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Creator: @intra-fiducia
Recipient: @fortune-maiden
Character(s)/Pairing(s): mild Zundar/OC; Beppu Akihiko, Beppu Haruhiko, Dadacha, Zundar, Zundar’s wife (the OC)
Word Count: 5238
Summary: The road to fame is paved with rude little boys and their beleaguered greenhorn managers.
Comment: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! I’m so glad I got the opportunity to write for you this exchange! You’re constantly reminding me how awesome you are - I wanted to give a bit back to you this holiday season :D Hope you like it!! >.<
He had, technically, signed up for this. On a state-of-the-art, highly-advanced signature pad, at that, with his whiskers pressed against the glassy material so it could scan his DNA signature. He has a contract, neatly typed out, with his full birth name printed in big bold letters alongside the extensive list of duties he is expected to perform in his role as JUNIOR MANAGER.
Dadacha graduated from a prestigious school with top marks in both language and the arts, but he still wonders sometimes whether he had read the words wrong. Perhaps the contract had actually said JUMBLED MOTHER, or JUICY MENAGERIE, or something else he is equally unqualified to be. It would certainly explain how out-of-depth he feels, wringing his paws nervously while the twins make faces into the camera that’s supposed to be filming their video audition.
“We have devoted our whole lives to the pursuit of this,” says Haruhiko, pirouetting around the room. It’s not as bad a start as Dadacha was coming to dread; it’s important to show dedication as an idol, and an appreciation of fans. He does want to tell Haruhiko that the camera only films in one direction – why that is the case, when they have a plethora of highly-advanced technological equipment capable of streaming video across galaxies, is not for Dadacha to explain here. Nevertheless, if Haruhiko continues to whirl around behind the camera like that, his airtime will be more than halved. Time runs short as is; they have only two minutes to impress the looming parakeets who will decide whether BUDGE OVER, BUDGIE (a popular television series pitting young up-and-comings against the veterans of the acting industry in a game vaguely reminiscent of two toddlers throwing a tantrum) will be the stage for the VEPPers’ grand debut.
Currently, their chances are looking very beak. Bleak, Dadacha means to say, bleak. Their chirp-ses – their chances –
Dadacha gives up. There’s a reason he’s not the one trying to talk his way up his superiors’ tail feathers.
“This will be a stepping stone on our path to our greatest desire,” Akihiko is currently saying. That is…slightly less acceptable. Idols, especially junior ones, need to sound grateful, as if every cameo in a Z-1-flick feature documentary is worth a Golden Galaxy award. They will have to do the take again.
“Yes!” breathes Haruhiko.
“Yes!” echoes Akihiko.
They gaze at each other with fond affection, having just wasted ten seconds of their precious two minutes. He’d gone to the trouble of briefing them in detail prior to the shoot, but it looks like his words have gone right over their heads.
“My twins,” he ventures, feebly. As predicted, they brush him off.
“We’re busy, Dadacha.” Haruhiko splays his arms out and hops several steps, disregarding the obvious truth that addressing Dadacha on camera had put the final on the coffin of this sad, failed take. “Aki, how was that?”
Akihiko is sitting on the floor now. He claps rhythmically with his palms, his hands moving on a straight horizontal like one of those Christmas wind-up toys with the tiny cymbals. He is, admittedly, very cute, but as an idol, this is unacceptable. “You were great,” Akihiko reports, making Haru’s flushed face shine with pride. “Of course.”
They launch into a complex sequence of fist bumps and twinkle fingers. It’s one of their forty-two unique secret handshakes, each purposed for a separate occasion. They refuse to tell Dadacha the code.
“My twins,” Dadacha attempts again. They are his charges, and he has a deep, vested interest in their future, but sometimes he just wants to pack them into a shuttle and send them to a galaxy far, far away.
Wait.
“I’ve got it!” he yelps, as the twins launch into another retelling of how the galaxy’s most popular supervillain is going to tuck them into bed someday. “That’s it!”
“We said we’re busy,” Akihiko whines, glaring as if Dadacha is the reason they haven’t yet been offered any roles.
“Dadacha doesn’t understand,” says Haruhiko, leaning his chin on Akihiko’s shoulder. “We’re in the middle of important business right now.”
“Right,” Akihiko agrees emphatically. They do the secret handshake again. Dadacha suspects, from long periods of observation, that this handshake is specifically directed at insulting him.
*
Dadacha’s sister-in-law suggests he read Finding Your True Porpoise, among other popular bestsellers. “A little bit of tough love goes a long way,” she tells him, as they prepare dinner together. “And that’s why Zundar is sleeping outside tonight.”
“Edamame, love of my life, can I at least have my transmitter?” Zundar yells. “I have…I have work to do.”
“I’ve already called Hireashi,” she yells back. “If you end up drinking at his place I’m not letting you back in for a week.”
“It was one time! ‘Mame, I’m trying to compromise here, so give me back my transmitter and I’ll – ”
Edamame rolls her eyes and points at the transmitter, lying safely on the table. “Work, he says.” Her voice is dripping scorn. “Have you seen his transmitter, Dadacha, dearest?”
Dadacha shakes his head. “He never lets me look at it.”
“Typical. He pretends he’s doing work for Hireashi, but the whole thing is packed with junk. He’s been spending all our money on that space station defence game. And that cooking one, too. Can you believe it?” She plunks several carrots into the pot and sighs. “If he wants to cook, he has at least three meals a day to choose from.”
Dadacha tightens his apron strings. “Maybe one day we can all cook together?”
“You’re a dear,” Edamame says fondly, patting his cheek. “If only your older brother was as considerate as you are.” Her voice suddenly swells several decibels louder. “You wouldn’t leave a lady stranded on a red-light planet while you flirt with cabaret girls, would you, dear?”
“I can hear you,” fumes Zundar, from outside. “I can hear you talking about me! And I had a legitimate reason for that, you know; if we’re going to drag up old stories…”
“Well, look at that,” Edamame says, still very loudly. “The soup is looking lovely! Thank you for all your help with it, Dadacha dearest; some people never even ask if I need help. I wonder who that might be!”
“Don’t let her trick you! There are two sides to every story, remember; it’s all about perspective – ”
Zundar sounds ready to start a lecture on viewpoint and characterisation. While Dadacha usually enjoys these talks, he isn’t sure this is the best time to be talking about work-related matters. In view of that, he decides to leave the transmitter on the table. His brother can live one night without his games.
“My plants will die,” Zundar hisses to him, every time he passes the door. “Help me, little brother.”
“You should worry more about your marriage than your plants,” retorts Edamame. She turns to Dadacha. “You see what I mean?”
He does. So he turns apologetically to Zundar, and pretends that his decision to pick Edamame this time wasn’t at all influenced by the lovely-smelling soup bubbling away on the kitchentop.
*
The point of all this is that Dadacha has become, through countless eventful family dinners, an expert on handling one’s husband, but only a theoretical expert on parenting one’s children. Zundar’s kids are younger, mentally, than Akihiko and Haruhiko – as much as he doubts it, sometimes – and, more importantly, they actually respect Dadacha, so many of the techniques he applies to his interactions with Zundar’s kids are utterly useless with the twins. After five careful rereads of Finding Your True Porpoise, Dadacha is convinced that Edamame might be right to suggest some separation.
You can’t hold your pups’ fins forever, the book tells him. Someday, you must allow them to create their own porpoises.
It is with this sentence in mind that Dadacha sits the twins down to confront them.
“I have been reading,” he begins, then trails off at the look of utter disbelief that crosses their faces.
“You can read?” Haruhiko splutters.
Akihiko frowns. “Don’t be silly; of course he can read. Don’t tell me that porpoise book is yours?”
“Oh,” Dadacha says faintly. “You found it.”
“It was terrible,” Haruhiko pronounces.
“It was appalling,” Akihiko proceeds. “I didn’t know squirrels could have porpoise babies.”
Dadacha chokes. “It’s not like that! I’m too young to raise children!”
“How old are you?” asks Haruhiko curiously. “I thought you were at least two hundred.”
“It’s rude to ask people how old they are,” says Akihiko. “It’s okay since it’s Dadacha, though.”
It probably isn’t wise to admit he’s only a couple of years older than them, by human reckoning. They don’t respect him enough as is. One day Dadacha will drop the JUNIOR in his title and become a regular manager, or perhaps even a senior manager, and the twins will still talk to him as if he owes them his career.
He gets a little lonely, thinking about it. At this stage, Dadacha doesn’t have any other clients; he doesn’t have the time, and he’s not experienced enough to handle multiple schedules. Later, when the twins become renowned across the universe, he might not need to take on any other talents. At the very least, Dadacha wants to have a good working relationship with the two of them. In truth?
They’re all he’s got, right now. He’s invested hours and hours into finding them jobs to apply for. Even if he were to release them from contract, nobody would hire a manager who couldn’t secure even a single appearance for his previous clients. Dadacha has poured too much of himself into this relationship to back down now. And for all that Haruhiko tends to the dramatic, and for all that Akihiko likes to laze around, Dadacha honestly believes in the potential he saw when he first met them. He knows they’ll make great idols, with a bit of direction.
“I’ve been reading,” he starts again, “And I think it’s important to get you two some formal idol training. So as a result, the two of you are going to host a four-episode YouStar video series documenting your progress.”
They stare. “What?”
“Think of it as a tour,” Dadacha coaxes. “You’ll get to go all over the galaxy.”
Akihiko freezes. Dadacha has the sinking feeling he’s said something very wrong, but he doesn’t know what; he’s done everything he can to sell this as something good for them, something both fun and beneficial for their careers.
Haruhiko speaks first. “We’re moving?”
“Not permanently,” Dadacha assures him. “It will only take three sun cycles, and I’ll arrange all the particulars to your taste.” Or at least, as much as possible with the sort of non-existent budget allocated to a free-to-air YouStar video series.
“Only three sun cycles,” Akihiko echoes. He appears to be thinking of something, maybe a memory. There is a wistful sadness about his countenance, an expression which makes him look almost fragile.
“I bet it’ll run late,” Haruhiko spits, with an unusual amount of venom. “Dadacha’s the one organising it, after all.”
“I’ve gotten the plans double-checked with some industry leaders,” Dadacha says earnestly. His brother and Hireashi are the best directors he has ever known. “You don’t have to worry about that. And I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Akihiko’s head shoots up. “You will?” he asks, in unison with his younger brother.
Dadacha nods. “I can’t leave my two biggest superstars alone in a foreign galaxy, can I?”
“That would be awful,” Haruhiko agrees dully. Both he and Akihiko still seem distracted, but their shoulders are less tense. Dadacha wonders if they were nervous; neither of them have been outside the galaxy, as far as he knows. They’ve lived on a handful of planets only.
Oh, he thinks, a sudden, startling revelation. He should have been prepared for something like this, he tells himself, chastened by the memory of that barren room and its single, ancient television.
“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” he tells them again, hoping it sinks in deeper this time. “I’ll take care of you.”
*
“A tour, though,” Akihiko says flatly, some time later. They’re seated around the kotatsu grilling wild mushrooms; Dadacha doesn’t care much for all the grey-brown food on Earth, but the twins turn their nose up at anything neon on their plates. “That sounds – ”
“ – horrible,” finishes Haruhiko. “How are we supposed to enjoy anything if we have to explain it for stupid people all the time?”
Really, Dadacha deserves better.
“Your audience is mostly people of average intelligence, like you and me.” He spots his mistake immediately after, so before he can give Haruhiko a chance to cut in with something like no, you don’t qualify, he hastens on to a different topic. “You’ll be briefed on each place beforehand, so all you have to do is share what you find interesting.”
Akihiko crosses his arms. “I won’t find anything interesting if Maximum Gourar isn’t there.”
“Think of it as practice for when you go to meet him,” Dadacha says. He doesn’t want to confirm their suspicious by telling them they’ll have to attend manners class, or go to the gym. He’s still hoping the good food and unique attractions will appeal to them. “You want to show him how much you’ve grown, right?”
The twins nod, slowly, finding each other’s hands for comfort.
“By the time the tour is over, you’ll be able to defeat monsters on your own,” Dadacha continues. It’s rare for the twins to agree with him, so he needs to make the most of this moment. “You’ll be able to protect Maximum Gourar.”
