kita and his lean, sinewy strength. he hoists bags of rice with ease, only a glimmer of sweat on his brow. he rests them in the cradle of his shoulders—broader than you'd thought, the breadth of them hidden by his loose shirt—as if they're pillows. you watch him disappear into the back.
"yer starin'," osamu says from where he's blank-faced behind the counter.
you scowl. "you did this on purpose," you accuse.
the corner of his lips ticks up.
"you're the worst," you groan, burying your head in your hands. "you didn't even try to introduce me."
"didn't need ya embarrassing me."
osamu raises a brow. "i can take back that free onigiri, then."
you stuff it into your mouth. osamu sighs.
"you and 'tsumu," he mutters. "chew yer food."
you do, all while keeping a protective hand around your second onigiri.
"are you gonna tell me his name?" you ask.
osamu sighs. "'s kita," he says. "he's our old captain."
"kita," you repeat, taking another bite.
you choke on your onigiri. you cough, trying to dislodge the rice from your windpipe.
"are you alright?" kita asks.
he raises an eyebrow. "ya sure?"
"fine," you rasp. "thanks."
he inclines his head to you and glances at osamu. "everything's delivered," he says. "just let me know when ya need more."
osamu nods. "sounds good."
the two men exchange goodbyes as you try to regulate your breathing. kita glances at you as he turns to leave; his amber eyes practically glow in the afternoon light. you look away, your cheeks hot.
the door closes behind him.
"see?" osamu says. "embarrassing."
