קгєץ 🕷 [ⲛⲁⲅⳙⲏⳕⲛⲁ]

Like A Puppet On A String

Hinata wondered later what good deed had led to her current upturn in luck. Business picked up shortly after she left, the late lunch/early evening crowd pouring in the door, sending her whipping back and forth from table to kitchen and back again.

There wasn't any time for fluttering butterflies when she visited his table.

And barely time for him to ply her with deep voiced flirtations.

He ordered three more bowls after he finished his first.

By the time he finished that third bowl and asked for the check, her luck ran out.

The crowd had slowed, and there was plenty of time to chat.

"Your bill," she said, placing the booklet with his paper receipt inside on the table.

He moved to fish out his wallet, reminding her that there was something they needed to talk about.

"Um, Uzumaki-san," she called haltingly as he dug in his back pocket, "a-about that tip you left last time..."

She faltered, trying hard to find the best way to explain her misgivings without offending.

"I-It was very generous, but...perhaps it was...um, a bit too...overly generous?"

She cringed inside.

That sounded worse out loud than in her head.

His lips tugged up at the corner, his left left elbow coming up to rest on the table, his battered hand supporting his chin.

He gave her a once over.

Looking at her as though she were some fascinating creature he couldn't figure out.

"First person I've ever met to complain about a few extra yen in their pocket," he stated laughingly, "first time for everything I guess."

It was far more than a few yen.

"I hope you don't think me rude," she replied quietly, "and I don't mean to complain but..."

She lapsed into silence, feeling a bit foolish despite her certainty that this was the right thing to do.

Mortified, she gazed off to the side as they lapsed into silence again.

He broke the silence a beat later.

"Grew up poor as shit, ya know," he told her dispassionately, seemingly unbothered as he continued his sad tale, "used to hit up food banks on every church block in the city. Sold blood and clipped fuckin' coupons, did a lotta other shit I probably shouldnt've did, just to put food in my stomach. I'm not some trust fund baby slingin' yen around for the hell of it."

She hadn't thought he was.

Sure, there were hints of his wealth even before he dropped nearly half a month's rent on her table.

Especially today.

The shiny gold, diamond studded, orange-dial watch on his wrist practically screamed opulence.

The equally shiny, equally expensive looking chain hanging around his neck was far from subtle.

Not even his clothes were something one would expect to find on a clearance rack. His black, formal, three-quarter-sleeve shirt and matching slacks were well made, the fabric's quality undeniably top notch quality.

He looked like one of those handsome, successful business men she saw on the cover of magazines, aside for the tattoos.

Despite his appearance, however, there was a roughness to him that spoke of hardship of some kind. His hands lacked the smoothness she'd seen on many a man born with a silver spoon in their mouth, his manner of speech was candid and his word choice was certainly not something he would have learned in a prestigious finishing school. Nor did he display any of the pompous entitlement high socioeconomic statures could nurture in a person if not careful, something she was very familiar with.