᪤ michael kaiser x reader ╱ he threw out your tea…by accident, he says…
“where is my tea.”
“huh?” kaiser turns his head to look at you from where he sat on the couch doing something on his phone. his gaze drifts over you, standing in the the doorway to the living room.
“don’t act stupid, where is my tea.” you repeat your question.
he raises his brow in confusion. “what tea?”
“the tea, that i bought yesterday at the farmers market, in the little red baggy.” that’s when michael recalls this morning when he was hovering over the kitchen counter looking for something he can’t remember now and coming across a little red mesh bag with a matching ruby lace string around the top of it binding it close.
“that was tea?!” he says, surprised. an irritated expression making its way onto your face
“yes?” you say, like it wasn’t obvious that that, in fact, was tea—expensive one at that. herbs straight from china; a smokey aroma with orangey undertones. you were so excited to try it when you smelt it at the market. only to find out that it had disappeared the next morning, when you were all ready to brew it in a white ceramic cup with a floral design decorating the outside.
“i threw it out, looked like dirt to me.” dread filled the pit of your stomach and your heart dropped into the pool of horror. and he says it like its whatever. your anguished, fuming with anger, but you need to stay cool, calm, and collected or micheal would say something that will—without a doubt—make you 10 times more angrier.
“dirt? have you never seen tea before?”
“no tea looks like that,” he replies, softly rolling his eyes before going back to look at his phone.
“what do you think is inside of tea bags? dumbass.” you display attitude to his clear stupidity.
“i know what’s inside of tea bags. i just didn’t know that that was what it was.” he looks back at you, offended that you could ever call him such a word. “i’m not dumb, or an ass.”
“yes, yes, you are,” you nod, practically laughing at how hard he’s trying to find words to defend himself, but before he even gets to say anything else you speak, “i don’t even want to argue with you about this because apparently you don’t know what tea looks like.”
and at that you walk away, still overcome with anger that he threw away your tea. you’ll pay for this, you think to yourself. as you leave the living room with a gust of annoyance trailing behind you, kaiser whispers to himself, repeating his last words to you, “…i’m not dumb.”
—
a week later you were joyous to see that there was a package delivered to your home with many different herbal teas. all kinds that you saw at the market that day but didn’t get.
