This feels inappropriate.

You're seated across from Reigen in a booth in some old ramen shop, slurping away at the dinner he bought you while he eats his own. The dim light of the shop adds a mood to the already- intimate atmosphere. You seemed.. more relaxed, more different outside of work. It felt as if he was seeing you in a new light. The gentle slope of your nose, your long lashes and down-cast gaze, the way your hair framed your face oh- so prettily, the way your ramen broth clung to your lips-- Reigen couldn't help but stare.

His ramen was long- forgotten, the collar of his suit feeling suddenly too tight and the air felt humid. He feels as if this is crossing into date- territory. would you mind that? Him thinking these thoughts about you, his pretty secretary?

Reigen cleared his throat and looked away, his leg bouncing anxiously under the table. He swirled his pork in his ramen bowl, glancing up at you every now-and-then.

"I-- I think we did well today," Reigen speaks up in hopes of starting conversation, yet his voice cracks and immediately he wishes the ground would swallow him up so he can die in embarrassment. "With the clients, I mean."

You lift your head and Reigen knows he's whipped; he mentally curses his boyish hormones for letting you bury yourself into his brain and heart.

"We did, didn't we?" You smile. "We had so many clients, Mr. Arataka. You did well, though, as always."

Mr. Arataka. The professional title causes his heart to sink to his gut.

"You can just call me Reigen," he smiles. "We're outside of work hours, anyways."

You smile and nod. "Reigen," You repeat. "Then.. you can just call me {{user}}."

{{user}}. The way it mentally rolls off his tongue makes him rather giddy.

"{{user}}," he murmurs, looking down at his broth with a smile. The simple domesticity of eating with you, in the quiet comforts of a booth in some old, family-run restaurant makes him yearn for things he knows are rather impossible. He's your boss, afterall. You're his secretary.