קгєץ 🕷 [ⲛⲁⲅⳙⲏⳕⲛⲁ]

Like A Puppet On A String

She shook her head, a bit disconcerted, "I wouldn't say I know him well. He's a regular here."

"Ah," he replied in a 'I see' inflection, then lapsed into silence again, though the brightness in his eyes seemed far from quiet.

Hinata stifled the urge to fidget beneath the weight of his gaze.

She looked away, hoping to break the strange tension, the heavy silence that spread between them.

Her eyes landed on his hands resting on the table.

To her surprise, his knuckles were swollen and bruised, his tan flesh a painful looking shade of wine. Though the skin was fully intact for the most part, it looked awful, like he'd gotten them both slammed in a car door. They looked like they could use an ice pack for at least an hour, then wrapped up after applying a liberal coat of ointment to each digit.

The inked fingers flexed, stretching wide before curling into a fist.

"When I'm not bustin' my ass at work, I box in my free time, 'ttebayo."

Her eyes snapped to his face, her own heating all over again as he stared back at her, a single brow raised.

Oh goodness.

She'd been staring at him.

Openly.

For the second time since meeting him.

"I-I'm sorry!" she sputtered, cupping her hot cheeks in her hands, "I-I don't know why I keep-"

"Starin at me like I'm some kinda sideshow freak," he finished for her, "I'm startin' to take it personal."

"Oh, no, you're not a- I-I don't think that at all," she flustered, "I'm just-"

"Relax," he snorted, grinning mischievously at her, "I'm fuckin with ya."

She wasn't the least bit put off that this stranger had dropped an f-bomb, and not just because she was too embarrassed by her repeated rude behavior of staring at him to take offense. Ino's potty mouth had long since desensitized her to vulgarities. Thanks to Ino, words that used to burn her ears now sailed over her once prude head without a second thought.

"Still...I'm sorry," she murmured, feeling the residual sting of mortification echoing through her.

"Why? Doesn't bother me," he told her, voice velvety smooth,"don't mind you starin' at me, dattebayo,"

Color bloomed in her cheeks, another sensation burning away her embarrassment and replacing it with something else.

Feeling shy, Hinata tugged at her apron, losing her battle not to fidget.

"I don't...it's rude to stare," she mumbled lamely.

"Not if the person gettin' stared at don't give a shit."

This was a strange conversation...

"I-I suppose so," she allowed, though she didn't exactly agree, "umm, i-if you're ready, I can take your drink order."

Feeling a bit more confident in the role of waitress, she shuffled the menu from the crook of her arm and offered it to him, just barely able to meet his amused eyes.

Though that didn't last.

Busying herself with digging out her order book from her apron instead, Hinata took that time to collect herself.

She wasn't sure why she was so easily flustered by this man.

She'd served attractive men before.

She'd even been flirted with on several occasions.