「 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐫 」𝘸. 𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘫𝘪𝘮𝘢

xiii | dinner

"It's a ten-minute walk," I inform him, and he nods. Wakame and I walk side by side as I lead him to my local supermarket. The entire way there was a comfortable silence, and I wanted to offer my hand, but I thought we'd save it for the walk back.

Throughout the market, Wakame pushes the cart behind me while I compare the different missing ingredients of his requested Hayashi Rice. I end up buying other things, like dark chocolate for periods, and a low-fat potato chip bag, which Wakame raises his brows at.

"These are super good," I tell him. He raises his brow and he just goes with it.

As we're walking out the automated doors with our bagged groceries in tow, he moves his hand to mine.

"Let me," He insists.

"Are you sure?" I look at him. He nods and gives me hints of puppy eyes, and I can't say no to him.

"Fine, just one," I give in and hand him the lighter bag, holding each other's empties hands. The street lamps and other house lights illuminate our short walk in the chilled evening. I notice that he caresses the back of my hand with his thumb; cute.

I can't stop smiling, making sure to do my best in hiding it.

Once back inside my house, we chop the ingredients together. I'm not sure if it's the cooking class or the fact that he lives away from his own house, but his chopping skills are good. I'm thoroughly impressed. (Mha watchers: remember Katsuki at the week-long training camp? Imagine that. Mha non-watchers: imagine super skilled and super fast flawless cutting skills! A chef indeed.)

"Where did you learn to cut like that? You could be a chef," I joke.

"My mother taught me," He says.

"Your mother raised you well," I lightly bump his hip with mine, and he bumps back. Wholesome thoughts enter my head, but I know they're way too fast in thinking about it.

"It's as if we're an old married cou-" I shake my head and focus on the Hayashi Rice.

About an hour later, Wakame and I sit across from each other.

"Itadakimasu ¹⁷," We both say, and I watch him take his first spoonful of my Hayashi Rice. He blows on the steamy food and chews, indulging in it.

"It's really good," He smiles a little, and I'm relieved.

"Thank you," I say before taking my own bite.

"Mm, could use some more caramelized onions," I criticize my food. I then feel my foot being tapped from underneath the table. I look up.

"No, it's delicious just the way you made it. Do you know why?" He asks. I shrug my shoulders, already knowing the answer.

"It's delicious because you made it," He grins.

"Fine," I pout and go back to eating.

Wakame and I make small talk throughout our late-night dinner, discussing school, sports, and our general day.

I go up to clear the table when he stops me.

"You cooked, therefore I'll clean," he says before getting up.

"But, you're my guest-"

"Nope," He takes my empty dish and water glass before I could protest anymore. I giggle and the soft clink of ceramics and glass fills our atmosphere.

"All finished," Wakame walks back to the table and I get up to hug him.

"You didn't have to, but thank you," I smiled into him.