“Maximum Gourar doesn’t need protecting,” they snap, but Haruhiko’s leg bounces excitedly, his eyes glittering with excitement, and Akihiko’s lips curve up in a silent, victorious smile.
*
“They took it well, then,” says Edamame, when Dadacha goes to see her before the trip. “I’m surprised.”
“They’re good boys at heart,” Dadacha tells her. Under the promise of growing strong for Gourar’s sake, the twins had gone into a state of motivated bliss. They kept offering to help prepare for the trip, which Dadacha sincerely appreciated, even if they spent more time staring into space whispering daydreams to one another than actually helping. “They’re cleaning the ship today, ‘Mame-san.”
Her answering smile is gentle. She’s washing quills today, her small paws scrubbing each individual spike with careful strokes. She always insists on doing this by hand, though Zundar had never understood; he tells her he’s fine with using cleaning gels. They’re faster, and more efficient. Edamame had yelled at him for that, their conversation spiralling into the usual argument, and Zundar rarely brings it up anymore, though he always grumbles about having to take his coat off every time he cleans up.
“You have to be careful with quills,” Edamame had explained to Dadacha. “That boar thinks it’s fine if one breaks, because he has so many. Isn’t that terrible?”
“He has a very nice coat,” Dadacha agreed. It would be a waste if his brother went prematurely bald; it was a common problem for those with delicate coats. Dadacha’s own is short and soft. It’s durable, and regrows well. He had picked it himself, thinking of Edamame and her children, and the distinct lack of softness around them. Now, he’s glad of his decision. The twins have soft, silken coats of their own, though as Earthlings, they can’t remove them. Still, they have always seemed hard somehow, like icy tundras, and Dadacha can’t help wanting to ease them with warm cocoa.
He looks at his own paws, feeling incredibly clumsy all of a sudden. He isn’t able to wash quills as skilfully as Edamame, nor can he comfort his twins with the same grace she juggles her children. “I need this to go well,” he tells her in a small voice. He wants the twins to find something they can do; he wants them to have some way of spending their time that isn’t simply longing for the past.
Without realising it, he has slipped into a reverie. When he shakes himself out of it, Edamame is watching him, carefully, with the same attention she gives her youngest when he comes to her sobbing over a grazed nose. “Dadacha,” she says, “these boys are your clients, are they not?”
It throws him. “Well, yes,” he babbles, uncertain, “but they’re so young, ‘Mame-san, and they wouldn’t do well in a training school with lots of other people around. They’re human, you know.”
In a universe filled with bright yellow swans and moss-green mice, Earth is unique. Its inhabitants sequester themselves away, oblivious to the busy traffic on nearby planets. It grows locals who can’t change their skins; who have rainbow stripes of colour variation within individuals as well as within species. Dadacha has only ever worn green, but he has dressed Akihiko and Haruhiko in everything from plush silver furs to smooth black leather, and all of it suits them.
This is a selling point, he knows. His heart recoils at the phrasing.
“Dadacha,” Edamame says again, “if you want this to be a learning experience for them, and not simply a paid holiday, you need to learn to step back and let them find things out for themselves.”
Dadacha curls in on himself and rolls around the floor for a bit. “It’s just hard,” he says, knowing she’ll understand. There’s a difference, too, between stepping back and retreating completely. Dadacha would much rather err on the side of caution, staying too close and risking the burn from it. He gets anxious the moment he distances himself; he has the unsettling thought that if he steps too far out he’ll throw the balance between them, like a planet lost in orbit, hurtling out of position at speeds too fast to survive.
Beside him, Edamame finishes with the washing. Zundar pads into the room to collect it, looking shockingly small without his coat. “Make sure you polish them every day,” Edamame reminds him. It’s a conversation they’ve had time after time. “Especially in your line of work.”
Zundar’s coat is specially altered, the hollow space in his quills filled with digitised liquid. He can program it for a multitude of purposes, the most famous being his eponymous Zundar needle in cult hit CIDE. Edamame often snaps, while they’re arguing, that she wishes he could use his needles for more practical purposes, like flavouring curries, or setting reminders for himself so he doesn’t forget to pay the bills.
“I know,” Zundar snaps, shuffling out of the room before Edamame can berate him for his tone. He doesn’t thank her for her service.
“A little gratitude would be appreciated,” Edamame calls after him. She looks abruptly weary, her voice lacking its usual bite. She smiles tightly at Dadacha, who has watched the two of them for years; he was there when Zundar asked for her paw in marriage after a theatrical adaption of the galaxy’s greatest love story. That memory fades more each time they fight. “It’s hard,” whispers Edamame, echoing Dadacha’s earlier words. She had understood him, and he understands her now.
He must succeed. He wants to show her there is reason to persist.
*
Their first stop is the Norma cluster, a relatively peaceful slice of space not too distant from Andromeda. “I have a friend here who’s willing to teach the two of you,” explains Dadacha. “You’ll be learning how to use all the moves Maximum Gourar used against the monsters that threatened Earth.”
And more, he doesn’t add, because Maximum Gourar had really only used very basic axe skills, and if the twins are to take up acting eventually, they will need to learn how to feint, and block, and how to hit without actually wounding their sparring partner.
“You have friends?” the twins screech.
He should probably have expected that. “I don’t know what you two think of me,” he mourns. “I have a perfectly healthy social life.”
They regard him with mirroring expressions of shock and suspicion. “You don’t…” Akihiko starts, then swallows. “You don’t have…”
“…grandchildren, or anything, do you?” finishes Haruhiko. His eyes are very wide.
“I told you I don’t even have children,” Dadacha says in horror, hoping they don’t start asking more questions about his personal life. He’s happy to tell them about Zundar and Edamame; he’s hoping to bring them for dinner someday, and to have them star in one of Zundar’s shows, when his brother reclaims his former prestige. He just isn’t in the mood for having them laugh at all his awkward school days. He needs every last shred of respect he can salvage from these two.
If there’s one thing Dadacha has confidence in, it’s his contacts – even after his brother’s fall from grace, Dadacha has kept in touch with no small number of industry greats. He has a standing invitation to tea at the Pink Flamingo, and the president of SBS (Space Broadcasting Station; long-time rival of TV Uchyuu) is indebted to him following a dramatic incident involving the president’s son and a reasonably challenging maths textbook.
“That reminds me.” Akihiko scrunches his nose thoughtfully. “You never did tell us how old you are.”
“You don’t need to know that sort of thing,” Dadacha says hastily. “Oh, look! We’re almost there!”
*
A little under three months since they left Andromeda, and the VEPPers are equipped with a wide variety of useful talents. Their on-screen manner has improved by leaps and bounds; it’s light years ahead of their competition’s. They have attracted a small but devoted following on YouStar, with their videos consistently ranking in the weekly top hundred.
Dadacha remembers the early days with fondness, now that he’s sure he won’t have to experience anything of the sort. He’s just returned from a meeting with the Head Poncho of GTV (Galaxy TV; not-so-long-time self-proclaimed rival of both SBS and TV-U) and he’s fairly confident they’ll be receiving an offer to film season six of Nyan Nyan Paradise sometime soon. The cat ears will look wonderful on his twins; he can’t wait to tell them the news.
The camcorder shakes as Haruhiko hoists it over his shoulder, zooming onto Akihiko’s quavering smirk. “We’re at day eighty-three on our tour of the Hydra-Centaurus Supercluster,” Akihiko narrates. “At our manager’s request, we’ll be stopping by the Centaurus group to immerse ourselves in the local culture, which involves lots of foal-ish horsing around.”
What.
“It looks like rein over the horizon as we come up against our next destination, H-double-zero-F-dash-A-dash-N-one-C-three-D-A-Y.” Haruhiko pauses here to take a deep breath. “Or, as the people call it, H00F-A-N1C3-DAY.”
“Cut,” Dadacha pleads, covering his eyes with his paws. “What’s going on with the two of you today?”
They turn to him with wide, guileless expressions. Their months of hard work have certainly paid off; if Dadacha wasn’t so familiar with him, he might have been fooled. As things are, he is overly familiar with the twin sparks of mischief in their eyes.
“We’re boar-d,” Akihiko whines, poking Dadacha in the stomach. He squeaks and jumps – right into Haruhiko’s palms.
Haruhiko leans in close. “Are we there yet?”
“Almost,” Dadacha says. It’s the fourth time he’s answered this question in ten minutes.
“It’s been ten minutes since I last asked,” Haruhiko complains. “I’m beginning to think you…glide to me.”
He shares a high-five with Akihiko. Their celebrations are muted compared to three months ago. Dadacha hasn’t seen any of their secret handshakes since they left the Great Attractor. Every gesture has a meaning, there; every subtle body movement speaks volumes. Three volumes, to be precise, at maximum; the act of pointing at one’s navel whilst stomping with the left food is symbolic of an ancient classic, over sixty-thousand Earth words in length.
Dadacha flaps his arms in agitation. “Ten minutes is almost,” he protests. “Now we’re even more almost there. And stop that.”
“Stop what?” Haruhiko asks innocently.
“We’ve discussed this,” moans Dadacha. “Poor puns are off-limits. They’re out of vogue.”
“You wouldn’t know vogue if we showed up on the front cover of it,” Akihiko tells him scornfully, though the amusement in his voice doesn’t sound that hostile. “Everyone loves puns. They’re punny.”
Are you a child, Dadacha wants to ask, except, yes, they are. He’s struck all over again by how young they are – he himself is fresh out of school, but every year seems an eternity, at their age. “I suppose we can use this as bonus footage,” he allows, imagining a quirky BTS series to parallel the main show. He’s certain that Andromeda will find the twins as endearing as he does, in spite of the fixation on Maximum Gourar. He hasn’t even received any complaints yet from offended parents, berating him for allowing role models to endorse galactic supervillains.
If he does receive such a complaint, does that mean they’ve made it?
He has little time to consider this. H00F-A-N1C3-DAY looms before them. They pass through the atmosphere with little fuss – Dadacha knows the officer on duty, and they don’t even have to show proof of identity. Before long, they’re seated at a U-shaped table, sipping barley tea and dining on exquisite hay-roasted cuisine.
“Please pass on our compliments to the chef,” say Akihiko and Haruhiko, in angelic harmony. They wipe their mouths delicately, place their forks down with a minimum of noise, and sit with their hands folded in their laps.
Perfect, Dadacha thinks. He waves the chef over – Hoarse Hugh; another old friend of his – and the twins conduct a well-mannered interview, steering the conversation with admirable professionalism. They act far more mature than Dadacha knows them to be.
If he is being honest, even this makes his chest ache.
I’m trying to cherish these moments while I still have them, Edamame had confided to him, one rare occasion, watching Zundar chase the children around the house.
Dadacha’s heartbeat quickens. He thinks back to disastrous audition tapes, stashed away in their spaceship’s secret library. If the twins’ propriety eventually spreads to their private life too, Dadacha at least has those tapes. He thinks he might even be able to keep up with one or two of their secret handshakes, should they need reminding. He’s seen them enough times, and he has a good memory.
“It was a pleasure to speak with you,” Haruhiko concludes, perfectly poised. Hoarse Hugh beams at him and ruffles his hair. Haruhiko squawks feeble protest, enough to seem genuine, but not so much as to appear unsociable. Three months ago, he would have slapped Hugh’s hoofs away; three months ago, he would have shouted in the middle of the restaurant, then burst into tears.
When they return to the space shuttle, Haruhiko takes up his scissors and begins to cut intricate paper patterns. He picked this up on 2-PON, a tiny planet with a culture not unlike Japan’s. He is skilled with his hands; his swift technique reminds Dadacha of Edamame’s, moving purposefully over green quills. Lately Haruhiko has been experimenting with different materials, too, threading felt together into soft plush toys, or trimming the plants they’ve collected as mementos of their travels. He seems especially drawn to the plants with thin, wandering branches.
Akihiko runs his fingers over each pattern. He’ll paint them later, Dadacha knows, warmth blossoming through to the tip of his tail. Akihiko likes to plan – he’ll sketch out extravagant designs drawing inspiration from a hundred different planets, and when he writes he traces the letters with painstaking care.
Dadacha will collect the paper, when the twins have exhausted themselves. They never ask what has become of their creations – they derive pleasure from the act of creating art rather than the appreciation of it. It is a childish, short-sighted joy, but Dadacha is grateful.
