“no fucking way,” you say, dropping your bag onto the chair pulled out for you, jaw wide open, “miya osamu?”
the man in front of you hides his own surprise with a smile, holding his hand up to you which you shake hesitantly, “y/n l/n.”
now generally, running into your highschool sweetheart wouldn’t demand such a reaction—it happens, awkward grocery store encounters, new year party mishaps, drunken calls and whatnot. you know, the usual. the only difference this time?
you‘re on a blind date.
and it‘s not helping that osamudoesn’t seem to have gotten any less attractive from back then.
but you always keep your word, as does he, so you swallow your shock and sit down.
“so, how’ve ya been?,” he asks, shifting in his seat as you settle in yours, calling for a waiter. “pretty okay!,” you respond, smiling before you turn to order your food—, “just a second.”
he waits as you speak, and you can feelhis eyes on you. osamu’s always had a rather intense gaze (when he wants to), but for some reason, it doesn’t really feel all that uncomfortable.
your eyes follow the waiters roaming around, clinging to every plate of food that seems to reach everytable but yours. it’s awkward, only slightly, because there’s onething on both of your minds.
“you haven’ changed since highschool,” osamu snatches the words from your mouth, taking in how your eyes widen in the most unnoticeable of ways, tongue swiping over your lips as you nod.
“neither have you,“ you say, because while both of you do look slightly more mature, osamu’s laugh sounds just as it did before, the corner of eyes scrunching up in a smile as they always used to.
