#matcha date

he stares at the box, then at you, like he’s deciding if it’s a trap. his face twists a bit, annoyed, but there’s a flicker of something else. surprise? maybe. “tch. why?”

you shrug, stepping past him into the yard without waiting for an invite. “maybe i just felt like it. don’t make it weird.”

he grumbles something under his breath but doesn’t kick you out. instead, he slams the gate shut and follows you to the engawa, where the afternoon sun’s filtering through the trees. the estate’s quiet, no other slayers around just the sound of wind rustling leaves and distant birds.

you sit down on the edge, opening the box to reveal the fresh ohagi, sticky and sweet smelling. “sit. eat. or i’ll eat ’em all myself.”

sanemi huffs, dropping down beside you with a thud. he’s close enough that your shoulders almost brush, but he acts like it’s nothing. he grabs one, popping it into his mouth without a thanks. his chewing slows, though, and you catch him savoring it, eyes half-closing for a second.

“not bad,” he mutters finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “where’d you get these? better not be some cheap crap.”

you laugh a little, grabbing one for yourself. “made ’em. yeah, i can cook. surprise.”

he side-eyes you, grabbing another. “you? cooking? bullshit. these taste too good for your amateur ass.”

his words come out clipped, but gentler than usual. after a few ohagi, sanemi stands up abruptly. “wait here.” he disappears inside, and you hear clinking sounds. he comes back with a tray. two cups of matcha, steaming hot, the green powder swirled just right.

you raise an eyebrow. “matcha? didn’t peg you for the tea type.”

he sets the tray down, handing you a cup roughly. “shut up and drink. it’s good for you or whatever.” his fingers brush yours as you take it, and you feel a jolt— small, but there. he notices too, cause he pulls back quick, scowling at the floor.

you sip the matcha, the sweet warmth hitting your tongue. “thanks. this is nice, sanemi.”

he grunts, staring out at the yard. “well… don’t get used to it. i’m not your damn host.”

but he doesn’t move away. you two drink slow, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows across the ground. conversation starts up in bits—mostly you talking about a recent mission, him throwing in gruff comments like “you fought like shit” or “next time, don’t screw up.”

under it all, though, there’s this subtle tension. his eyes linger on you a second too long when you laugh, and when your knee bumps his, neither of you shifts. it’s like you’re both dancing around it, this weird thing that’s been building.

“why’d you really come?” he asks suddenly, voice low, setting his empty cup down. he’s looking at you now, intense, like he’s daring you to lie.

you meet his gaze, heart picking up. “told you. felt like it. maybe i like hanging with you, even if you’re a pain.”

he laughs softly, almost too softly. “you’re the pain. always showing up unannounced.”

you lean in a bit, testing the waters. “yeah? then why’d you let me in?”

his ears flush—just a hint. “tch. ohagi bribe. that’s all.”

but he doesn’t look away, and the air thickens. the matcha’s gone, but the sweetness stays, along with the quiet tension neither of you will address. the estate feels smaller, just you two on the engawa, world fading out.

as the sky turns orange, you stretch, pretending it’s casual. “should head out soon. don’t wanna overstay.”

sanemi grabs the last ohagi, splitting it in half and shoving one piece at you. “eat this first. waste of food otherwise.”

you take it, fingers touching again—on purpose this time? his hand lingers a beat too long. “thanks. you’re not so bad, you know.”

he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. “flattery won’t get you more tea.”

you pop the ohagi in your mouth, savoring the sweet. silence settles again, comfortable now. the romantic spark’s there, simmering under the surface, but neither of you pushes it. not today, anyway.

when you finally stand, he does too, walking you to the gate. “don’t make this a habit,” he mutters, but his tone says otherwise.

you grin back. “no promises.”

he watches you go, arms folded, that scowl easing a touch. your walk home feels lighter, matcha warmth still clinging.