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sometimes on sundays you like to go to that coffee shop.
the one where satoru for the first time dramatically got down on one knee, proposing to you. but not really asking for your hand in marriage — you were already married.
he wanted ovations, he wanted people to clap, and he wanted a free dessert.
it’s not like he can’t afford a sweet treat, in fact he can afford all the sweet treats in the world, but that’s just how the guy you married is. he’s constantly putting you through tricky, impromptu situations, as if to test you on purpose.
anyway, it worked — it had to, because you must have fast and at least somewhat adequate reactions when you decide to marry a man like him.
people clapped, he got the cake — he ate the cake. the owner of the coffee shop proclaimed that very table you occupied yours — it was the very first proposal in the history of the cafe, a special occasion that needed to be celebrated and remembered. so the owner said, “this table will always be reserved for you on sundays” (it was a sunday that day)
so, every now and then you like to go there. it was a cozy spot, besides all the staff knew you already. they knew your orders by heart, too.
but today there’s a new guy working on the counter, taking orders. a newbie that’s clueless. so clueless, in fact, that he has the audacity to stare at you while you’re sitting on the table, waiting for your husband to bring your drinks.
satoru turns around and looks over his shoulder — to follow the direction of the newbie’s gaze, to double check if he’s indeed really staring at you.
what a mishap — he indeed is.
“pretty, huh?”, satoru casually asks the guy.
“yeah”, the newbie’s face gets visibly hot, the blush stretches from his cheeks straight to his ears. “really pretty. maybe i’ll slide her a tissue when she comes over, with my number written on it — i’ve seen it in the movies”, he chimes, excited and visibly very smitten.
satoru laughs. “good luck with that”
the boy on the counter thanks, he thinks those are words of encouragement, but in reality those words were a dare thrown at him — he was just too painfully naive and clueless yet to understand.
“oh— do you want me to write your names on the cups?”, the boy points at the beverages in front of him.
“yea, sure— that’d be mr. gojo and mrs. gojo”
satoru takes the cups and slowly makes his way to the table.
in an obnoxiously loud voice he speaks, “here, my love — this one’s for you. careful not to burn your tongue, sweetness”, all while, of course, heavily stressing on the terms of endearment — to make a statement, in case the names on the cups and his actions weren’t clear enough to get the point across — and continuously starting at the guy on the counter with brick-red bloodlust.
yeah? i dare you. i fucking dare you.