𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖋 𝕲𝖊𝖙𝖔 𝕴𝖘 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 (𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

6-2: ℭ𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔰 (𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2)

❤︎ 1345 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜, 5 𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎

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***

I changed into a fresh pair of loungewear after Geto left my room. We're having dinner with his family today. Not all of them, only Suda Manami and Larue. I know Suda as the pink-haired woman who came to talk to Geto the day that I moved in. Sometimes I see her in passing, always donning immaculate makeup and bodycon dresses. Meanwhile, Larue is the eccentric man with the heart shapes on his pecs and apparently is a bit of a germaphobe. 

I haven't interacted much with Geto's chosen family apart from these two. Outside of work, commuting, sleeping, writing and training, I barely have much time left; let alone for roaming about in his temple where they do who-knows-what. 

Downstairs, Geto's in the kitchen, barefoot in his usual black sweats.

"Curry?" I ask, sniffing the air.

"With tofu. Larue is vegetarian." He answers without looking up from his stirring ladle. "Can you set the table for me? Cutlery's in the top-right drawer."

"And you're not?" I pull open the drawer; all the utensils are wooden.

"Hmm?"

"Vegetarian." I lay out four sets of chopsticks and spoons on the dining table–also wooden. His house is a luxurious Muji commercial. "You're the Buddhist priest, no?"

"Check if it's spicy enough," he holds up a piece of tofu.

I take the tofu with my mouth. I puff and squeeze my eyes closed.

"Sorry, should've warned you it's hot."

"It's good, though"

"Spicy enough?

"Might need a bit more soy sauce. Where are the place mats?"

"In the drawer below." He turns off the stove. "You know I'm not actually one, right?"

I smooth over the wrinkles on the linen mats.

"I'm not actually a Buddhist priest. The temple, my uniform, the religious foundation, it's all a–" The doorbell cuts him off. "I'll get the door. Can you please serve the rice for me? In the cooker."

I turn my back towards the door. 

I do not like meeting new people. Neither do I enjoy making first impressions, especially not with my small talk skills that peaked in kindergarten. Why do talks have to be small? I detest these bite-sized talks. I like my talks the way I like my Starbucks orders, deep, dark, and tall–though I've been to Starbucks only a handful of times in my life.

I open the rice cooker's lid. Steam rises into my face as I hear Geto exchange hugs with tonight's guests. I take a while to scoop rice into the bowls as I inhale the steam. I love the smell of fresh rice.

I place my and Geto's bowl on the table, right next to each other. I then shake Larue's hand and notice his palms are twice the size of mine. Larue is wearing a plain, yellow button-up–the first time I've seen him with all his buttons properly fastened. I extend my hand towards Suda but she goes straight for a hug.

"Y/n! We finally get to talk properly!" She sings.

What's there to properly talk about? But I sense Geto observing me and reply: "Likewise. Ms. Suda."

"Call me Mana! That's what Mr. Geto calls me, too!"

She speaks with too many exclamation marks. We sit down, Suda across from me and the seat next to me waiting for Geto while he returns to the counter for the pot of curry.