Their oversight means he can squirrel each creation away at the end of the day, arrange it delicately in the secret room he keeps for this reason only. It is a sprawling mess, with cups next to toy shuttles, but Dadacha knows the organisation of it by heart.
It is a room full of forgotten things. When he stands in it he sees clearly the half-stitched squirrel that Haruhiko had made, back when he was still starting out. He can see the torn sheet of calligraphy paper where Akihiko wrote Maximum Gourar with trembling fingers before screaming that it wasn’t good enough; he shouldn’t have tried. Dadacha had to placate him with hot scones and a bedtime story that was constantly interrupted because Maximum Gourar wouldn’t do that; he’s way cooler than you are, Dadacha.
“Dadacha?”
Akihiko’s voice sounds distant through the closed door.
Haruhiko’s footsteps sound beside his brother’s. They’re so synchronised they could pass for a single entity. “Where’s he gone?”
“Coming!” Dadacha calls. He still needs to supervise their daily video report, and collate their best recordings to send to the production team over at the station. There is no end to the work he has to do.
“Did you two have fun today?” he asks, reappearing left of the stage. They’re sitting at the kotatsu waiting. “Dinner was nice, wasn’t it?”
“It was alright,” Haruhiko mumbles.
“I prefer hotpot,” says Akihiko, quietly.
They’d had hotpot the previous day, Dadacha remembers. He had boiled eggs and tofu for them – simple food on a simple budget while they zoomed through the void between planets.
“Well, try to find something you liked about it,” he tells them firmly. “We can’t have you saying that on air.”
“We know,” they reply.
They are perfect for the camera.
And when he stops the recording, they snatch it from him to see the result, young and impatient and magnetic in their unsuspecting charm.
“Your face looks weird in this frame,” Haruhiko sniggers, and Akihiko points at the screen.
“Yours, too.”
For some reason, this is endlessly amusing to them. Dadacha, as usual, is left out of the joke.
“I’m going to send it to the staff now,” he informs them. He already knows this episode will be popular – even more than the others. He knows this because he is their manager, and their first fan. He knows this because nobody wishes for their success more than he does.
He knows this, because he has seen success in the workplace – in his brother’s folders of certificates and accomplishments – and he has seen how quickly those folders were locked away after the cancellation of CIDE. Because he has seen success in the home – in his brother’s glorious wedding speech for Edamame – and he has felt Edamame tremble against him in the kitchen as Zundar packs for another overly long work excursion.
So when it comes to success (and the lack thereof), Dadacha considers himself an expert, both in theory and in practice. And nothing feels more like success than this ship, with the kotatsu they gather around every night, and the camera that has filmed the rise of the VEPPers, and the little room Dadacha goes to when they are asleep, and the twins themselves – his twins – growing and changing and happy, he hopes, with what he has been able to offer them.
Creator: @fortune-maiden
Recipient: @vagarius
Character(s)/Pairing(s): No pairings (but I guess there may be some implied EnAtsu. Or KinAtsu. Or KinAtsuEn); Ryuu, Io, En, Kinshirou, Atsushi and the rest (actually I think Yumoto and Wombat have more lines than Atsushi in this ^^“)
Word Count: 7640
Summary: There may not be Loveless, but between mistletoe, mixers, and multiple present-swapping conspiracies, the Second Annual Kurotama Christmas Party still promises to be quite a night.
Good times are still guaranteed.
Comment: For Vagarius! I tried to include as many elements of your prompts as I could. I had a lot of fun writing this story, and I really hope you enjoy it!
~~~~
What was a normal Christmas Party like anyway?
For some reason, that felt like the only appropriate question to ask in a situation like the one Ryuu found himself in when he arrived at the 2nd Annual Kurotama Christmas Party. A situation that involved first rolling his eyes and chuckling at the childishness, and then shivering from the chill that ran down his spine when he realized it was following him.
“Alien mistletoe.” It wasn’t a question. Just a calm-before-the-storm observation at the plant crawling across the ceiling as if it were a spider (or a dreaded C).
“Isn’t he cute?” Yumoto beamed, as always, unaware of the seriousness of the situation. “He really sets the mood, doesn’t he?” As though acknowledging it, the mistletoe shook with delight, it’s bells ringing out.
“Not the right kind of mood,” Ryuu muttered.
Why is there an alien mistletoe crawling on your ceiling? Was the more important question, but Ryuu realized he didn’t actually want to know the answer.
“Technically, it’s not a “he” but an “it”,” Wombat explained anyway. “It’s a machine. Highly Advanced Scientific Technology.”
“Oh.” So it wasn’t actually sentient. That…didn’t really matter much. Ryuu just continued to stare at the crawling plant as It followed Yumoto around as he dashed around the bathhouse putting decorations up, and setting the table.
“It’s designed to sense Love Energy,” the unwanted explanation continued, with a more dramatic flair. “It sounds the bell when it detects a particularly strong feeling of love.”
And what, alerts the lovebirds underneath that it’s kissing time? That actually sounded pretty clever, though Ryuu would be much more impressed if it was at a party with actual couples instead of a gathering of close friends (who were also all dudes).
“Hey, Zaou-kun,” Goura’s thunderous voice drew Ryuu’s gaze away from the plant. “Thank you for coming early to help set up.”
“Of course,” Ryuu grinned. This year’s party was intended to be “More Better” than the spur-of-the-moment one last year. As such there were more decorations, more food, more enthusiasm, and in general, Ryuu had nothing better to do that day, so he figured “why not.”
“An-chan!” Yumoto exclaimed, excited to see his brother again, even though he was likely in the other room a few minutes at best. That’s just the way the Hakone brothers were though. Overflowing with intense brotherly lo—
The mistletoe chimed wildly above Yumoto and Goura’s heads. Ryuu turned to Wombat.
“It does not differentiate one type of love from another.”
Ryuu’s interest in the useless machine plummeted further.
“Why did you even put it there?” There. He asked it. He was prepared for whatever facepalm-worthy answer Wombat would give.
To his surprise though, Wombat just huffed indignantly. “This wasn’t my doing,” he remarked, and before Ryuu could ask, pointed to the doorway—or more specifically, the temporarily empty lot across the bathhouse.
Several things instantly made sense.
“Of course,” Ryuu facepalmed, not sure whether to laugh or sigh dramatically (or both). He should have known those two would find some way to intrude on a party they weren’t even attending. He could only imagine what they wanted a love-detecting mistletoe for.
“I would remove it, but unfortunately Yumoto-san has grown attached,” Wombat said. Ryuu understood. If Yumoto wanted that thing up there, convincing him otherwise would prove exhausting. Oh well. It was easy enough to ignore so long as Goura and Yumoto kept a certain distance from each other…well, okay it was easy enough to tune out anyway. As with all alien matters, the important thing was to pretend it didn’t exist. This was a normal Christmas Party. They had food, and decorations, and a tree, and presents—
“By the way, Wombat,” Ryuu said. “You’re doing the music for the gift exchange again, right?”
Wombat’s response was an uncertain “hmm” which in hindsight should have merited more attention, but Ryuu didn’t notice it.
“So listen. When the time comes, I want you to make sure that Atsushi-senpai…”
Of course, Ryuu didn’t come to help set up the 2nd Annual Kurotama Christmas Party just out of the kindness of his heart. Inspired by last year’s party, this year he had a similar plan. There was a certain someone at this party who had to receive a certain gift, and Ryuu would make sure that he got it.
Senpai, I’m rooting for you!
~~~
“That’s a mistletoe isn’t it?” Kinshirou’s eyes narrowed at the green plant with the bright red ribbon hanging on the ceiling right above the counter.
“So it is,” Io pursed his lips. “Maybe Ryuu put it up as a joke.” He couldn’t imagine anyone else doing it, after all. Yumoto wouldn’t know the significance of one and Goura seemed very unlikely.
“I heard that!” Ryuu’s voice greeted them, as they entered the bathhouse. He looked up from his phone, looking not at them but at the space above them. “And no, it wasn’t me.”
“Then who—
“Merry Christmas!” Yumoto suddenly leapt out from behind the counter. Io ducked back in time, but Kinshirou wasn’t as lucky, nearly getting toppled by the force of Yumoto’s hug.
“M-merry Christmas,” Kinshirou replied back, startled. He didn’t seem to mind the contact too much, up until a bell suddenly chimed above him. The mistletoe was there, shaking.
“So it reacts to that as well. Good to know,” Ryuu remarked dryly. Wombat, sitting across him just shrugged sheepishly.
“Did the mistletoe just…move?” Io’s eyes widened.
“You’ll get used to it,” Ryuu replied. “Just forget it exists. Although seeing everyone’s reactions to it will be kinda amusing, I guess. Ah Kusatsu-san, you don’t have to look so worried. Just shove him off.”
“Yumoto, down.” Io added, in a mock commanding tone. Amazingly it worked, although Kinshirou’s freedom came at the cost of Yumoto pouncing on Io instead. The mistletoe followed.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Yumoto,” Io said with a defeated sigh and accepted the hug. Even though they had just seen each other yesterday, and normally Io was not one for physical contact like this, something about the holiday must have brought out a more sentimental side. Yumoto backed off soon enough, turning his attention back to Kinshirou in order to properly welcome him to the 2nd Annual Kurotama Christmas Party.
Io hadn’t been too surprised to hear that it was Kinshirou’s first time attending a Christmas party like this. It was surprising though how enchanted by it he was, hanging onto Io’s every word under a guise of casual indifference. With that excitement, Io supposed it wasn’t that strange that Kinshirou arrived so early. Like Ryuu, Io had agreed to help set up, but running into the former Student Council President on his way up was a coincidence.
It didn’t seem like there was much work left to be done though. Even with the “More Better” decorations, Kurotama was still a fairly small space, and Yumoto and Goura were both unrivaled busybodies. Io had no idea how long Ryuu had already been there, but he suspected there had already been little to do when he arrived as well.
No matter though. Io placed his present, a pale orange envelope, beneath the tree (they were doing it properly this time, Yumoto said), on top of a long box wrapped in starry wrapping paper, and sat down next to Wombat.
“Texting girls?” he asked.
“Nah, just puzzle games,” Ryuu tilted his phone so Io could see the screen. So anime-themed puzzle game was open. The prizes were Christmas-themed versions of the main characters.
“Any luck?”
“What do you think?” Io smirked. He had many thoughts about these kinds of microtransactions and the profit models cell phone games were built on. Ryuu could show enough restraint when it came to it, but many people couldn’t. Those people made investing in mobile game companies worth it.
But this wasn’t the evening for thinking about those things. With Ryuu sufficiently distracted by his cell phone, and Yumoto still giving Kinshirou the grand tour, Wombat could be approached discreetly. He was relaxed, happily sipping at a mug of hot chocolate, barely noticing Io’s closing the distance and slipping a small folded sheet onto his knee. Io would have preferred to conduct this matter vocally. He had been counting on getting Wombat alone when Ryuu was helping with decorations, and Kinshirou wasn’t nearby. He supposed he could try to get Wombat and him to slip away, but if last year’s party had taught him anything, it was that he—and the rest of them—couldn’t come up with a convincing excuse to save their lives.
This was much safer.
Io pretended to focus on his own phone as he watched Wombat unfold the paper under the table out of the corner of his eye. There was a certain way Wombat’s eyes narrowed and he “hmm”ed to himself that should have merited more attention, but Io didn’t notice it.
Ryuu may have been a kind considerate guy, but Io didn’t believe in volunteer work. He would never have agreed to come in early to help out unless there was something in it for him.
And that something…well, perhaps it was volunteer work in a sense, he mused. But it was better to think of it as a return on an investment. There was a certain someone at this party who had to receive a certain gift, and Io had reason to make sure that he got it.
The note read, “Please ensure that Kusatsu-san—
“Hmm? Something good happen?” Ryuu suddenly asked him with a grin. “You’re smiling quite deviously.”
“Am I?” Io glanced at his phone, and in a casual tone that betrayed nothing said, “I won a rare gacha in a game just now.”
The white lie was worth it just for Ryuu’s seething envy. As he demanded to see Io’s phone for proof, Io watched Wombat lower his head in what looked like a nod.
Perfect. Kusatsu-san, this is for you.
