so the sushi place that i went to for dinner is local and small and cute and it was super packed cause friday night, but i got a small table in the back and ate by myself while scribbling down words for daunt’s catboy belated-birthday fic.
dinner turned out delicious, naturally.
green tea. seaweed salad with sesame sauce. dragon roll (shrimp, avocado, eel, soy) — pictured below:
also pictured: the fic
dessert: tempura banana split — tempura fried bananas with red bean and green tea ice cream, hot caramel, candied walnuts, whipped cream and a cherry on top — pictured here:
all of it: fucking delicious. you’re allowed to be jealous.
now, the sushi chef is a big cuddly bear of adorable. i want to pinch his cheeks, and every time i see him, he seems to just really love what he does — like the food and the culture and his customers and all that. i don’t come to this restaurant often because it’s a little expensive for me, but i remember that he likes to sweep through the restaurant every now and then to make sure that his customers are happy with their meal.
SOMEHOW, TONIGHT. I FORGOT THAT WAS A THING.
so i’m sitting there, nomming on my delicious food and writing up catboy scott/stiles porn in a public restaurant, thinking that being in a back table will give me some semblance of privacy. the waitress is too busy to bother reading what i’m writing — taking my order, delivering food and whatnot — but the chef stays for a moment, asks after me, apologizes for disturbing my writing and then goes on his way. i don’t suspect a thing.
THEN. AS I LEAVE.
i’m saying my goodbyes, thanking them for a wonderful meal, wishing them a good night — it’s a small joint okay and it’s the south, everyone’s super nice and friendly.
AND THE CHEF GOES: “YOU’VE GOT REALLY PRETTY HANDWRITING.”
and i’m like “HEE THANKS.” before realizing he might have seen me writing: “SCOTT CONTINUES TO SUCK LAZILY AT STILES’ NIPPLE.”