𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧' |𝐭.𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐢

43- dates, dates, and dates!

You missed him.

But just didn't know why.

⸻

You were walking, one weekend afternoon, sunlight on your face, a soft breeze brushing against your skin, the feeling of people bustling around without the pressure of a mission or a life hanging in the balance.

That's when the savory smell hit you. Fried batter, bonito flakes, that nostalgic sweet-and-salty sauce. It made your stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

So you wandered up to the takoyaki stand on the corner, tucking your hands into your pockets as you waited for the vendor to finish his last batch.

"Didn't think I'd see you out here."

You turned at the voice, and had to look up.

Taishiro Toyomitsu, broad-shouldered, warm-eyed, wearing a hoodie two sizes too small and holding a tray of steaming takoyaki. His smile lit up the entire corner.

"I thought that was you!" He said, stepping forward with that familiar, booming cheer. "You're lookin' good. Strong. Glad to see you out and about."

You offered a small, grateful smile. "I'm trying. Still feels weird."

"I get that." He looked you over, but not in a weird way, in that respectful, checking-you're-okay kind of way. "I saw you during the final war. Back then... you were something else."

You blinked. "You did?"

"Hell yeah," He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was real far off, trying to keep civilians safe, but I saw you pushing forward. Didn't back down, even with the world crumbling around you." Then, more quietly, "It stuck with me."

You glanced down, not used to hearing things like that, not in the quiet, everyday kind of way.

He took a breath. "Listen, this might be sudden, but... wanna share some takoyaki and maybe—grab dinner sometime? Just us. No villain-hunting, no hero talk. Just food and you."

You blinked, unsure. There was a slight awkward pause before you nodded. "Sure. I mean... yeah. That'd be nice."

He grinned wide and handed you a toothpick. "Good. Start with this, stand's the best in the city."

Later the following day, he took you out to dinner.

The place he had taken you was cute.

It was a tiny izakaya tucked behind a grocery store. The lanterns glowed, the air was filled with sizzling meat and laughter from the neighboring booths.

He talked about food like it was an art form, gushed over local places you had to try, and shared the most ridiculous hero stories, most of which ended with him getting stuck in too-small spaces or breaking a doorframe.

You laughed, genuinely.

You liked his energy, the way he leaned in when you spoke, how he really listened. It felt easy.

And yet... halfway through your grilled eggplant, you caught yourself staring blankly at your plate.

Your hands were warm. Your face was smiling.

But your chest was... quiet.

No flutter. No pull. No ache of nervous excitement, just stillness.

You glanced up at him, laughing now, his face flushed from the warm sake. You tried to feel something. Anything. A spark. A possibility.

But nothing came.

The walk home was quiet. The streets were dim and calm, your footsteps light but your thoughts heavier than they'd been in weeks.