~~~
Unsurprisingly, En and Atsushi arrived last. Whether it was because of En’s usual laziness or something else was a mystery, as Atsushi just apologized sheepishly for both of them, and didn’t offer any other explanation. Not that he wasn’t going to. He just didn’t get a chance when Yumoto jumped on him and the crawling jingling mistletoe rang out, adding another memorable reaction to the collection.
En’s look of horror for what he briefly mistook for a dreaded C was going to be a picture that Ryuu would one day collect in an album, if there ever got to be enough Annual Kurotama Christmas Parties to necessitate one.
“There won’t be,” En hissed.
“Eh? There won’t be enough parties? I dare you to say that in front of Yumoto.” Ryuu ducked as En grabbed at his phone.
“There won’t be a need for a photo album,” he clarified. “Delete it.”
“And lose this precious memory? No way.”
En made a few more attempts to grab the phone before sulkily giving up. The face he made was so pitiful that Ryuu almost did want to delete the photo. He really did understand Atsushi better these days and what it was with about En that made Atsushi want to spoil him so much.
Still even if Atsushi appealed on En’s behalf, that photo wasn’t going anywhere!
“Why is there a living mistletoe on Yumoto’s ceiling anyway?”
“It’s a machine, and do you really want to know?”
“No.”
Smart man, Ryuu thought, though he suspected everyone would know by the end of the night, because these things had a way of getting out.
“So how’s it going so far?” En changed the subject, looking around for himself. “Looks nice.”
“You’re supposed to say “More Better” Senpai,” Ryuu corrected him. “And you should say it to Yumoto. He was already more or less done by the time I got here.”
“Mhm,” En hummed. His eyes landed on the tree, which by now was overflowing with presents. One in particular stood out to Ryuu: a soft package wrapped in dark blue paper with a green ribbon tying it together.
That was it. That was the present he and En spend hours picking out together. It wasn’t like Ryuu to get so invested in gifts, let alone gifts for guys, let alone other people’s gifts for guys, but when En had asked him to help out, and Ryuu saw just how much thought he was putting into it, he couldn’t help but get more and more enthusiastic.
Of course, the present swap, which was to be the highlight of the evening (Yumoto kept hyping it up as such, and with Ryuu’s personal agenda, even he was starting to feel it), was also to be the last event of the evening.
The rest of the party went by normally enough—it was really amazing how smoothly things went when there wasn’t an irritating talking Reindeer or scheming twins around. Even the Christmas Ramen tasted pretty good when it was actually delivered on time. It was the first time the eight of them were gathered under one roof (not to mention one town) since graduation last spring. Atsushi and Ibushi had plenty of stories about their respective universities to tell, and though Ryuu had already heard most of En and Kinshirou’s stories since they still came by Kurotama now and then, he found that he could easily listen to them again. What was less pleasant to listen to was Akoya’s boastings about the current student council and the prim proper state of Binan High School. Just because they were friends now, didn’t mean they had to particularly like each other after all.
There was eating, there was singing, there was debating the mistletoe and why one had to kiss under it, and what the punishment for not kissing was.
“Why does there have to be a punishment?” Yumoto asked.
“You know, a penalty game. There always has to be a penalty game,” En insisted.
“That’s just how the world works,” Atsushi said matter-of-factly.
“Well given who the kissing options here are,” Ryuu said seriously, “I’ll happily take whatever punishment you toss at me! Bring it on!”
The word “toothbrush” came up at some point in the ensuing discussion at which point Io indignantly attempted to steer it towards literally anything else. In the end, the Mistletoe Kiss Refusal Penalty Game (temporary name) was never finalized because at a certain moment, Yumoto suddenly exclaimed that it was time to exchange presents.
Finally! Ryuu grinned. He was the first to reach the tree only for Yumoto to object and announce that they were doing things differently that year.
Suddenly, Wombat’s earlier “hmm” felt very significant.
~~~
The rules were simple. Hidden throughout Kurotama were ten, each one marked with a number. The task: find a numbered chopstick and claim the corresponding numbered gift under the tree.
It was different from how they did it last year. In Io’s opinion, the change was unnecessary—standing in a circle and passing gifts around while music played was far less tedious, and more importantly, easier to control. But Yumoto and Goura had spent most of the day hiding them, and Yumoto’s eyes sparkled in such a way as he explained the game, it was impossible to say “No” to him. Not that they didn’t try. But they knew it was a losing battle once Kinshirou showed interest. Ibushi and Akoya instantly came to his side, and once Atsushi caved, the rest of them did as well.
“Still, where did you even get this idea?” En had asked.
“At-chan-senpai!” Yumoto answered simply.
“Huh?” Atsushi, naturally, had no idea about any of it.
“He played this game at a mixer, so I decided to recreate it here.”
“W-wait Yumoto, that’s not right at all!”
Atsushi and mixers were not something Io wanted to imagine in the same context. From the matching looks of horror, it was clear the others shared the same sentiment.
“Atsushi what the heck? Don’t teach Yumoto unnecessary things!” En scolded.
“Mixers? Are you kidding me?” Ryuu had never been to a mixer. According to him, it was because he didn’t want to share the girls with four other guys. According to Io, it was because no one ever invited him.
(Though not because of jealousy or dislike or anything so petty. It was because most of the girls who went to these things were his ex-girlfriends. It’d be awkward.)
“So anyway, you better search hard!” Yumoto crossed his arms proudly. Then he animatedly pointed to the clock. “But you only have one hour. At 9 pm, you must, must be done!”
“What happens at 9?” Ibushi asked.
“It’s a secret!”
Some other headache to look forward to then, Io looked at the presents. Goura was in the process of attaching numbered sticky notes to them. He could see a “4” on his orange envelope. Guess that meant he shouldn’t take Chopstick #4 when he stumbled on it.
If he stumbled on it. The key word was if.
Io had underestimated Yumoto. When he said the chopsticks were hidden around the bathhouse (though not on the women’s side, Goura made clear), Io figured they would turn up in obvious enough spots like inside the lockers or behind the counter or something. When Yumoto said they had an hour, he thought it was too much.
What Yumoto didn’t mention, Io realized ten painfully long minutes later, was that those chopsticks were really well hidden. He stared at the chopstick, Chopstick #5, in his hand in disbelief. This was the first one found, and it was found in the bottom rightmost locker. Taped to the top of it. Completely hidden from view if one didn’t think to sweep his hand across the inside.
Io still wasn’t sure what dumb luck possessed him to actually do so.
“Congratulations Io-senpai!” Yumoto gave him two thumbs up in approval. “Now claim your present and have a seat. Don’t open it yet!”
Present #5 was Ryuu’s. It was a small square-shaped sized box wrapped in bright pink paper. It took ten minutes for Io to find this one chopstick. Hopefully now that he’d set a precedent, the others would be found quicker. Atsushi and En had already taken to checking over each and every locker with careful diligence. The (two-thirds-former) student council were examining the baths. Ryuu was searching the perimeter of the room.
This wasn’t good. Yumoto was a stickler for rules, and he, Goura and Wombat were patrolling the party alongside their own searches, making sure things were proceeding well and the presents were claimed accordingly. Io had studied the presents when he claimed his. Kinshirou’s was number 7. He needed to make sure Atsushi found that chopstick.
“I don’t suppose you’re willing to give a hint?” he whispered to Wombat when he next passed by.
“No. I don’t even know where they’re hidden.”
“Are you willing to help out another way then?” Already the gears were turning in Io’s head. Being able to adapt quickly was the way to succeed, after all.
Wombat sighed. “What do you want me to do?”
“You’re going to be Santa Claus.”
~~~
“This is harder than it looks, huh?” Atsushi mused. After Io found a stick in one locker, investigating the rest of them seemed like a logical course of action, so that was what En and Atsushi decided to do. But it was clear that Yumoto was determined not to make this easy.
“Your fault for agreeing to it.” En remarked, lightly.
“You didn’t object either.”
“How could I when it turned out to be your wonderful idea? Mixers? Please do tell.” There was nothing but playfulness in his tone, the kind of Ryuu was used to hearing during the Earth Defense Club days of old. Even though they had been apart for months, it was like nothing had changed at all. It was somewhat relieving to know.
Ryuu was convinced that there was only one chopstick hidden in all of the lockers, and that was the one Io had found. He wouldn’t put it past Yumoto to do that. But he wasn’t about to interrupt En and Atsushi’s search (or rather Atsushi’s search. En had already given up and spread out on the bench. “In deep thought.”), not when he had a new plan of his own.
He peaked out from behind the lockers, just enough for En to notice him. Any luck? He asked silently. En shook his head. His quizzing stare in turn asked, You?
Ryuu nodded, and beckoned him over. En was sharp enough to realize that Ryuu was lying low for a reason, and carefully moved past Atsushi so as not to alert him, or anyone else.
“What’s up?”
“No luck on your end, huh Senpai?”
“Yumoto is way too thorough.”
“You can say that again,” Ryuu held up a wooden chopstick with four black bands drawn on it. “I found this one taped to the underside of the table.” It was probably going to be a running theme.
“Congrats. Feel free to join Io at the victor’s table.” The victor’s table was really just the dining table, but since finding his chopstick, Io took the opportunity to sit back, relax, and fiddle with his phone. Or so he wanted people to think, for his eyes kept darting around the room, watching the others scramble for chopsticks. Ryuu had seem him talk to Wombat at one point, after which Wombat moved to sit by the presents.
That gave Ryuu an idea.
“Not yet. Here Senpai, this one’s for you,” To En’s bewilderment, Ryuu pressed the chopstick into his hand with a twinkle in his eye. “Stick it in a locker for Atsushi-senpai to find.”
His smile was bright and childlike, instantly making En suspicious.
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing at all, just being a helpful underclassman.”
“Right.” En kept staring. He knew that no matter how nice a guy Ryuu was, he did not do things just out of the kindness of his heart. He also knew that Ryuu was also weak to long accusing gazes, and smiled triumphantly when Ryuu finally threw his hands up in defeat.
“Fine, fine, you got me. I looked at the presents before we started. Number 3 is yours.”
“Okay?” En looked at the chopstick in his hand. “So what then, you’re gunning for my gift? That’s kinda flattering.”
“No way!” Ryuu hissed, red tinting his cheeks, “I wouldn’t do that!” Not after all that time we spent picking it out. For Atsushi-senpai. “No, what I’m going to do is have Wombat swap the labels, so Atsushi-senpai can get your gift.”
Rather than looking happy though, En remained impassive.
“Isn’t that cheating?”
“You did it last year!”
“Oh yeah, I did, didn’t I?” En shrugged, as though he’d completely forgotten. Actually, knowing him there was probably no “as though” about it. “Although…Ryuu, mind doing me a huge favor?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll let Kusatsu find this stick,” En explained. “Meanwhile, you go over to the presents and place the Number 4 label onto Atsushi’s gift. It’s the tall box wrapped in green.”
“Huh?” Ryuu was crestfallen. “But what about—
“Don’t worry about that right now,” En assured him and turned to the door leading to the baths. On the other side, the muffled voices of the mostly-ex-Student Council members could be made out, as they too struggled to find any of Yumoto’s hidden chopsticks. “It’ll make him happy, you know. Getting Atsushi’s gift.”
“I guess,” Ryuu wasn’t convinced.
“You’re a good friend, you know.” En said. “Will you do it?”
There was no way Ryuu could turn down a request prefaced by “you’re a good friend”. There was no way En didn’t know that. “You owe me for this, Senpai.”
“Yeah, yeah.” En clapped his shoulder with a smirk. “Thanks Ry—huh?” His voice trailed off as his gaze wandered to the ceiling. He’d had no particular reason for looking upwards, but now he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
“What’s wrong?” Ryuu asked.
“There’s a chopstick taped to the ceiling.”
Ryuu looked up as well. Sure enough, there it was.
“Think we can get that mistletoe to knock it down? How do we get it over here?”
“Easiest way? You get Yumoto, I’ll get Goura.”
~~~
It turned out that the mistletoe could not, in fact, knock down the chopstick on the ceiling, but the shriek that ensued when Yumoto and Goura came close to each other, proved useful for other things.
For one, the jingling was loud enough to attract everyone’s attention, making it a useful distraction for clandestine activities. Like swapping labels on presents. It was bad luck that the chopstick on the ceiling was #7. But with everyone either watching Goura retrieve it via stepladder, or shooting odd looks at the mistletoe, no one noticed Io signaling to Wombat to make the swap. Io didn’t notice which present he switched it with, but it didn’t matter as long as Kinshirou’s was still up for grabs.
