[There's no way to interpret Ushijima's explanation as anything other than implying Sakusa is what he needs and wants, and while Sakusa's not the type to get riled up by compliments, Ushijima's sincerity will always fluster him. The blush on his cheek remains light, but the tips of his ears and neck darken. If Ushijima squints, he might even see an upward tick of the edges of Sakusa's lips, like he's smiling to himself.]

It doesn't bother me. The smaller the portions, the higher the quality. That's how it usually is at places like this, right? If not, then they're scamming you.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. If it's not enough or tastes bad, we can just go home and eat something else.

[So what if wait staff overheard his rude remarks while passing by their table? Sakusa's not impressed by things like the calmari costing more than an ikazaya's entire check or how perfectly angled the tuna pillowed on their greens is. As long as it's healthy and safe to eat, Sakusa's fine with it. Tastes are fleeting and food is just nutrients.

Despite his judgements, he does have impeccable table manners, more from keeping himself and his clothing clean rather than respect. He tosses his tie over a shoulder, rolls up his sleeves, and spreads a napkin over his lap before even reaching for a fork. It takes Sakusa longer than it probably should to inspect and prod at a plateful of shredded greens and fish, but he manages to get it into his mouth, chews slow and deliberate. After swallowing, he pats his mouth with a napkin he brought himself and gives a single, curt nod of approval.]

We can stay. But if the main course is just as small, we should order more.

[The menu wasn't created with professional athletes in mind, after all.]