| [Oct. 20th, 2009|05:19 pm] |
Ginta peered inside the bag, broke into a delighted grin, and extracted a faintly steaming, pillowy white pork bun. "They don't," he agreed. "It's a crime. Someone should tell the Hokage and the village council. I mean look at this." He pushed the bed table still holding its tray of unappetizing dinner offerings, rattling the dishes. "I mean, sure, it's probably nutritious. Probably some Akimichi consulted on how much protein and how many carbs and fats an injured shinobi needs to optimize healing, and what's easy to digest, and what will mix okay with pain meds, but a guy's got to want to eat it for it to do him any good."
He bit into the pork bun.
"Ooh, you gof te oms wif gimgeh!"
Hiro's lips twitched up in amusement.
"You got the ones with ginger! These are the best!" Ginta said after he swallowed. "Did I tell you I like ginger before? Or did you just figure it out because I like my noodles extra spicy. Well, a little spicy. Spicier than yours, anyway."
He laughed at the memory. Too much pepper in his ramen, juggling condiments at the counter, flirting with Hiro in the street, trying to coax a blush onto those aristocratic Hyuuga cheeks. Discovering they'd met before, long before Ginta had ever met Hatake Kakashi. Kakashi who...
Who he didn't need to worry about right now. He had Hiro here. Hiro who had come to visit. His eyes lit with a spark that had been entirely missing since the day he'd left on that mission to Komatsuyama.
"You look good in civvies," Ginta said, waving the half-eaten pork bun in the air. Hiro's clothes were well-tailored, if subdued. A close-fitting black turtleneck with a sophisticated pattern to the weave. Black pants cut stylishly slim. "Did you dress up to come see me? How'd you know I was here, anyway? I thought the only ones who knew were my mom and grandma. Well, and Intel. But that's not your division, I thought." |
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