Speaking of Kinshirou though, shortly after the commotion died down, Kinshirou apparently found a chopstick of his, casually sitting in the yellow tub by one of the sinks.
“I guess they’re not all hidden in very hard to find places,” he twirled the chopstick in his hand, letting Io take note of the four black bands around it. Present #4 was his wasn’t it?
“I guess not,” he smiled. “But congrats on finding it anyway.”
“It wasn’t my find,” Kinshirou seemed disappointed. “Arima was the one who suggested I check there. Knowing him, he’d probably already noticed it.”
“That was nice of him.”
“Yes,” Kinshirou agreed. “That’s why I’m going to hold off on claiming my present and help him search now.” So he said, but Io figured he was enjoying this game. Kinshirou liked to present a serious front, but the more time spent in his company, the easier it became to read his true intentions.
“I see. Incidentally,” Io suddenly said, “was there any present in particular you’re hoping to get.”
“Not particularly.” The response was immediate. “There is something to be appreciated in the random nature of this activity. Yufuin told me about last year’s party.”
Which part? Io thought with a shudder.
“At-chan was really happy to receive the Christmas card,” a small smile graced Kinshirou’s lips.
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to receive your gift this year as well,” Io said with a knowing smile.
“I hope so. Thank you again for your assistance in selecting it.”
“Of course.”
“Would you allow me to rely on your assistance once more?”
“Hm?” Io met Kinshirou’s eyes.
“Can Wom-san be persuaded to swap the label of a certain gift?”
~~~
The problem with clandestine present swaps like this, was that they only worked right when there was one person working behind the scenes with one particular target in mind. That’s what made En’s plan last year so successful. No matter what those twins were up to overall, in the end, they played the same game of chance as the rest of them and won Goura’s present fair and square.
Currently there were six players.
“Six?” Ryuu whispered, his voice rising in pitch. “I can buy that you, Kusatsu and En-senpai trying to manipulate things, but who’s five and six?”
“Arima-san and Gero-san,” Wombat answered, his stubby pink paws in the air in defeat.
“And what do they want?” Io asked warily.
“Arima-san wants Kinugawa-san’s present to reach Kusatsu-san, same as Yufuin-san. Gero-san wants Arima-san’s present to reach him instead.”
“Dammit Gero, stop screwing up my plans,” Ryuu grumbled icily throwing a glare in the direction of the smiley student council president, who innocently tailed Ibushi and directed his searches, completely unaware of the animosity aimed his way.
“Still this is a dilemma,” Io remarked. “I didn’t expect everyone to get inspired by last year’s party.”
“You and me both.” Ryuu’s plan was simple. While everyone was distracted he would tell Wombat which presents needed which numbers and to hand them out accordingly when the intended recipients came up to claim them, swapping around the rest as necessary. See, simple!
Why on Earth did Io have to have the exact same idea? And the same target too?
And how did they end up revealing their plans to Wombat at the same time?
“Fate?” Wombat offered. Io and Ryuu ignored him.
“En-senpai and I spent hours picking out a present for Atsushi-senpai,” Ryuu said. “I want to make sure he gets it.”
“The same for me and Kusatsu-san,” Io replied.
“Why’d Kusatsu even go to you for help?” Though Ryuu said that, it wasn’t like he couldn’t hazard a guess. Out of all of them, Io gave the best presents, and he was also the easiest member of the Earth Defense Club to approach about these things. Yumoto would make things confusing, Ryuu probably would have teased Kinshirou mercilessly (he did have plenty of fun at En’s expense during their hunt), and En was definitely the last person to ask about things like this, even if he did know Atsushi best.
“More importantly,” Wombat cut in again, “if Yufuin-san and Kusatsu-san both put such care into selecting a present for Kinugawa-san, why are they letting random chance determine the recipient and not giving it to him directly?”
It was a valid question. Ryuu had asked it himself several times. But there was no mistaking the shape of En’s gift, and from what Io told him, Kinshirou’s as well. Besides, Io had said it hadn’t he? That En told Kinshirou about last year? The fact that they had both wanted the other to get Atsushi’s present was pretty telling as well. Therefore, it was what it was, and that’s all that mattered now.
“So what do we do?” Io asked.
“Let’s review for a sec.” There were two requests for Kinshirou to receive Atsushi’s gift. One request for Kinshirou to receive Arima’s. One request for En to receive Atsushi’s. And at the same time both Kinshirou and En’s gifts had to reach Atsushi.
Io and Ryuu reviewed their options.
“Well going by majority rule—
“Majority rule nothing,” Ryuu objected. “We’ll fill more requests if Kusatsu gets Arima’s and En-senpai get Atsushi’s.”
“Er, no, it’s two and two either way.”
“Two requests are for the same thing so it’s one vs. two.”
“Fine,” Io sighed. “But then what about…?” he gestured at the two most important presents.
“It can’t be helped,” Ryuu said seriously. “One of them will have to lose.”
“Then—
“Sorry Kusatsu,” Ryuu muttered and grabbed a label. Io caught his wrist.
“I think you mean, “Sorry Yufuin-senpai”,” he said sternly.
“Io you’d turn on your own friend?”
“Kusatsu-san is a friend too.”
“I meant me!” Ryuu exclaimed.
“I’m aware.”
“Now, now, you two need to calm down or the—
“Stay out of it,” Io and Ryuu hissed in hushed tones.
A moment later, they figured out what it was Wombat was trying to warn them about and wished they’d listened. Or that he’d warned them earlier, because the warning was late anyway, as most warnings tended to be.
It was something Ryuu had been suspecting all along, and this was the proof he need. As it turned the “love detecting” mistletoe really responded to feelings of passion. The kind that lovers felt in each other’s company (allegedly). The kind two brothers felt around each other. The kind that accompanied excitement over a party one had been looking forward to.
And generally the kind the phrase “getting passionate about something” could be loosely applied to.
“What are you guys doing?” Yumoto peeked over Io and Ryuu’s shoulder, almost immediately after the mistletoe had crawled above them and began cheerfully shaking and ringing (as cheerful as a machine could be anyway). But it wasn’t the realization that they were caught under a mistletoe that made Io and Ryuu get particularly flustered. It was that all eyes were now on them.
And Ryuu was still holding one of the labels.
“Ah no t-this is—
“We were searching for chopsticks around the tree,” Io said quickly. His voice was even, but it was still clear that he was grasping at straws. “And we noticed that some of the labels had fallen off.”
“Y-yeah that’s right!” Ryuu agreed. Wombat stealthily pulled off a few, letting them fall to the ground. “Wom-san knocked them over when he was trying to sort the gifts.”
Traitor, the pink alien’s stare seemed to say, but when Yumoto’s gaze turned to him, Wombat nodded emphatically. Behind Yumoto, Ryuu could see the exasperated looks on the other four conspirators faces. The innocents—Atsushi and Goura—just looked on curiously.
“Huh you’re right.” Fortunately, Yumoto wasn’t the hardest person to fool.
“My apologies Yumoto-san.”
“Give us a minute,” Io said, “I’m sure I remember where most of the labels were.”
“It’s fine,” Yumoto said. There was a glint in his eye that told Io and Ryuu they were not going to like his next words. “It’s supposed to be random right? So just stick them wherever.” Before Io and Ryuu could object, Yumoto swiftly picked up all of the fallen labels and reattached them. “And done. Now Ryuu-senpai hurry up and grab the stick in the tree and come over here. It’s 9 o’clock!”
“Huh?” Ryuu looked at the tree carefully. Sure enough, there was a chopstick carefully wrapped up in tinsel hanging off a branch. He slid it out, not paying attention to the number, not really getting a chance to with how Yumoto shoved him and Io to the center of the room. Wombat was carried off by the scruff as well.
“An-chan, we’re ready now!”
“Ah hold on Yumoto, we haven’t found all of the sticks yet,” Atsushi said.
“That can wait.” Yumoto assured him as Goura brought out a very antique looking golden radio. From the way Wombat perked up when he saw it though, Ryuu suspected that it wasn’t actually an antique. No, even without Wombat’s reaction, there was no way an antique radio had that many buttons and dials.
“Let’s see, press this, turn that—Ah this is too hard. Wom-san you do it!” Wombat didn’t even protest. He just flexed his claws and began fiddling with the controls.
…There really were a lot of buttons.
But it paid off as the static disappeared, replaced by cheers and shouts and two veryfamiliar voices.
“Good evening everyone!” Haruhiko’s voice was bright and playful—a far cry from his usual bitter tone.
“Thank you for having us this evening,” Akihiko’s voice had a similar quality, though he usually sounded like that anyway.
“To see us live and in person like this.”
“And for all of you listening on your radios.”
“Lucky you!”
“Happy you!”
Galactic Radio. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the radio and the VEPPer continued their banter on…whatever program this was.
“Holiday Galactica,” Wombat supplied the answer even though no one actually asked.
“So that’s where those two went,” Atsushi said, looking in the direction where the empty lot would be.
Akihiko and Haruhiko had been invited to the party of course. They helped plan it, they provided the really annoying mistletoe, and they had been really looking forward to it, right up until the previous day when they were suddenly called back to space to take part in some program.
Ryuu had no idea they left Yumoto a radio that tuned into Galactic broadcasts.
“They said to tune in when it was 9 here,” Yumoto explained.
“I see.”
The radio program continued. “Tonight is a very important night, for us,” Haruhiko said.
“And it’s a very important night for the people of Earth,” Akihiko continued.
“Tonight it’s Christmas Eve,” they finished together flawlessly.
Despite the general lack of chatter, Yumoto shushed everyone at this point, because the main event was coming.
“We have a special present for all of our wonderful fans tonight,” Akihiko said.
“The announcement and an exclusive preview of our newest single.”
“Starlit Skies!”
A thunderous chorus erupted from the radio’s speakers as the music started. It was a decent enough song, one of their more relaxing pieces and peppered with a backing track of sleigh bells to tie into the holiday theme.
“Not bad,” Ibushi said as the song played.
“It does have a very Christmas-y feel,” Atsushi agreed.
“Wait, how are we even listening to this broadcast?” En suddenly asked.
“You see, this radio picks up—
“No, not that. I mean, you guys have your own language, don’t you? So are they speaking that or Japanese right now? And what language is the song supposed to be in anyway?”
It was one of those questions that was better off unasked. Unsurprisingly, Wombat’s reply was just a garbled mumble.
“Just enjoy the song En-chan,” Atsushi pat his shoulder. “Don’t open up Pandora’s box.”
“I was just wondering.”
It was hard not to think about it as they listened to the rest of the song. Ryuu considered asking those two when they returned after New Year’s, but he wasn’t sure he’d like whatever answer they gave.
The song finished and the VEPPer began discussing their song and inspirations. Evidently their segment was coming to an end, for they announced they were giving one last shout out.
“Our friends on Earth!”
“And our dearest Goura-san!”
“It is unfortunate that we cannot be there with you tonight, but hopefully the present we left conveys our feelings.” It did. It left its place above Yumoto and clattered over the radio.
“Seriously? It detects “love” over the airwaves too?” Ryuu couldn’t help but exclaim.
“Wait, that’s where the mistletoe came from?” Atsushi sputtered.
“I thought Wombat put it up there,” Akoya remarked.
“Somehow, this is both surprising and completely expected,” Ibushi chuckled.
“Detecting love?” En asked.
“Supposedly. The design is seriously flawed,” Ryuu answered. Though the twins would be happy to know their affections towards Goura set it off, he figured. Not that he would tell them.
“An-chan isn’t it cool! They mentioned us on the radio! We’re famous!” Yumoto’s eyes shone.
“Yes!” Goura’s eyes had a similar excited shine to them. This must have been the “main event” as far as they were concerned. It seemed they both forgot they were already famous among the fluffy inhabitants of the galaxy.
“Oh no! We should have asked them to give a shout out to Kurotama too! Then we’d have gotten lots of new customers.”
“Next time,” Goura said earnestly.
“No…please don’t…” Ryuu whispered weakly. He didn’t dare imagine a Kurotama alien invasion. Somethings just should not be!
“Anyway, now that that’s done,” Yumoto shut off the radio. Funny how it took so long to start up, but only one button to turn off. “Does everyone have their chopsticks?”
