Obstinate Elitists

23

Stifling a yawn, Ginjirou leaned back on his chair and stretched his arms above. His muscles flexed, showing clear signs of his... attributes, so you hurried to avert your eyes from it. Hand holding a pen and doodling a random stick figure on the textbook, you decided to pay great interest towards that instead. Two hours had gone by already and despite not having done anything physical yet, you were already exhausted. This was going to be quite the long day.

"Alright. I think that's enough for now. Do you want to take a lunch break before we start training?" he suggested, running fingers through his hair. This entire time he kept on making his chair teeter on the two hind legs, which nearly sent you into cardiac arrest each time, because it looked as if he would crash straight to the ground at any given moment. He truly could never give you a break.

"Isn't eating before doing anything physical not good for you?" you protested, glancing upward when he pushed himself from his seat to tower over you.

He merely shrugged, flipping the textbooks shut and cleaning out the desk. "I have a good digestive system, so it matters not to me." Okay, that was a bit too much information there. Your lips curled downward in distaste, to which he shot a cheeky grin at. "Besides, I'm hungry. I'm sure you are too. If you want, we can chill for a while before actually training."

You hated to admit it, but he had a point there. Due to your frenzy about your home situation, you realized that you hadn't eaten anything at all before coming here. That was a stupid outlook on your part. Stomach growling like a beast within, you were without a doubt as hungry as he was, if not more. It would be worse to train on an empty stomach -- you'd rather feel sick from food than faint from the lack of food. Finally giving him a nod of agreement, you stood up as well and followed him out of the bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was as cut-clear clean and bare as a model home. The objects were all hung in the right places, with no junk laid out or even a speck of dust to indicate anyone cooking here. What a strange house. It even made you feel awkward to lay your hands on the flawless counter, the cold surface a forever reminder. It led you to wonder if Ginjirou was ever lonely here. Did he have any siblings? Where were his parents? You would also think there'd be hired staff, considering how rich he was, but alas, there was no one to be seen.

"What would you like to eat?" he asked you, interrupting your line of thought. He wrapped a pink and flower detailed apron around his body, looking oddly adorable all of the sudden. Quick to hide your smile, you cleared your throat and watched as he pulled a pan hanging on the wall.

"Well, what can you make?"

"Pretty much anything," he bragged, jabbing his thumb against his chest. "Believe it or not, my food is the taste of heaven."

Alright. Maybe he should be offered a slice of humble pie. You supposed you would judge him when it was time to actually try his food. "Can you make an omelet then? I kind of want rice too. I can help you out on that."

He nodded energetically and skillfully maneuvered around the space, fetching some eggs from the fridge. "Thanks for helping. The bag of rice should be in the pantry."

After that, the room was filled of pure silence, but it was of a comforting one. Busied with tasks, the two of you worked together to make the perfect meal. The sizzling of oil on the pan gave the usually cold kitchen a more homely feeling and the scent of eggs and cooked rice soon filled the air too, making your mouth water.

It was a nice and foreign experience, for even in your previous life, you weren't ever in the kitchen to cook meals with your parents. Too busy with this. Too busy with that. Heart lurching in pain, you blinked back the angry tears. Angry at yourself because you were a terrible daughter. Angry at your goals for turning you blind from what was most important. Angry at the world for taking you away before you could murmur your sorry's.

Soon enough, the food was ready, steaming and ready to be eaten. Ginjirou handed you a plate after scooping a perfectly made omelet onto it. Then you placed rice beside it and headed out into the dining room. Sitting down in front of him, you began to dig in, immediately raising your brows at the first bite. He was not lying at all; the omelet had the right amount of sweetness and saltiness to it, warm and melting upon your tongue. Eating so fast you were barely chewing, you ignored the stare being aimed at you.

"So how do you like it?"

"Decent," you shot back, shoving the food into your mouth so he wouldn't have to make you admit that you enjoyed his cooking.

"Your expression gave it away," he said, humming as he slowly ate his own rice.

Ignoring those words, you swallowed your food down and waited until he was done with his plate. While he went to go wash the dishes, you waited there with a serene smile, sighing at your warm belly. It was surprisingly nice to eat with Ginjirou -- he didn't try to make any snide comments about the way you were eating.

Since the two of you were well fed, he decided to give you a quick tour of where the training session would take place. Leading you down a narrow stairway, you climbed down multiple flights to reach an incredible sight. The entirety of the room was filled of equipment, ready to be used for any type of physical sport. There was a boxing ring right in the middle, targets laid out in the back, wooden swords hung on the wall, and more. It should be expected out of an elite, but it still awed you — a person who used to steer cleer from every game held by the school.

As he pointed out each and every equipment, you listened in obediently, hoping that it would somehow miraculously improve your skills. And soon enough, it was time for the real action, for the food had settled in your stomachs by then.

The next thing you knew, you were standing on the ring, with red gloves on and facing the opponent of a lifetime. Under the brimming lights casting upon the both of you, it was clear to who was going to lose in the next minute. Ginjirou was standing there, stance ready, and even shirtless. Good god, did he take his shirt off on purpose? Either he was still trying to make fun of you for that heart or he was trying to gain an advantage by distracting you. Not that he would need any advantage in the first place.

"Put a shirt back on, won't you?" you grumbled under your breath, not daring to drop your gaze from his face.

"I've been feeling hot," he protested, frowning. Was that supposed to be your problem? "I do my best without a shirt anyway."

Just when you were about to argue, he had jumped forward, at the speed of light. You couldn't even move an inch when he tackled you to the ground, his tan skin brushing you while he held you down. His strong arm wrapped across your shoulders, causing tingles to erupt everywhere. Your face began to flame and you heart started to race. Oh no... what was he doing?!

Jerking away from him as if you had been electrocuted, you whirled up into a sitting position and turned your head away. He couldn't possibly see your flustered state. "We're supposed to be fist fighting! What are you doing, Ginjirou?"

"I can't punch a girl," he explained, scratching his head and lowering his gaze. "I wasn't actually going to fist fight you, so I decided to just give you a small scare instead. It's better if I show and teach you techniques on it."

He was such a fool... but you were an even bigger fool for reacting so strongly to his jokes. Letting out a long sigh, you excused yourself from him, telling him that you needed to use the bathroom. Pulling yourself up, you wobbled from the stage and crept down to the floor level. Walking straight ahead, your head began to clear some more the further you strayed from the boy.

The door locked behind you and you leaned your back against the cool surface. Was it a mistake to come here? You didn't like how humiliating this all was. You didn't like how he teased you with that cheeky smile of his. Nor did you like how you didn't mind his company that much anymore. You especially didn't like the feeling swirling within you at the touch his skin. He was dangerous and you were perhaps heading straight to a death trap.

Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you cringed at the sight of yourself. It was obvious how flustered you were. [e/c] eyes darted back and forth in nervousness and you were biting your lips in a nervous habit. Your cheeks were still warm and your [h/c] hair was all messed up from being knocked off your feet.

"Elites. Are. Crusty." Glaring at yourself through the mirror, you flicked the bird and was finally satisfied. Yes. Elites were indeed crusty. There was no point in getting sidetracked.