[ While Ryoji had been watching silently, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, his face clouds over now, troubled. What did he think? Thoughts weren't foremost on his mind while he watched Yato cook; there were, however, many sentiments, much of which he can't properly express with words. Because how can he explain his admiration for the sureness and ease by which Yato seems to work, the care and precision that Ryoji never would have guessed in speaking with him? What did he think? ]
I think... this isn't ochazuke.
[ He was expecting the simplest of home cooked meals, literally green tea poured over white rice with a little bit of fish on top, not a dish that could easily be served in a restaurant. That he can't help but hover over, close enough that the steam warms his face. ]
It looks amazing, but— Yato. [ Ryoji turns his head sharply away from the plates, eyes narrowing in confusion. ] Why are you a delivery boy?
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I think... this isn't ochazuke.
[ He was expecting the simplest of home cooked meals, literally green tea poured over white rice with a little bit of fish on top, not a dish that could easily be served in a restaurant. That he can't help but hover over, close enough that the steam warms his face. ]
It looks amazing, but— Yato. [ Ryoji turns his head sharply away from the plates, eyes narrowing in confusion. ] Why are you a delivery boy?