"Come with me to Roppongi."
It's been hardly but a full, absolutely grueling week since the two of you have been working together, and Osamu still seems to think that he has the right to make demands of you— it's not as if he hasn't been doing it enough since you agreed to sign the contract, but this? Roppongi? With him?
Was he out of his fucking mind? You'd rather travel to the deepest pits of hell than go anywhere with him, especially to Roppongi— you love it there, and that's what you're afraid of. God forbid Osamu ruins it for you with his incessant need to make your life miserable with each disappointing breath he takes.
"And why on earth would I choose to torment myself like that?" You ask, brow cocked and full of sass— wondering what kind of scheme this idiot was up to.
"Because I was kind enough to add you as my plus one for a very exclusive culinary workshop with Chef Nakamura." He says, matter-of-factly.
Your mouth parts ever so slightly in shock— Nakamura Kenji was one of the most talented, successful Chefs in Japan... how Osamu managed to score an invitation to one of his workshops was beyond believable, but as much as it pained you to admit, maybe a trip to Roppingi with the devil himself would be worth it for this kind of experience.
"How did yo—"
"Turns out he's a big volleyball fan— MSBY's one of his favorite teams." He smiles proudly while he explains, devoid of any shame for cashing in on his brother's famous connections. "'Tsumu put in a good word for me, got me and him a spot in but it turns out he can't make it 'cause he's got a game."
"So... I'm his stand-in." You didn't mean to sound so bitter when you spoke, but you knew it was too good to be true to assume that he actually thought of you first.
"Well, don't think of it that way... just thought it would benefit you a lot more than it would him anyways. He can't cook for shit, he just wanted to go for the free food."
Typical.
"Besides, you could really use the help." He quirks, before retreating through the door into his side of the kitchen.
"What's that supposed to mean?" You storm after him angrily, not willing to pass over that slippery jab.
A few of his employee's maneuver their way around the two of you— hardly even phased to find that you're at each other's throats yet again, bickering like an old married couple. It's something they've gotten used to over this past week, despite the uncomfortable atmosphere it's created in the workplace.
"The spicy mayo you were supposed to prepare for the tuna barely had any spice at all— I know yer more of a sweets girl, but ya' gotta learn how to season food properly. I can't be serving spicy tuna onigiri without the spice." He gripes, pulling out the bowl of mayo you prepared earlier and sliding it down the counter towards your direction.
Your scowl hardens and your frown deepens as you examine the bowl of perfectly seasoned mayo. You knew it was spicy, you had tasted it to make sure— clearly he was just nit-picking to get under your skin, as if it's his soul's entire purpose to make your life a living nightmare.
"You know damn well it's seasoned and spiced! Stop being such a little—"
"Taste it, you'll see what I mean." He reiterates, folding his muscular arms across his chest as he waits for you to sample the mixture— his gunmetal eyes glimmering with mischief, accompanied by a prideful smirk adorning his pretty pink lips.
"I already did taste it! It's delicious, as a matter of fact— maybe you should taste it again." You quip, a flicker of a completely immature gesture crosses your mind, and you almost stop yourself from going there— but the way he looks at you so condescendingly makes you want to humble him in any way possible.
You dip a gloved hand into the mayo, and splatter it right across his mouth— the sticky white substance drips from his chin as his mouth widens in shock. He really can't believe you just did that— and the little giggle that escapes your lips at the sight of his face covered in mayo both infuriates and excites him.
If you wanna play dirty, he's more than willing.
"Spicy enough for you, Miya?" You taunt, with a pop of your hip and a hearty laugh from deep within your belly.
He should be mad, and he is, to some extent. You did just make him have to throw out a perfectly good batch of spicy mayo— not that he would admit to it. The way you look at him so powerfully, albeit childish in your silly antics, makes him want to...
... Well, Osamu Miya has never been one to shy away from something he wants, after all. Before you know it, he's stalking towards you, a menacing smirk on his face prompts an inkling that he's vying for a taste of revenge.
Though, really, all he truly wants is a taste of you.
It takes his long legs only but a few strides to reach you. You anticipate him to smear a handful of mayo in your face, but instead his large, calloused palms firmly cup your jaw— his fingertips setting around the skin of your neck. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your whole body enflames into a burst of goosebumps that pattern your skin at the feeling of his touch alone.
"I don't know," he speaks lowly— deep voice hardly climbing that above a whisper, "you tell me."
You aren't quite sure what to think of his statement. You know what he's about to do, and part of you wants to slap him for invading you personal space, but the other part— the one that used to wonder what it would feel like for him to touch you like this— can't seem to move a single muscle away from his grasp.
His breath hitches as he pauses for a brief moment. He wants to give you a chance to push him away before he does this... but, you don't. You simply stare at him with those beautiful eyes of yours, an expression of shock, nerves and something else that he just can't quite put his finger on. Still, it beckons him forward until his messy lips finally meet yours.
It's an awkward kiss at first— spicy mayo doesn't exactly set the mood, but the way his tongue peeks in between your lips turns this vexatious kiss into a much more intimate one. Your body that was once tensed, slowly starts to melt into a state of arousal with every swipe of his tongue against yours. You couldn't care less about the mayo being smeared into your skin— because embarrassingly so...
You've been extremely touch starved.
His hands leave the column of your throat, delicately trailing down the expanse of your body as he grips your hips desperately, just before hooking them underneath your thighs to lift you up onto the counter. He was breaking at least 17 different health code violations right now, but the way you whimper for him so fucking sweetly against his lips, makes it all worth it.
"Ms. L/n? Are you in her— OH!" Kaito quickly shields his eyes upon spotting you and Mr. Miya locked at the lips and practically dry humping each other, as he quickly turns around to face the freezer door— the brightest of red blushes dust his cheeks. "Um, should I come back later?"
Jumping down from the counters you push Miya out of the way and wipe your mouth that still holds a tiny bit of remnants from your indiscretions. That's when it hits you, your lustful haze lifting from your previously clouded judgement allows you to realize that the two of you had been grinding against each other like two horny teenagers, devouring each other's lips without a care of concern for your whereabouts or for who you were even kissing.
How could you have let your guard down like that? Goofing off, laughing and playing around like the two of you used to when you were younger... it seemed effortless, like you weren't here with your worst enemy, but your best friend. Even if just for a moment, it felt good.
Though, it pained you to realize that even now after so many years— Osamu Miya still had such a grueling hold on your heart.
Without a moments hesitation, you brush past both Osamu and Kaito, retreating into your office where you shut yourself in with a slam of the door and a faint clicking of the lock. Kaito chases after you, and Osamu attempts to do the same until he realizes one embarrassing factor— he's painfully hard and straining against his black slacks.
Quickly putting on his apron, he hopes it's enough to conceal himself as his employees traipse through the kitchen, acting blissfully unaware as if it wasn't obvious enough of what was transpiring behind those heavy double doors.
He wants to check in you, and make sure you're okay— but he knows better. He knows you won't want to talk to him about it now, the way you ran off with your tail between your legs like a kicked puppy made it impossible to think otherwise.
He's worried that he's ruined the chance for you to come with him to Roppongi, because it was something both of you could benefit from to improve your businesses— whether you'd take the trip as work partners, friends, or maybe something more... though, he supposes he's ruined any chance of that as well. It was too soon for him to make a move, but frustratingly enough, it wasn't something he could take back.
He shakes off the thought, diligently getting back to work as he tosses the soiled batch of mayo into the garbage, when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He checks the notification, surprised to see that it's a text from you:
I'll go.