One drink turned into two; two turned into... maybe four? You had lost count at this point, but the liquid courage was definitely necessary for you to be able to calm your nerves around someone like Kenji Nakamura. When else would you have a chance to meet one of your idols, let alone have him offer to sit in your company and buy you a drink?
His smile was radiant, as expected from someone with money and societal fame— his shoulder length, ebony tresses pulled up neatly together in a bun atop his head, save for a few strands that framed his gorgeously sharp dark brown eyes. His plump lips glossed with the residual of his chilled liquor, bowed cutely above a small beauty mark that sat just beneath the corner of his smirking mouth.
If you had thought he was handsome before, which of course, you did... it didn't hold a candle to how gorgeous he was up close and in person. It made you impeccably nervous to be in the presence of someone like himself, no matter how down to earth he seemed in front of you now.
"So, you said you're here for my culinary workshop?" He asks calmly, the clink of his glass hitting the bar countertop as he sets it down beckons your attention.
You answer him promptly, trying not to show that you've become a bit tipsy trying to keep up with the man who's had just as many drinks as you, but otherwise seems unfazed.
"Yes, that's right." You smile, fingers curled deftly around your glass as you watch the ice melt into the remainder of your drink.
"Well, I'm glad— means I'll be able to see you again." He smiles back, making quick work of scanning your body with a flicker of his pretty eyes, before settling on the plush of your thighs that peek underneath the comfortable shorts you chose to wear for the drive up here.
You catch his eye sight, wondering if he's judging you for your choice of clothing rather than admiring your form, but you try not to let your confidence falter— even if it's practically nonexistent in this situation.
He pauses to take a look at his watch, lips curling into a slight frown as he realizes what time it is. Pulling out a black card from his wallet, he places it on the countertop as he grabs the bartender's attention.
"Please, put all of her drinks on my tab." He says, to which the attendant simply nods in agreement as Nakamura focuses his attention on you once more.
"It was nice meeting you, gorgeous. Unfortunately it's getting late and we both have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning." He chuckles, offering his hand out to you as you wobble off of the bar stool— the effects of the alcohol you've ingested finally hitting you as you attempt to stand up straight.
"Nice meeting you too, looking forward to seeing you tomorrow." You respond, grabbing your bag before you down the rest of your drink, especially not wanting to waste a single drop of someone else's dime.
"I can walk you up to your room, assuming you're staying here as well?" He offers, standing tall beside you as he holds out a tattooed arm for your grasp. It's hard not to gawk at his large form; admittedly he appeared much shorter on television.
"I think I can manage, thank you though." You respond, worried you'll somehow embarrass yourself if you spend another minute further with him.
"You sure? At least let me walk you to the elevator." He persists, and you hesitantly agree, figuring that it couldn't hurt to let him escort you just a few feet further.
Your journey to the elevator is a peculiar one— almost everyone in the lobby stops to glance at the two of you with every step that you take. You figure it can only be because you're with someone like Kenji, especially at a prestigious hotel in Roppongi where he owns several upscale restaurants. Fame has its perks, surely; but you weren't exactly comfortable with all the attention you were receiving by just simply being there in his presence.
He doesn't seem to mind, and you chalked it up to the fact that he's undoubtedly used to this sort of behavior. He even smiles calmly while he presses the button to open the elevator, allowing you to enter first once the doors slide open.
"Which floor?" He asks, leaning up against the railing as he awaits your response.
"Oh— uhh, six. I think." Your mind is a hazy with a pleasant buzz, but at least you're able to maintain most of your composure. "Yeah, floor six."
"Alright, got it." He chuckles, pressing the 'six' button, as well as the 'ten' to indicate his own stop.
The ride up is mostly silent, you're beginning to feel a bit awkward as the the alcohol continues to warm your body from the inside out. You would attempt to make small talk, but you couldn't bank on not saying anything weird or embarrassing without being in your sober state of mind. You decide to check your phone to alleviate the tension, frowning upon pulling it out of your bag to find 6 missed calls from Osamu.
Shoving it into your pocket, you're reminded of why you went out in the first place. Truthfully, you were dreading to head back into that mess with him— lately he had become a soul sucking parasite that you couldn't seem to get rid of, one that you were definitely stuck with now that you agreed to work with him. Why did you even decide to come on this trip?
The answer was standing right across from you, with broad muscular shoulders leaning against the walls of the elevator, of course. Being able to learn from your favorite chef was more than enough reason to deal with Osamu for the weekend— especially if it lead to encounters like this; but maybe with a little less alcohol next time.
The elevator chimes as it comes to a halt, the number six highlighted in bright yellow as the doors slide open.
"Thank you, I appreciate you keeping me company today." You smile, attempting to look effortlessly graceful as you step out, before almost losing your balance.
"Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow." He responds, giving a small wave and a sly smirk just before the doors shut once more.
You immediately let out an exasperated sigh once the coast was clear— finally able to drop your decorum and allow yourself to be the tipsy mess that you were... for the time being, anyways. You still had Osamu to deal with unfortunately, hopefully he wouldn't be up your ass once you walk through the door; especially since there was nothing that could ruin your mood right now after meeting chef Nakamura.
You were on cloud nine, practically floating all the way to your hotel room.
Fumbling to find the key card in your bag, you impatiently give up in drunken frustration and instead, opt to just carefully knock on the door. Your knuckles tap away at the hardwood— you're able to make out faint rustling from the other side as heavy footsteps approach.