“I don’t,” Atsushi raised his hand.
“Me neither,” Wombat said.
“I haven’t found one yet,” Akoya said as well.
“Same,” Arima added.
“Wow that’s a lot,” Yumoto seemed disappointed. “Were you guys even looking?”
“You hid them too well!”
“Oh. Okay, so which ones were found?” Yumoto studied the chopsticks in everyone’s hands. “We’re missing 9, 1, 6, and 2 then. Okay.” He went to the counter, pulled out three disposable wooden chopsticks and quickly scribbled a number onto them. Then he hid the numbered parts in his fist and held them up.
“Here, pick one,” he said brightly.
“That’s how you’re settling it?” Ryuu said.
“I don’t remember where they’re all hidden. This way’s quicker,” Yumoto shrugged, as if it the most obvious statement in the world.
“You…you could have done that in the first place…” Io felt a headache come on.
“But the hide and seek game was so fun! Right An-chan?”
“Right Yumoto.”
No, it really wasn’t…
The rest of them were definitely all thinking it on some level.
~~~
Present exchanges really were best left to random chance, Io mentally noted to himself. Proper communication was also important, particularly between people who went present shopping together.
“A Senko-chan T-shirt? Where did you even get one of these?” Ryuu held up the too-large T-shirt to the light.
“Where do you think?” En retorted, but not fully admitting to patronizing that particular manjuu shop, Io noticed.
By random chance, Ryuu ended up with En’s gift…and quickly discovered that despite the basically identical shape, it was not, in fact, the gift he’d picked out for Atsushi.
Similarly Kinshirou’s present, which Yumoto was having a lot of fun unpacking, was only deceptively large and long. It was a small elegant wallet hidden behind a lot of wrapping paper. Who taught him to pull a trick like that anyway?
Io had gotten Ryuu’s gift. He’d been prepared for a flower, but instead he found a planner. The hot pink graphic cover was a bit too gaudy for his tastes, but it was something he could see himself using once he’d covered that up at least. It wasn’t a bad gift.
“By the way Yumoto, these are really good.” En had gotten Yumoto’s gift. Once again, it was Wombat themed, but this time the prize was cookies in the shape of Wombat’s head. They were a little burnt around the edges and the shape was pretty lopsided, but the taste was what really mattered in the end. They were good, Io agreed.
“Ah Atsushi-senpai, what did you get?” Ryuu asked. In the end only one request had been fulfilled. To Akoya’s delight, Kinshirou had gotten Arima’s gift, an assortment of fancy teas (naturally, the kind Kinshirou liked best). Wombat was the one to get Atsushi’s present, another assortment of sweets, though this time, the Tokyo edition. Io suspected that most of those sweets would end up in Yumoto’s stomach later.
Random chance won Atsushi Akoya’s gift, the biggest one under the tree with the most unusual shape.
“Shampoo samples?” Atsushi said uncertainly, holding up a huge basket filled with various colorful little bottles.
“Not just shampoo!” Akoya had evidently overheard and was eager to explain. “There’s also conditioner, body wash, moisturizer, aftershave and—
“Hey hold on, these are really high end brands!” Ryuu’s eyes were saucers. “There’s no way you stayed within the limit.”
“Oh but I did,” Akoya pat the basket handle. “Anyway Kinugawa-san, I’m so happy that you were the one to get my gift! Here let me tell you about these…”
Akoya was a natural born salesman, it seemed. Io just chuckled at how animatedly he spoke and how excited Ryuu was to hear this.
It was a good party, Io thought. Even with that bizarre robotic plant hanging overhead and causing all sorts of trouble things worked out well in the end. He even had that Starlit Skies song stuck in his head.
“It’s no good,” Ryuu suddenly came up to him with a heavy sigh. “That stingy bastard won’t share any of them.”
“Kinugawa-senpai?”
“Gero.”
“If you ask Kinugawa-senpai, you know he’ll share his gift with you,” Io said, pointing at Atsushi’s clearly overwhelmed figure, still listening to Akoya’s explanation. “I don’t think he really understand Gero’s enthusiasm.”
“Yeah you’re right,” Ryuu said. “Friends like Atsushi-senpai are good to have.”
“Indeed. Well, are you ready to get going?”
“Yeah.”
The present exchange capped off the evening beautifully. They all stayed a bit to help with some of the cleanup, but the 2nd Annual Kurotama Christmas Party was over. Arima had finally pried Akoya away from poor exhausted Atsushi, and they were the first to leave. Kinshirou stayed behind, apparently to walk home with En and Atsushi.
“Alright I’m rea—huh?” Ryuu trailed off just before he grabbed his coat. “Would you look at that?”
Hidden behind the coats were two more presents. A long present with starry sky wrapping and a soft present wrapped in dark blue with a green ribbon. Unlike the presents under the tree though, there was a very clear “For Atsushi” sticker on them.
Io smiled wearily. They really had gotten worked up over nothing.
“Well? Do you want to stick around for this?” Io asked. Ryuu looked at the presents than at the trio chatting amongst themselves at the other end of the room. It was clear from his expression that he did want to stick around. He did want to see Atsushi’s face when he saw the blue and green scarf, and the telescope his two closest friends had picked out for him, so he’d have a little piece of them when he went back to Tokyo.
Suddenly Ryuu smirked.
“Heh. Maybe it’s not completely flawed after all,” he said.
“What’s not—ah.”
Yumoto and Goura were standing at one end of the room happily showing off their gifts to each other. But the mistletoe had crawled above En, Atsushi and Kinshirou and was chiming softly.
~Fin~
A/N: Thank you for reading! I really hope you liked this story (and that it’s not just one big jumbled mess of words ^^”)! Thank you so much for always reading my fics and saying so many nice things about them! Your comments always make me really happy!!
Some side notes I couldn’t figure out how to fit in:
Akoya got Goura’s gift in the gift exchange. It was a black cap that was a little plain compared to his usual wardrobe, but Akoya insists that he can make anything look good!
Goura got Wombat’s gift which was a good luck charm from his planet (ordered on the Galactic Network.) It was hung up on the register.
Arima got Io’s gift. It was the same thing that Goura got last year ^^
Also please don’t ask about the mistletoe! I was originally going to cut it in editing but I got attached ^^“
After everything has gone back to normal, or at least what the guys consider normal, Yumoto proposed to them to have a sleepover for the Defense Club Members. Therefore, one week after all the events that happened with the Beppu brothers, all of the guys are in the Kurotoma Baths, having a relaxing time as usual in the hot springs and talking nonsense as they like to do.
“It’s been a while since we had a sleepover,” Ryuu comments, usually most of them would have thought that the pink haired will have refused to this for one of his dates.
“True, at least this time we are not in the need of taking care of a child,” Io follows the comment remembering the time when they got to meet Ash.
“But it was a nice experience!” Yumoto immediately mentions and splashes some water with his arms.
“Yeah, yeah, it was…but, it’s better to know we don’t have to transform again,” En expresses and sighs getting more comfortable in the water.
“Never say never, we thought the same after the first time and just a few weeks later we were back into action,” Atsushi quickly replies.
The guys just look at Atsushi in disbelief, but if they have to be honest, all of them fear the day in which they will have to transform again.
“It’s never over!” Wombat who was submerged in the water comes out splashing the boys, “The duty of a Battle Lover and Heir of the Throne of Love is never over!!”
The dramatic tone and the way of moving its paw could be interpreted as if Wombat was given a death or life speech, which the boys disregard so they keep with their own conversations. The pink alien looks disappointed of those Heirs of the Throne of Love, but he has gotten used to the idea that the boys will never take their role in a really serious way.
After some more minutes all the guys comes out of the bath and prepare themselves for a movies marathon, or actually one movie. They talk for so long about which movie they should watch that it has gotten too late.
“Then, the final decision is ‘The Hangover’”, Atsushi announces a bit disappointed.
“You let it happen,” En replies smirking, he knows Atsushi does not really like that kind of comedy and even if he had insisted in the past that they should watch the movie, Atsushi never wanted to.
“Besides, it’s good comedy, you just need to learn to appreciate it,” Ryuu says grinning and getting comfortable to watch it.
“I understand your pain, Kinugawa-senpai, at least we are in this together,” Io comments and tries to distract with his tablet which is quickly taken away by Atsushi.
“If we really are in this together, then you don’t need it.” The bespectacled boy says while putting the tablet faraway from Io.
Then, after all of them have taken their positions and gotten popcorn the movie starts. As it has been predicted Io and Atsushi are the ones that sigh the most throughout the movie, Ryuu laughs the hardest, En makes random comments and Yumoto is being left with many questions and with no answers. The movie ends, and the guys stay for a little longer talking about it and comparing who will be who in the movie. When the coincidences start being more and more real, they prefer to stop and leave the topic aside.
Suddenly, all of them seem to be more sleepy than awake and so they take a place in the huge mess of futons and blankets to fall asleep. When it seems like all the guys are slept, Yumoto stands up, and sits at the corner of the room, he should have imagined that not even having all the boys at his place could make him feel better. It has been in this way since that last battle, feeling that emptiness, feeling afraid of losing every one. He stares at his friends, he knows he has always felt out of place and even if the boys have been kinder to him, he is still afraid of being left out.
He sighs, maybe this has not been the greatest idea ever, but he needed to try, and still he feels good of having all the boys over there. He does not realize, and it’s a bit too late when he notices that he is sobbing. He tries to calm down so he does not wake up anyone. However, even if it is a bit ironic, the first one to wake up is En.
“Yumoto, what’s wrong?” he asks, he looks a bit sleepy yet, but he is able to make perfect sense of his sentence.
“Nothing, senpai…” the blond quickly replies and cleans his face.
En yawns and stretches a bit, he practically made a cocoon for himself to sleep, so even if it has been just twenty minutes since they went to sleep, it’s a bit difficult for him to come out of it. After some rustling, and moving, and almost waking Atsushi up, he manages to come out and crawls where Yumoto is. The younger looks at him in disbelief, is it that hard to come out of the blankets? Or is his senpai too sleep to do it more normally? Well, he guesses he will never know, but still in this moment he does not want to talk to En, not if he has to be completely honest about what’s going on.
“So, I know you’re always pretty active, but I don’t believe you’re here all alone because you want to keep playing or watching movies,” En manages to say then he yawns again and scratches his back.
Even if he wants to listen to Yumoto’s answer as soon as possible to go back to sleep, he is only meeting with silence, and as he can perceive some of the guys are starting to move in their sleep. The blond looks away, so there’s definitely not an easy way to make him split out the truth and if they keep talking there all of the others are going to wake up.
Definitely, a pain in the ass, En thinks, but if he has woken up and started the topic; then he needs to finish it.
He points out to the door, the younger understands and goes outside with his senpai, too bad it is a really cold night and the light sweaters they are wearing now are not going to be really useful. En regrets his ideas as soon as they are out, but maybe this cold weather will make Yumoto speak faster.
“So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” En asks one more time and sees as the other is shivering because of the coldness.
“I’m ok senpai, really” the younger answers.
It’s the first time that En feels worry about Yumoto, well maybe not the first time, but in this moment, he is alone dealing with the younger and he can easily perceive that something is completely wrong. He does not think about it, and so he suddenly hugs Yumoto, the younger is completely shocked and looks up to the taller boy.
“It’s freezing out here, I don’t want you to catch a cold,” it’s the quickest reply he could have come up with and immediately En looks away.
“Thank you… senpai…” the boy draws a kind smile on his face, like if he is truly appreciating the fact that Yufuin takes care of him.
“You know, you are really making me feel worry, be honest and spit it out, what’s wrong?”
Maybe having a kind touch and being as gentle as possible in these kind of situations is not one of En’s qualities, but if he has learned something during these last months it is that going straight to the point is the best. Nonetheless, that philosophy does not help him at the moment when Yumoto turns around and tightly hugs him. En is completely speechless, and he gets even more speechless as soon as he listens to Yumoto sobbing.
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be rude,” En replies freaking out, how is he going to fix this?
However, when Yumoto’s tight hug becomes even stronger he is sure that he was not the one who made him cry. The taller boy is no good at all at dealing with emotions, or providing a word of comfort, he is lost. He does not even know how the hell he got into this situation. The first thing he thinks is that he wishes Atsushi to wake up and help him out, but probably his prays are not going to be listened. After some moments, he thanks to whatever divine entity that gives him the idea to pat Yumoto on his head since that seems to calm a little bit the younger. There are still some tiny sobs coming from the blond, but they seem to gradually start fading.
