The staff are dressed in elegant black-and-red kimono-style uniforms. One of them bows deeply and greets me by name.
“Mr. Petrov, welcome back.”
I nod once.
My hand goes to the small of Lucas’s back without thinking—light, just a guide. His body tenses for half a second, then settles.
We head upstairs.
Another man, older, dressed in dark robes, is waiting. He bows and slides the door open to a private room.
Four chairs. Low-polished table. Tatami-style floors softened with modern cushions. The air is warmer here, lit by a single light fixture hanging low over the center.
I pull out a chair for Lucas.
He hesitates, then sits with a nervous glance toward me.
“Why are we here?” he asks, quietly, like he’s still half-waiting for something to go wrong. I lower myself into the chair across from him.
“To have an early dinner,” I reply.
He blinks, looks at the watch on his wrist, then mumbles,
“Oh.”
There’s a brief silence.
Then, the door slides open again.
Servers come in like a quiet, choreographed dance. They start placing dishes gently across the table—ceramic bowls,delicate platters of sushi and sashimi, steaming sides, a tray of pickled vegetables arranged like art. Another sets down a pot of green tea and pours it into small cups. The last walks up with a large, deep bowl and gently sets it in front of Lucas.
A soft plume of steam rises from it. The scent of spice and sesame hits instantly.
“This is tantanmen ramen,” the server explains with a practiced tone, smiling at Lucas. “Mild spice, creamy broth. I am sure you will enjoy it.”
I glance at Lucas as his eyes widen, slowly shifting over every platter laid in front of him. He looks stunned. Lost in rows of delicate rolls and nigiri arranged like art.
He looks back up at me and blinks,
“You know how to use chopsticks?” I ask
He hesitates, then nods,
“Go ahead then,”
He let out a deep breath, taking his chopsticks and picking up a tempura roll carefully.
He puts the roll in his mouth and chews
His eyes widen.
Then closes.
And he makes a sound, a small, soft moan, deep in his throat, like it slips out without permission. My jaw tightens so fast I almost feel it crack, and my tongue presses against the roof of my mouth.
Fuck.
It’s stupid how fast my brain goes there. The memory hits like a punch—his body pressed to mine, those hips rolling slow, that same sound spilling from his mouth as he gripped my shoulders like he’d drown without it.
