[What's that? He can't read your meta text over the fact that the meta text was apparently a dick measuring contest, and he always wins those, thanks for playing and good night.]

But it's your afternoon, soap opera-san!

[A smile. A subtle move of his wrist and that trapped hand is further away from the bento than it was. You know. For security.

Because Gintoki seems like he's about to lose. He's going to sneer and reveal his whole plan to snatch some prime morsel from the (top layer of) the (massive) bento, and then he won't have a chance at it until tomorrow. Or the next day. Or in a week or two.

Whenever Kamui next decides to a) show up for class and b) not skip out at lunch time, really.

Oh-! And there goes his desk. Kind of. In a stereotype straight out of any high school television show, the vaguely Chinese Republic of Central Asian transfer student is adept at one or more martial arts. And exhibits that skill with the deft use of chopsticks, usually with pinching insects.

That means the now reaching hand is being snipped at with the chopsticks, for those not following.

And he'll be putting the lid back on the box, so even if that hand makes contact, Gintoki will be manhandling a different peach than originally intended.]

Ah, ah! Careful, careful! It would be a bad afternoon indeed if you knocked over my desk...