“There, there!” En says, he does not even know if that’s the right way to address Yumoto, but it’s already too late to think about it.
“Thanks, En-chan-senpai,” the younger says and cleans the last tears that were forming in his scarlet eyes.
“No need to thank, but… can you tell me what happened?”
Yumoto looks down, he does not want to explain, but maybe that weird feeling and that pressure in his chest can be gone if he says the words out loud. He takes a deep breath and looks up again.
“I am scared… I am scared of being left, of everyone leaving me behind, I’m scared that someone can come and take you all away from me, I’m afraid anyone can come and kidnap my brother again, or anyone of you…”
The younger expresses with all honesty, his voice breaking with each word and his grip on En’ sweater getting stronger again. The blond boy tries to hold his tears, he tries to ignore that painful thought that makes him want to throw up, that makes him want to cry a river but he can’t. On the other side, En looks to be trying to understand what he heard, something that does not take him long and so he hugs Yumoto again.
“You fluffed head, it seems you don’t pay attention to anything I say, right?”
“En-chan-senpai…”
Yumoto looks up, and he only has enough time to adjust his head before En hugs him strongly against his own chest.
“No one is gonna leave you behind, you’re not gonna be alone, we are here for you, you are an important part of this weird group of friends,” En says caressing Yumoto’s hair.
“But… what if… you know, anyone of you even big bro can have another crazy fan and…”
“We will fight again, we will protect each other, that includes you, remember that, ok?”
“Will you take care of me?”
“Like your big brother does… well maybe not that well, but as good as I can.”
Yumoto can’t help, but laugh at that honest statement that En-chan says. They stay for a little bit in that hug. Even if he is not good at this En believes that he has done a good job, and he is actually thankful that Yumoto has spoken up. Maybe he should try and talk to the others about the situation since sometimes they are kind of unfair with the youngest, yes, definitely something to consider and do.
“Thank you, En-chan-senpai,” Yumoto expresses and sighs, probably letting out the last of those negative emotions he was having, “thank you for listening.”
“No need to thank, but please, next time talk before you feel like that, it seems like this have been bugging you for a while,” the notable remark makes Yumoto blush and En sighs, “Now, let’s go inside, it’s freezing over here.”
The smaller one nods and follows his senpai, all the guys are still sleeping, as if they never notice that the other two have been outside for almost fifteen minutes. As soon as they get in, Yumoto feels completely frozen, of course when he was out he didn’t perceive it and the same goes for En.
“Come here, we’ll get warmer being together,” the older boy expresses and tiny blush shows on his face. Yumoto’s eyes sparkle and nods with excitement, quickly he moves towards En, being careful of not waking up Atsushi who is really closed to En’ space. Definitely, En is an expert in making the greatest cocoons ever.
“Now, go to sleep, we’ll be here tomorrow with you,” En whispers almost sleep.
“Yes, thank you senpai,” the younger replies and lies his head on En’s arm and clings a bit into En.
Finally, that night the nightmares do not show up for Yumoto and he comfortably sleeps next to his friends, he sleeps feeling protected by his friends. He does not have to fear anymore, the Defense Club members are also his family, a lovely family that will take care of him and he will also take care of them.
Creator: @intra-fiducia
Recipient: @angelluckovich
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Arima Ibushi/Yufuin En
Word Count: 3182
Summary: It’s eleven AM on a Sunday morning and Arima opens the door wondering what, exactly, Yufuin En is doing there with a bouquet of roses in one hand and a shopping bag full of sweets in the other.
Comment: Merry Christmas, Angel! I’m so glad to have been able to talk to you + get to know you through Boueibu <3
“Let me in already,” Yufuin complains, shifting on his feet. “It’s cold out here, and my hands hurt.”
He certainly looks cold, shivering under a single heavy coat that’s shapeless enough to pass as a fashionable blanket. His pale skin glows against the crisp white of the morning, his messy hair floating around him like woven threads of gold. There are dark bags under his eyes, the sclera tinged pink with lack of sleep.
“Serves you right,” says Arima, too shocked to rework the phrase into something less obviously antagonistic. But he steps aside. Warm air rushes past him, heavy with the fragrance of crushed leaves.
Yufuin drinks it in like freshly-brewed tea. “Man, that smells good.”
Against his will, Arima finds himself drawn into conversation. “It’s made from plants I have growing in my garden.”
“You made this?” Yufuin sounds suitably impressed; it tempts Arima to push, to see how far he can press the tale before Yufuin starts to taste the hint of a lie amongst the accomplishments.
“Unfortunately not.” There exists a subset of the student population which believes the student council capable of mostly anything. According to Arima’s observations, Yufuin is among them. “I sent them to a family friend.”
“You did that last time,” comments Yufuin. “With the tea sweets, and stuff. Well-connected, aren’t you.” His voice trails off at the end, a sliding huff of lazy lips, and Arima struggles to discern whether there’s a mocking lilt to the phrase. It’s hard to tell with Yufuin; he says things that would be poison on the tongue of any other student, but he says them fluidly, like they’re genuine. It’s easy to tell when Yufuin is lying, when his words rush too fast and too forceful in his efforts to make himself seem respectable.
(Perhaps that’s why those attempts don’t usually end well.)
Yufuin kicks off his shoes and leaves them haphazard in the doorway; Arima nudges them into place with his toes as he follows him through to the living area. He wonders if this is how Kinugawa feels, continuously chasing Yufuin around, cleaning up the messes he makes. But then, Kinugawa stands beside Yufuin, not behind. He assumes himself equal, and Yufuin returns the assumption in full.
Only Arima follows after people like a shadow, clinging desperately to a single point of contact. He craves their smiles, their flippant gestures, their proof of humanity. There is a script for social interaction, and Arima has wrapped himself in its pages like a well-loved scarf – wave, smile, greet – but still he loses its shape in the space between ideation and reality. Paired against something genuine (someone like Yufuin), he shows flat and blurred at the edge, an obvious imitation.
This, more than any of Yufuin’s numerous idiosyncrasies, is what unsettles Arima when they are together. Arima works for his relationships. He huddles under layer after layer of put-on social etiquette, and it has never been enough. Then Yufuin arrives, with his open smile and casual touches. It’s barely been a month, and Arima sees Kinshirou unfurl under Yufuin’s transparency where Arima’s year of guarded tact had made almost zero progress.
(He knows, intellectually, that the reason for this is multifactorial, and stems largely from Kinshirou’s reconciliation with Kinugawa. This does nothing to soothe the emerald flares of envy that burn in his chest every time Yufuin makes friendship seem easy.)
Yufuin thuds into the kitchen. “This house is huge.” He drops the roses on the table, his shopping bag on the floor, and instantly the house proves him a liar. It’s like everything in the room draws to him. His skin connects to the polished floorboards in a rich array of tan shades; his eyes look a reflection of the sky slipping in through the windows. The walls are collapsing, the air tainted by gold-flax hair, and every time Yufuin breathes it sends ripples through the ceiling.
Arima can almost see the tableau warp where he stands, shifting from his space to something shared and in-between. Something no longer under his control. “Go home,” he chokes out. His voice shrills high and unstable – panicked – his brain supplies. “Who said you could come in like you own the place,” he says, and means what do you want; leave me alone; stop making me feel like you belong.
Yufuin looks supremely unfazed. “Calm down and have a manjuu.”
This morning isn’t going the way Arima had thought it would at all. There had been plans made and tasks scheduled, and Arima will laugh if anyone compares him to Kinshirou but he still tries his best to keep things in order. His motives are different – Kinshirou cleans for aesthetic, for a higher purpose and a cause he believes in. Arima sorts his clothes because he knows he’ll lose them otherwise.
He can feel himself coming apart at the untucked corners of his shirt. “I don’t want a manjuu,” he says, petulant, because Yufuin has caught him by the rough edges he’d hoped to hide, and all Arima can do is play along now.
Then strong hands are on his shoulders. They push him down into a seat, pressing cold and hard into the muscle; Arima shivers with the chill of it long after they’ve moved on. He watches them twist and bend, picking apart the knotted handles of the shopping bag with mild impatience.
Yufuin extracts a soft bun from the plastic and presses it into Arima’s hands. Its aroma begins to sweep through the area, soaking up the remnants of jasmine and vanilla, and while Arima wouldn’t have chosen to perfume his house with sugar and bean paste, it’s relaxing in a way he hadn’t expected.
Slowly, his walls slide back into place. The chairs squeak against the floor, positioned now to accommodate people instead of an empty kitchen. The tableau shifts again, and it’s still Arima’s house, but Yufuin is here.
(He doesn’t mind as much as he thought he might.)
This is how things are: Arima never asks for Yufuin to come into his life. But Yufuin does anyway, attached to Kinugawa Atsushi, who coaxes Kinshirou into contentment, and that means Arima has a duty to find out exactly what it is that makes Yufuin En interesting to the person Kinshirou craves attention from.
Duty would be where it stops, except then Yufuin finds him in the corridors and trails him to the student council room, where he lounges on the couch and antagonises Kinshirou while Arima tries his best to maintain the peace. Duty would be where it stops, except then Arima follows him to the baths for a chat one day and finds out firsthand why Yufuin En is both brilliant and hilarious and infuriating, and he wonders whether it might be possible to convince Kinshirou to build a student break room on Yufuin’s personal recommendation.
Duty would be where it stops, except Yufuin doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word. Rather, he ignores all of Arima’s careful boundaries, purposely turns a blind eye to the flashing red lights Arima props up in preparation for his arrival. It’s like he’s been reading – some biographical reckoning of Arima’s life, some manifesto written by the most private corners of his heart, and where others would politely glance away, Yufuin tears the pages out to paste up on pinboards.
This is how things are: Arima closes the door behind him and wakes up to Yufuin ringing his doorbell while the wind blows frost over the sunrise.
(Maybe, maybe, this means something.)
Inhaling a deep breath of yeasty air, Arima contemplates the value of leaving doors open. “What happened to sleeping in?” he asks, more calmly.
“I’ve got something better to do.”
Arima raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t think there was anything more important to you than a morning nap.” It comes out slightly caustic, which he hadn’t intended, but Yufuin sweeps all that away with a wave of his hand.
“In general, yes, my appetite for food comes second to my appetite for sleep.” He holds up a finger, looking unusually motivated. “But! They say there’s power in numbers, so when you add up all the rest of my appetites, they’ve managed to outweigh my love for sleep. Just for today.”
Appetites for what? Arima wants to ask. Yufuin En is asleep by default, but when he does things he does them with a tenacity that can bring down monsters. Arima’s played enough chess to spot a manhunt when he sees it. He’s being cornered, inarguably; he has a shrinking time limit to decide whether he will accept defeat. “As usual, you say things that sound good, but mean absolutely nothing.”
“I resent that,” Yufuin huffs. He’s still smiling, gentler now, as if to match the softening of Arima’s tone. “It’s basic maths.”
“Isn’t that one of your worst subjects?” Arima teases, and Yufuin pouts, shoves another bun into his hands.
“I get good marks when I try. Anyway, what do you think of the buns?”
“They’re nice,” says Arima. He waits. “Why?”
Yufuin shrugs. “I got them for you. Think of them as an apology of sorts. And…”
For the briefest of moments, Yufuin’s eyes flick to the bouquet of roses spread over the table between them. Arima stops him before he can speak. “I’m not going to ask what you’re apologising for,” he says, “because goodness knows there’s plenty that I can think of, and plenty more that I don’t want to think of.”
A faint smirk crosses Yufuin’s lips, though he squirrels it away too fast for Arima to call him out on it. By all rights, Arima should find this maddening, but he has warm manjuu at his fingertips and Yufuin’s nose is still pink even though he’s been indoors too long now for it to be from the cold.
“So?” he prompts instead, “What were you planning?”
“How about this,” Yufuin starts, the prelude to a long and vaguely convincing speech about the benefits of researching sweets in town.
“You just want to eat,” Arima snipes. It makes Yufuin laugh.
“Sure,” he agrees. “Don’t you?”
“I’m not sure I want to eat with you,” says Arima, but he’s smiling too, now. He points to the manjuu. “I think I’m starting to understand. You’re bribing me to go along with you.”
