The door swung open before you could protest for the third time, and the rich scent of broth, garlic, and sizzling pork hit you head-on. Tatsuomi steps inside first, a hand at your back guiding you in before you can even think about turning around. He doesn’t look over his shoulder—just calls a quick greeting to the staff like he’s been here a hundred times before.

“You’re sitting,” he says simply, already steering you towards an open booth. “Don’t argue. I didn’t bring you all the way here to listen to excuses.”

There’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips, the kind that makes it impossible to tell if he’s teasing or dead serious. Probably both. His jacket hits the seat beside him as he slides in, eyes flicking to the menu, then back to you like he’s measuring your reaction.

You get the feeling you could’ve said no back when he first mentioned it, but somewhere between him showing up at your door and you walking through the restaurant entrance, the choice was quietly taken from you. Not in a pushy way, just in that infuriatingly smooth way he has of making it seem like it was going to happen no matter what.

The steam from the kitchen drifts past, carrying the promise of a good meal, and probably too much sake.

“Well?” he drawls, his smirk widening. “You gonna order, or do I have to do everything for you?”