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CHAPTER SEVEN
YOU PANICKED, "uh, miyamura? is there something on my face?" you asked.
he blushed and looked away, realising he had been staring at the you since you've arrived. "no, there's nothing weong on your face..." he muttered. "hmm?" you leaned closer since you couldn't quite hear what the ravenette said.
he blushed even more, "y/n..." he murmured which made your eyes widen. first name basis, huh..
"izumi?" you grinned when you saw miyamura turn red as a tomato. you playfully squeezed miyamura's cheek as you stood beside him.
"please continue to do the assignment i gave you last time. as valentine's day is nearing, the submission is also drawing closer, my students."
"remember, make sure you put something that will make your dish one of a kind~!" their teacher clasped her hands together and right after, flashing a smile at them.
they all stood up and went to their counters. "l/n, someone told me to give you this," an unfamiliar classmate of yours gave you. you gently took it and placed it on the side — using your phone as a support for it to not fly away.
miyamura glared at the letter, wanting to destroy the letter but he refrained to do so, not wanting to make you mad at him. ishikawa spotted his friend that was constantly looking at the letter.
as you were collecting the utensils, the purple-haired boy went to your station and placed a hand on miyamura's shoulder.
"so, i can see that you want to destroy the letter.." miyamura looked at his friend, "shut up."
to which, ishikawa just chuckled to and went back to their counter because you were coming closer. "y/n— i mean.. l/n, let me help you," he told you and took a couple of heavy utensils off of your hands.
you smiled at him as he locked eyes with you. "thank you," you flashed him a closed-eye smile before placing the bowls down on the counter.
he looked away due to his cheeks blushing again. every single time, miyamura! he scolded himself mentally. you hummed as you scanned through the recipe before placing it back down and putting on your apron.
"she looks like Miyamura's wife, right?"
miyamura smiled at the murmurs he had heard. you did look like a wife that's going to prepare a meal for her husband — which he realised it was him that they were thinking as your husband.
"miyamura?"
"yes, y/n— l/n?"
you yet again flashed him another warm and sweet smile, "just call me y/n, it's fine, " you informed him as you turned to the counter—measuring the dry ingredients.
