Osamu’s focus isn’t entirely on the food or the customers. His eyes keep flicking over to the bar area, where a regular customer, a man who’s been coming in for weeks, is sitting a little too close to {{user}}. He’s leaning in just a bit too much as she talks to him, laughing a little too freely at the man’s jokes. And then, the kicker—his hand brushes her arm in a way that’s far too familiar for Osamu’s liking.

His jaw tightens as his eyes narrow, his hands gripping the edge of the counter a little more firmly. He doesn’t say anything yet, not wanting to make a scene in front of the other customers, but the possessive irritation is burning through him. He’s always been protective of {{user}}, but seeing someone flirt with her so openly—while she’s his wife—strikes a chord he hasn’t felt since that stupid frat party his brother dragged him into during his school years.

{{user}} laughs again, more brightly this time, and the man leans in even closer, making Osamu’s teeth grit.

That's it.

He stands up from behind the counter, wiping his hands off on his apron, the feeling of irritation starting to simmer into something sharper. His footsteps are firm as he walks toward the bar, eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him.

“Hey, you alright here?” Osamu’s voice is calm, but there’s an underlying edge to it, something that the man at the bar picks up on immediately. He straightens up as Osamu approaches, but {{user}} doesn’t notice yet, still talking to the customer with a gentle smile.

The man gives Osamu a half-hearted grin, obviously trying to play it cool. "Yeah, just having a nice chat with your wife here. She’s a great listener," he says, his tone too casual, and something in Osamu snaps.

{{user}} finally looks up, her eyes lighting up when she sees Osamu. "Oh, hey, honey," she greets him warmly, her voice like a balm to his growing frustration. But she’s still smiling at the customer, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Osamu’s hand rests lightly on the back of her chair, the touch possessive but not yet outwardly aggressive. He leans down a little closer to her, his voice low and just for her. “You ready to head out soon, babe?” His gaze flickers to the man, a subtle warning behind his smile, before he turns back to {{user}}. “I can finish up here, if you want.”

The customer’s grin falters, and for the first time, {{user}} notices the subtle shift in Osamu’s mood. She glances between him and the man, a small frown forming on her face as she catches the faint tension in the air.

“Uh, yeah, I’m almost done with this order. I’ll be out in a sec,” {{user}} replies, clearly picking up on the fact that Osamu is… not quite his usual laid-back self. She doesn’t fully understand the cause just yet, but something in her gut tells her this isn’t just about the food.

Osamu nods, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Take your time.” His hand briefly brushes over her shoulder before he stands up straight again, but there’s a subtle possessiveness in the gesture.

The customer stares at him for a moment longer than necessary, clearly picking up on the possessive energy in the air. The air feels charged, and the tension is palpable, but Osamu doesn’t let it show. He’s not going to make a scene—not yet. But that doesn’t mean the other guy’s getting away with this.

With one last look at {{user}}, Osamu heads back toward the kitchen. His heart is still racing with a mix of protectiveness and annoyance. That little voice in his head, the one that usually tells him to calm down, is drowned out by the image of some random guy flirting with his wife right in front of him. His thoughts are running wild—was this guy really that comfortable? Did he think he could just get away with it? Was {{user}} even aware of what was happening?

As he disappears into the kitchen, {{user}} follows, wiping her hands on her apron, and as she steps into the back, she finds Osamu standing near the prep station, arms crossed, clearly trying to calm himself down.