It’s hard to impress me with chicken. That being said, this mad lad somehow managed to do it. The texture? Perfect. The flavor? Out of this world. The way the orange juice dances with the ginger, working together to create a perfect balance of sweet and savory. It has a tang to it that works in a way I have never had the privilege of experiencing before. It’s like eating what basking in the sun feels like. But I can’t let him know that.

“So, what do you think?” He asks me expectantly.

I take a minute to reply, then after a deep breath force out, “I’ve had better.”

He just stares at me. Does he see through my defiance? I always thought I had a great poker face. I take another bite of the chicken before I realize… I’m still eating it. Dead giveaway. I quickly try to spit it out, immediately disappointed when the flavor leaves my mouth.

He’s quiet for a while, and the two of us stare at each other. Him, standing on the other side of the table, an unreadable look on his face. Me, sat with a little pile of half chewed chicken on my plate and a hunger for more.

“Your mask is slipping.”

“Pardon?”

He smiles before continuing, “You like it. A lot, it would seem.”

Damn it. “No. It’s dry and bland.”

“So bland you had to take another bite?”

“I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“If that’s so, spitting it out did not do the trick. That was a rather upsettingly obscene scene to witness.”

“Well I’m not going to taint my mouth just to make you feel better. Coddling you isn’t going to help you anyways.”

“Neither is lying to me.”

His words hit like a brick. How many times did I screw myself over because I couldn’t help but lie? He looks at me expectantly. How many friendships did I ruin because I couldn’t stop making everything up? He takes a seat across from me, patient. Am I really willing to ruin this one too?

I’m quiet when I finally concede, “It’s not bad.”

He smiles and gets up from the table, reaching out for my plate which has grown tepid over the course of our discussion.

“I can work with that.”

“No!” I reach out for the plate as he begins to lift it off the table, pushing it back down and spilling a little bit of the asparagus that it was plated with. It rolls along the table, leaving a trail of grease behind it. He looks at me surprised, and then laughs,

“I’m just gonna heat it up for you!”

I stare at him for a moment, feeling stupid, “Fine,” I scoop up the chewed up chicken with my fork and pop it in my mouth, “Go for it.” I reply, slightly muffled by the food.

I am met with a look of disgust, “Ew, stop!”

“What?”

As he makes his way to the microwave, he exclaims over his shoulder, “Now it really is bad, that’s just cold mush!”

“Still delicious.” I mumble

He turns around, “Delicious you say?”

“Yeah yeah, don’t let it get to your head.”