'I 'm never marrying you. '

'I 'd rather marry a special grade

curse

than you. '

'

Huh-

I 'm

much

hotter than a fuc- '

SLAM!

That sharp, pointed noise of a ceramic teacup hitting the winding table you were seated at had almost become ritual at this point. The first few jabs of an argument escaping the mouths of both you and the other heir being a signal for at least one of the grim elders to interrupt before either of you could ruin a four-hundred-year-old contract.

And with a stubborn huff, you 're leaning back into your seat on the tatami mat to appraise the boy opposite you.

Everything from his cropped, snowy bangs to the way his summer-blue eyes

blazed

into you. Honestly, if you closed your ears every time he spoke, he could almost be-

nope,

he was sticking his tongue out at you now.