The door swings open, and you spot a very grumpy looking Miya. A shirtless one, at that. It takes you by surprise at first, your inability to stop your boozy eyesight from staring at his well-toned physique is very much apparent at this moment. If you had any inhibition left you would have at least attempted to look away... maybe.
"Where the fuck have ya' been?!" He scolds, brows furrowing as you walk past him seemingly unfazed. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?!"
"Sorry dad, didn't realize I had a curfew." You snort, throwing your bag onto the table and beginning to take off your shoes. "Am in trouble?"
"This is serious, y/n! Don't ya' realize how late it is? You've been gone all evening!" He continues, following you into the bedroom where you carelessly flop onto the bed with a dopey, love-sick expression on your face.
"Oh my god 'samu, I think I'm in looovee." You joke with a giggle, unable to contain your girlish tendency to gossip about your meeting with Kenji.
"The fuck are you talkin' about? Are you even listening' to me?" He gripes, becoming all too aware of your intoxicated state. "Y/n, it's not safe for you to go out all alone and get drunk on the streets of Roppongi, how irresponsible can ya' be—"
"Just shut up and let me finish!" You sit up, wide eyed and excitedly gleaming with interest as you pull him to sit beside you. "Guess who I met at the bar downstairs!"
He rolls his eyes, but ultimately decides to play along.
"Alright, tell me. Who?"
"Chef Nakamura!!" You shout, a cute little bounce in your step as you get up to pace around the room while you finish your drunken ramble.
"He's so much more handsome in person 'samu— he called me beautiful! Do you think he's just sayin' that or is he into me? He bought me a few drinks and we spent the night talking and ohhh my god he smells so fucking good. DID YOU KNOW THAT HE'S TALL?! I thought he was short but he's sooo big, maybe even bigger than you!"
Osamu starts to tune you out, his brows furrowed as he takes in the information that you've shared with him. He feels a pang of discomfort— not sure if he's jealous that you got to meet Kenji before him, or if he's jealous of the way that you're absolutely smitten with the guy.
"Okay that's enough, get into bed and go to sleep." He grumbles, a bitter lilt to his tone as he cuts you off and heads over to the couch.
"What? Don't you wanna hear what else happened? He said—"
"I don't give a shit what he said, y/n. I'm tired and I wanna go to sleep."
You pout, flopping back down onto the bed. The sheets are mussed, no doubt Osamu had been sleeping here during your absence. With your face squished into the pillow, you can even smell a faint hint of his freshly scented body wash that's clung to the fabric.
"You don't have to be so sensitive." You retort, voice muffled but still very much audible.
"Sensitive? That's real funny coming from you." He spits, sitting back up with a scowl on his face. "If I'm being 'sensitive' it's only cus you had me worried sick about you all night, while you were kicking back drinks with Kenji Nakamura and couldn't bother to pick up the phone to let me know that you were okay! Can't believe you'd be so fuckin' careless."
His words hit you a little harder than you expected. Maybe he was right, but the alcohol swimming through your veins wouldn't allow you to drop it.
"Why did you even invite me then? Maybe you should've just brought that other girl with you."
Oh— where did that come from? You hardly even noticed that you'd added that last bitter note, until the words left your pouted lips.
He frowns, growing increasingly more upset with every word you say. He knows you're drunk and that maybe you don't exactly mean the things you're saying to him right now, but he can't help the fact that he's actually... hurt.
"Maybe I should have, then I wouldn't have to deal with yer bullshit."
Ouch; not the response you were expecting, but it shouldn't have come as a surprise. The two of you say stuff like this to each other all the time— hurling insults back and forth wasn't anything new. So, why did it feel so different this time?
"Fine, since you hate me so much and can't stand to deal with my 'bullshit,' I'll just leave." You spit, swiftly replacing your sadness with anger, not wanting to spill tears in-front of him yet again. "Maybe you'll be able enjoy your all expenses paid honeymoon suite with her and finally get some pussy in your lifetime."
You stomp over to your suitcase that you thankfully didn't even begin to unpack— but Osamu is quick on his feet when he stops you with a large hand wrapped around your wrist.
"What's gotten into you? One minute you're kissin' me and the next you're all pissy and fightin' with me." He's genuine when he asks this question, it's vague but loaded with an interpretation that you don't feel like deciphering right now. He wants to know more than you're willing to say, and that just won't happen this time.
"Let go."
You wobble as you attempt to wriggle from his grasp, not wanting to make eye contact because you know it might ruin your facade.
"Look at me, please."
His tone is much softer this time, so you hesitantly obey. He stares into your glassy eyes— your lashes wet with the tears that stain your waterline. It reminds him that you're not sober right now, so he simply sighs and relinquishes his hold on you. This type of conversation isn't one that he can have when you aren't fully coherent.
"It's late, y/n. You're drunk and ya' need to sleep it off. If you still wanna go home when you wake up, I'll take ya' back."
You really can't argue with him after he looks so defeated. Without saying a word, you brush past him and curl yourself into the silky sheets that embrace you like a warm hug that you desperately needed right now.
Once he's sure you're settled and conciliated, he shuts the light off, begrudgingly making his way to the couch that's much too small for his limbs to fit comfortably. He shuts his eyes, desperately wanting to doze off and forget this night ever happened— but even as heavy as his lids are, he just can't sleep without some sort of consolation.
"Y/n... you sleepin'?"
"...no"
"Just wanted to say that I invited you cus I wanted to experience this with you. Yuki's my best friend but we don't connect in this way... not like me and you." He pauses, unsure if he should even continue or if you even care about what he's saying. Reluctantly, he decides to follow his heart.
"And if it means anything...
I really don't want you to leave."