Tohru asks Hatori what his favorite flavor of onigiri is. Romance if you squint.
Character(s): Hatori, Tohru
Tohru hums a song, molding handfuls; or at least handfuls for her small hands. The rice, salt, and sesame seed form into a complicated triangle shape; courtesy of Tohru's expertise gained from the years. Her fingers are long and thin, and she remembers when her Mother compared them to that of a princess's, soft and smooth.
The aura of maturity reminds him of a mother in her maternity, hopeful and gentle.
Tohru jumps out of her reverie and pales at his voice. She is surprised so easily. It's sheer vibrato is low and intimidating, but he is a kind soul. It's rich and thick; the mellow sounds that erupt for his throat. Tohru sees his eyes, and what is inside those murky windows. Tohru's hand reaches up on her chest, and she breathes a sigh of relief. Hatori is subtly amused, and the tiny upturn of his lips is acceptance enough.
His eyes take a fleeting look at the half-made onigiri in her hands, and he takes an obvious guess. Hatori is not much of a gambler; he preferred the reassurance, like that of which he once felt long ago, "Honda-kun is making lunch?"
Tohru nods with a good-natured smile, "Yes, I am." A moment of silence, and another breath barely passes before bright red is slapped on her cheeks. She raises her head attentively, yet in some sort of anticipation, "What flavor does Hatori-san like in his /onigiri/? I'm afraid I don't know, for Shigure-san, Kyo-kun, Yuki-kun, Hatori-san, and I ate a Western recipe before."
Hatori glances at the /onigiri/, then her ordinary yet suited apron she wears, then the look of innocence and simplicity that makes her the person she is.
"I like it plain."