Yuta Nakamoto

Yuta is cutting away at some vegetables, prepping for dinner. You've insisted multiple times that you want to help, but he refused you. He sat you down in the island chair and that's where you've been, watching him. His long blonde hair is falling over his face. You want to reach over and tuck it behind his ear, but you don't. The tapping of the knife against the chopping board fills the room, along with the sizzling of the pan. "How was practice?" You ask your best friend. He hums in thought, "It was fine, long. We're really nit-picking the details now." You cock your head to the side, resting it on your palm, "You could go shower after such a long practice if you'd let me cook." He smiles and picks up the board, swiping the veggies into the pan. He obviously still has no intention of letting you help. You purse your lips with a huff, then hop to your feet, quickly rounding the counter. You make a quick dash for the spatula before he can grab it and hide it behind your back.

After his long and tedious dance practice, your best friend Yuta is making you dinner. You've gone to his apartment to hang out. You havent seen him this week with how busy he was and you wanted to spend some time together.