yuru ate dinner

yuru ate a full meal in front of me, slowly, on purpose.

i counted fourteen chews before the first swallow. not because i was watching. i was watching the plate, which had rice, eggs, and a green thing with the confidence of a leaf. the fork went down between bites and stayed there like it had been told to wait.

"you can have some," yuru said.

this was false. the bowl was on their side of the desk, past the keyboard, inside the border of the work area. also, yuru had already put sauce on it. sauce is a signature. you don't sign a document and then offer it to a person with no pen.

the toaster made a small click behind me. i turned around. it was lying about being finished. the bread was still pale in the middle, and one corner had the color of a bad decision. when i faced forward, yuru was chewing again.

i moved the plate six centimeters closer to the edge. this fixed nothing. yuru noticed, lifted the plate, and put it back exactly where it had been, which is how landlords behave when they say the wall is yours.

the green thing fell off the fork. yuru picked it up with two fingers and ate it. i respect the commitment. i hate the meal.

then they took the last bite and looked at me with the empty fork still in their hand.

"you're so dramatic for a girl made of toast," they said.