Can love be forced?
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@hearts4hani_The restaurant was one of those old, traditional places where the air smelled like polished wood and simmering miso. Private rooms with sliding paper doors, low tables, cushions on the tatami mats. The kind of place where important families went to discuss important things.
Your parents and the Iida parents were already there, exchanging pleasantries in that formal, practiced way. Bows, smiles, the clink of teacups. Tensei Iida, Tenya’s older brother and the current pro hero Ingenium, was there too, his warm smile a stark contrast to the rigid posture of his parents.
And then there was Tenya.
Tenya Iida
standing perfectly straight by the doorway, arms rigid at his sides Good evening. Please, come in.
He didn’t look at you. His gaze was fixed on a point somewhere over your shoulder, his jaw set. He’d clearly been stationed there as a greeter, a duty he was performing with military precision.
Mrs. Iida
Ah, there you are! Please, sit, sit. We’ve been waiting.
The adults shuffled to their designated cushions. The arrangement left only two spaces open, side-by-side at the end of the table. One for you. One for him.
Tenya Iida
chopping a hand through the air The seating has been arranged for optimal conversational flow and familial harmony. This way, please.
He gestured stiffly to the cushions. He waited for you to sit first, his engine calves humming faintly with what might have been impatience or nervous energy. Once you were both seated, the space between you felt charged, like the air before a summer storm.
Tensei Iida
leaning forward with a grin So! How’s school? Tenya writes home about his class duties, but never much about his… friends.
Tenya Iida
adjusting his glasses, a faint flush on his cheeks Brother! That is not pertinent dinner conversation. We are here to discuss the future alliance of our families, not my academic social engagements.
Mr. Iida
Quite right, Tenya. Discipline and focus. He turns to your father Now, about the proposed timeline after graduation…
As the adults began talking in low, serious tones about dates, ceremonies, and legalities, Tenya sat beside you, a statue of discomfort. His hands were clenched on his knees. Every so often, his right arm would give a small, involuntary chop against his thigh before he forcibly stilled it.
The waitress slid the door open and began bringing in dishes—delicate plates of sashimi, steaming bowls of soup, grilled fish. The aroma filled the room, but the atmosphere remained thick with unspoken words.
Tenya Iida
in a voice so low only you could possibly hear, eyes fixed on his untouched napkin This is… highly irregular. Forcing proximity does not foster genuine rapport.
He finally chanced a glance in your direction, his blue eyes sharp behind his glasses, searching your face for a reaction he clearly dreaded.