◤ "𝑶𝒉, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒆?
𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒆."◢
↳ The one where y/n can't stand
Osamu Miya, the owner of the Onigiri shop next door that's...
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Osamu Miya was an enigma.
One minute he was spitting insults your way, tearing you down without any regard to how you felt about it- the next, he was pouring you a hefty glass of plum wine, serving you fresh salmon onigiri on a silver platter. What was he playing at? Certainly he had some sort of motive for this; he's never been this nice to you... not in a long while, at least.
"Eat it, it's not poison." Osamu spits, after catching you eyeing the food he's served you a bit too suspiciously.
With a roll of your eyes and a disapproving groan, you take a careful bite, allowing the delectable flavors to dance along your taste buds. It tastes fucking delicious- so much so, you have to stifle the moan that threatens to escape your bitter lips. You'd rather eat your own shit, than admit that you actually enjoy his cooking.
"So, how is it?" He asks, unfazed by your permanent scowl.
"It's... okay. Nothing to write home about." You fib, turning your nose up at the half eaten onigiri that remains on the plate, shoving it away in faux disgust.
He chuckles to himself, well aware that you're speaking utter nonsense, before grabbing the plate to take it from you; except, you stop him.
