fully toward you, pulling you gently into his arms—slow, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. His cheek pressed against your temple.

“They’ve been around for millions of years,” he murmured. “No brains. No hearts. Just vibes.”

You stifled a laugh against his shoulder.

“Fourth shark fact,” he said, like it was a secret. “Some sharks glow in the dark, too.”

“That’s not even about jellyfish.”

“Don’t interrupt me. I’m being romantic.”

You grinned, holding him tighter.

The moment lingered, syrup-slow and gentle, wrapped in glow and quiet.

But of course, Ronin didn’t stay soft for long.

He took your hand and dragged you into the next hallway, manic energy returning like someone flipped a switch.

“Come on, come on,” he said, practically skipping. “It’s tunnel time.”

The underwater tunnel curved beneath a massive tank. Sharks gilded above and beside you, rays sweeping like ghosts over your heads. The light was dim and dreamy, fish silhouettes dancing across your skin.

Ronin walked backwards in front of you, arms open.

“Imagine if the glass shattered right now,” he said.

“Romantic.”

“We’d die instantly. Together. Pretty.”

You laughed, and he caught you by the waist, pulling you close.

His eyes glinted with the tank light.

Then: “Fifth shark fact.”

You leaned in. “Hit me.”

“Sharks have multiple rows of teeth. When one falls out, another pops forward. Always armed. Always ready.”

He kissed you before you could respond—quick at first, then slower, deeper, more sure of himself. His hands framed your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. The taste of salt from the air, the cool tank-light shadows—it all blurred around the warmth of his mouth.

You curled your fingers into his hoodie.

When he finally pulled back, he was smiling.

“Did I ruin the mood?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. But if you give me one more shark fact right now, I will throw you into the stingray tank myself.”

He grinned.

“Fair.”

You kept walking, hand in hand, the echo of your laughter swallowed by the water above.

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-Bonus Scene-

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You didn’t even make it five steps into the gift shop before Ronin vanished.

One second he was beside you, pretending to be normal. The next? Gone. You looked left—just a rack of sea turtle t-shirts. Looked right—nope, just some child losing a balloon.

Then you heard it.

A muffled “Darling—look.”

You turned around slowly.

There he was. Crouched behind a display of glittery snow globes, clutching the world’s largest stuffed shark like it was a newborn. His face was all wide-eyed innocence. The shark’s plastic tag dangled like a noose from its fin.

“I need him,” Ronin whispered, barely peeking out.

You walked over with your arms crossed. “You already made me carry a stuffed jellyfish, a mood ring, and a shark hat. I think we’re good.”

“But this one has teeth. Look at him.”

You did not look at him.

“Ronin.”

“Yes, Baby?”

“Put it back.”

“…I would kill for him.”

You sighed and held out your hand.

“No, no, I’ll carry him,” Ronin said, standing dramatically and slinging the plushie over his shoulder like a rifle. “If I must walk through the fire of capitalism to rescue a soul, so be it.”

“You’re insufferable.”

He leaned in close. “And yet… still kissable.”

You gave him the flattest look imaginable, but he just grinned and waltzed off toward the register like the main character of a very cursed indie film.

As you followed behind, you realized the plush shark did look kind of cute tucked under his arm.

“You’re naming it, aren’t you?”

He didn’t even look back. “His name is Mister Chomp. He has a tragic backstory. He’s killed before.”

“Oh my god.”

“Just like me.”

You stared at his back.

“…So are you Mister Chomp or is the shark?”

“Yes.”

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-Bonus-Bonus Scene-

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The door slammed open.

Ronin kicked it shut behind him with the dramatic flair of someone who had just escaped a heist, not a children’s aquarium. “Home, sweet hell,” he announced, tossing his jacket onto the couch and unceremoniously dropping Mister Chomp onto the bed.

The plush shark flopped face-down like a corpse. Somehow, it made you laugh.

“You didn’t have to sprint up the stairs with him like you were evading a SWAT team,” you said, shutting the door gently behind you.

“He deserved dignity,” Ronin replied, dead serious. “He’s been through enough. You saw the way that toddler tried to grab him—he has trauma.”

You kicked off your shoes and padded over, flopping down on the bed beside him. Ronin was already laying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other cradling the massive stuffed shark like it was a real pet.

“Darling,” he said softly, “we’re a family now.”

You blinked at him. “We are not adopting the shark.”

“We already did. He’s one of us. Look at his little eyes. He understands us.”

“Mister Chomp is polyvinyl plastic and stuffing—”

“He’s seen things.”

You groaned into your hands. “We need a real hobby.”

“This is a hobby.”

Ronin turned his head to look at you, black eyes catching the low orange glow of the bedside lamp. His voice softened a notch. “Y’know… this was good. Today. The sharks, the dumb facts, the crime spree in the gift shop.”

You smiled a little. “You didn’t even get kicked out.”

He grinned. “Personal growth.”

A beat passed, calm and strangely warm.

Then Ronin scooted closer—just enough to press his forehead to yours, Mister Chomp still nestled between you like a peace offering.

“I like this version of us,” he murmured. “Quiet. Stupid. Happy.”

Your heart twisted a little at the word happy. It didn’t sound like something he said often.

You kissed his forehead, soft. “Me too.”

Ronin blinked slowly, like he was memorizing the moment. Then, he dramatically shoved Mister Chomp between you both like a wall.

“...Room for three?” he asked, grinning.

You didn’t have the heart to say no.

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