Yufuin nods sheepishly.
“And to think you tried to pass them off as an apology. That’s rather deceitful of you. That said,” Arima continues before Yufuin can protest, “it must have been difficult for you to get up so early this morning. I’ll take this,” – he gestures to Yufuin in general – “as your apology. A very pushy one, if I might add. It’s rude to come to people’s houses without contacting them in advance.”
A second nod, more sullen this time.
The flowers are heavy when Arima picks them up. Fifteen roses with crimson petals. “…And these?”
“You’re the gardener,” Yufuin says, shrugging. His cheeks are flushed. “So?”
“I’m not sure.” Arima is too flustered to say anything else. They sit in silence for a good minute before he asks, you’re not going to try and convince me?”
“I don’t seem to be that great at persuading people,” Yufuin confesses ruefully. He strokes a petal absently, almost tenderly. “True genius is always misunderstood.”
“There’s a fine line between genius and stupidity,” Arima counters, trying to calm the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. “If you like, I can tell you which side you’re on.”
“Your judgement is probably impaired. Early morning, and all that. I know how it feels.”
“Do you now,” murmurs Arima. It adds absolutely nothing to their exchange, except to encourage Yufuin in his uselessness. Maybe this is what afternoons at the defence club are like: long meandering branches of conversation that reach nowhere but grow huge and majestic, with roots that clutch the earth deep.
“I am the resident expert.” Yufuin speaks with airy pride, though there’s an obvious edge of self-deprecation in his voice accompanying it. “We can’t all be upstanding citizens like you.” He speaks in the same dry tone as always, but his fingers drum complex rhythms on the table.
He’s nervous, Arima realises, instantly endeared. “Life’s all about the company you keep,” he offers. “I don’t think you’re beyond hope.”
The drumming stops. “I knew you’d come around,” Yufuin gloats, which swings him right back around to exasperating. “There’s this great new shop not too far from the park, you know – ”
Buns don’t count for breakfast, in Arima’s opinion, and he’s so hungry – to see Yufuin vulnerable again. Is that how he would have looked, waiting outside for me to open the door?
He wants to know – about Yufuin, and his nervous habits. He wants to know how Yufuin thinks up his strange, illogical arguments; he wants to know whether Yufuin set thirteen alarms so he’d wake up on time this morning. He can already taste the addiction on his lips. “Ah, I know the one. A lovely little café, isn’t it?”
A small crease forms between Yufuin’s eyebrows. (Arima quite likes the look of it.) “Actually,” Yufuin says, “I was thinking more of that small touri – ”
“That small tortellini dish they serve for just 1800yen on weekends, right? I do love that place. The chef is a dear friend of mine.”
Yufuin shakes his head, but he’s a pliant creature by nature. “Whatever you say.” He shrugs, sighing, and once more Arima is tempted to push, push, push – until Yufuin snaps, or melts against him, or does something completely unexpected again.
Instead, Arima gathers the roses and holds out a hand. Yufuin no longer looks cold; there’s colour splashed across his skin, and the steam from the manjuu has made his lips bloom red. His hand, too, is warm when it reaches out to clasp Arima’s, and sticky from where he’s licked his fingers clean of sweetened bean paste. Arima cringes inwardly, but he holds on, pulls, and Yufuin comes up to stand eye-to-eye with him.
The bouquet of roses rests between them, its thin wrapping crinkling as they breathe. Each rise and fall of their chests is amplified a hundredfold. Arima is on the edge of making a decision.
Not yet. He steps back, words coming soft and natural to his tongue. Like freshly-baked dough, he supposes, or a crimson petal, or the first snow of the day, melting on the leaves. “Well, come on then.”
Such graceless words.
“You’re kinda hot when you get bossy,” Yufuin remarks, elevating Arima’s previous line to classic poetry in comparison. He winks. “Cute when you’re annoyed, too.”
“You’re insufferable,” retorts Arima, in lieu of admitting he finds Yufuin cute, too, when he’s nervous. He still hasn’t released Yufuin’s hand.
(Maybe that’s a decision already.)
“I’ll grow on you,” Yufuin promises, with a swift, affectionate squeeze of his palm.
“Like a parasite.”
“Parasites are useful,” insists Yufuin. “Sometimes. There’s this one bee that you can train to pick up explosives and stuff.”
“Is that so?”
Yufuin wanders back towards the hallway, and Arima trails after him, bouquet of roses in one hand and Yufuin’s slender fingers in the other. His phone chimes with an alert - he was supposed to water the plants, organise some documents - but he doesn’t have the hands to reach for it. “Do you need to get that?” Yufuin asks, when the tune has looped back on itself four or five times.
“Mm.” He’s known it all along, but Yufuin’s brand of languor is infectious. He always makes things look easy, and Arima wants that, as desperately as he had wanted Kinshirou’s smile, all those years ago. On a whim, he tugs at their joined hands. Yufuin stumbles in reverse, and Arima kisses him.
The stunned gasp Yufuin lets slip is muted in Arima’s throat. Arima chases Yufuin’s tongue when he shrinks in surprise, and after a minute, Yufuin surges against him. He’s gently insistent, free hand slipping through Arima’s hair to cradle his head. If Yufuin was warm before, he’s burning now, his kisses scalding hot, but Arima feels like he’s drowning instead.
Yufuin’s eyes are hazy, fogged over. “What was that for?”
“One for the road,” Arima guesses, because he’s still not quite sure, but he wants to be. “A promise, of sorts, to tide you over. And...”
“Is it an answer?”
Arima leans in slowly, drags their lips together again. “An answer to what?” he murmurs.
Yufuin’s hand searches, finds Arima’s around the stem of the bouquet. “Scared to ask,” he admits. “You always say no.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” Yufuin presses their foreheads together. His eyelids slip, his body canting into Arima’s. He smells like soap and sugar and budding flowers. “Wouldn’t even give me a single manjuu.”
“I might have, if you’d asked honestly instead of trying to steal some under false pretenses.” His voice sharpens. The sting of it is still fresh in his mind.
“Hey.” Yufuin moves slowly, sealing their lips again. He kisses long and sweet; when Arima tries to break for air Yufuin holds him close and pushes harder, deeper, shoulders tensing as he locks them in place. “I’m sorry it came to that.”
“You really aren’t,” says Arima, because it’s true. “It’s fine. Just don’t do it again.”
“Can I at least presume again?” Yufuin asks. “Because I want to take this as an answer.”
Arima rolls his eyes, but it’s hard to get properly worked up when Yufuin keeps pecking at him. “Someday you’re going to have to stop being so presumptuous and work up the courage to actually ask for what you want.”
Yufuin huffs out a laugh. “I'm just coming to the natural conclusion, here.”
“I see.”
It makes sense, if only through Yufuin’s unique perspective. They’ve been circling around each other since they first met, when Arima learned that Kinshirou meant Kinugawa, meant Yufuin. Someday the circle will close, and Yufuin will mean Arima, or the other way around.
“Ugh, my lips are sore. Eating lunch is going to hurt now.” Yufuin glares halfheartedly.
“We could go for curry instead,” suggests Arima, laughing at look of disgust on Yufuin’s face.
“Maybe when my tongue doesn’t feel completely raw,” grumbles Yufuin. “Oi, let’s go out already. I need to buy lip cream.”
Arima hauls him back once more just for the fun of it, and for all his complaints, Yufuin reciprocates eagerly. Arima senses them bounding off each other’s desire, control slipping with every stolen breath.
Eventually, long after Arima’s phone has given up its electronic beeps, they make it to the door. Arima unlocks it and Yufuin steps past him into the midday sun. The air is crisp, clean; Yufuin's hair floats around him with more tangles than he’d had on arrival, and Arima’s could possibly pass for bedhead. The cold threatens to swallow them up, but Yufuin’s hand is burning, burning, in Arima’s pocket.
“Alright,” says Arima, and it’s as much of an answer as he can brave. “Let’s go.”
Creator: @cupkaykey
Recipient: @mystofthestars
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Kinugawa Atsushi, Yufuin En
Word Count: 3,717
Summary: AU in which En is a curry chef and Atsushi is a college student; “It seemed to En that despite the fact that his body seemed to react to the spices, he almost enjoyed the sensations, huddling over his food like he hadn’t eaten in years. Their curry wasn’t that good. They hadn’t won any awards nor did they get particularly very much foot traffic even when the University was in session, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to him. That skinny, bespectacled boy always left with rosy cheeks, a runny nose and a smile that warmed En to his toes. And of course, there was always a little bit of steam left smudging his lenses.”
Comment: I usually don’t write AUs but I wanted to do something that I knew you would love! I hope I did En and Atsushi justice here- En’s voice was a smidgen difficult in a different setting! Merry Christmas! <3
—-
Steam
He never waited for the curry to cool before digging in. He ate like he was trying to warm his bones- the steam from the dish rising to fog his glasses. Within minutes, his cheeks would flush, his nose would turn red and En could usually hear him sniffling over his bowl all the way from the kitchen. Sometimes, if they were slow, En would stop and watch him through the serving window, gulping down mouthfuls of their spiciest dishes without much effort. It seemed to En that despite the fact that his body seemed to react to the spices, he almost enjoyed the sensations, huddling over his food like he hadn’t eaten in years. Their curry wasn’t that good. They hadn’t won any awards nor did they get particularly very much foot traffic even when the University was in session, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to him. That skinny, bespectacled boy always left with rosy cheeks, a runny nose and a smile that warmed En to his toes. And of course, there was always a little bit of steam left smudging his lenses.
En wondered if he even noticed.
He started coming in shortly after classes had started for the term; it didn’t take long for En to figure out that he was a first-year student at Binan U. It didn’t surprise him, as often as he came in to eat with his bag overloaded with books and his shoulders slumped. He also just looked smart, and it wasn’t just the glasses. En knew he wasn’t stupid- his chronic laziness and aversion to tests had been the reason he hadn’t gotten into Binan, himself- but the boy with the glasses probably could talk circles around him and he wouldn’t be able to retort. For the first few weeks, En would go back and forth with Kouji, the busboy, about what their regular could possibly be studying that required so many books. Kouji thought it was physics. En guessed biology. He would have asked sooner- but being stuck in the kitchen wasn’t exactly the best place to get to know the customers. It took until he’d been consistently fogging up his glasses over their curry, three times a week, for three months, until En got the chance to find out his name.
Kouji, incidentally, had the flu. So En had to pull double duty, busing the far tables when traffic was low and making sure the curry got out to the right people. Owner had even had to come down and help, and they’d been so busy that En almost missed that he was there at all. He must’ve snuck in later than usual, or been so consumed in his books that he hadn’t eaten as ravenously as usual, because by the time En got around to cleaning the tables an hour before close, he was still only halfway through his dish, absently taking spoonfuls while his tired eyes scanned the pages behind his specs. He seemed peaceful, if exhausted, and En almost didn’t want to interrupt. He might have been reading something important- the cover of the book was hidden from view, so En couldn’t see the subject. He cleaned the table next to the boy with the glasses for a solid five minutes before he effectively decided ‘to hell with it’. He just had to know what he was all about.
“Everything okay over here?” En asked, looking up from his hundredth circle of the rag on the table.
The boy blinked, seemingly startled. His cheeks were red, En noted. “Oh, yes,” he said after a moment, looking up from his book. “Everything’s very good, as usual.”
“Good to hear,” En said, quirking his lips into a grin. Compliments were nice, but he seemed easy to please. He left the rag on the table and leaned his elbow on the back of the booth seat. “You come here a lot don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. This is on the way home from the University, so I always like to drop by after class,” the boy with the glasses said brightly. “Also, it’s the only place nearby that has good curry.”
En resisted the urge to scoff- after all, their curry was mediocre, at best. He sounds too genuine to be sucking up. But still, a compliment was a compliment. He grinned. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re the chef, right?”
“Mmhm. En Yufuin.”
“Atsushi Kinugawa.” En thought he hadn’t heard a nicer name. Nor had he heard one that accompanied such a nice smile, with such warm, brown eyes peeking out from behind misted lenses. “It’s nice to meet you, Yufuin-san.”
X
Not long after officially meeting, En noticed that Kinugawa’s visits to their humble restaurant increased from three times a week to four. He figured he noticed the increased frequency so quickly because he’d also noticed that Kinugawa’s regular table moved from the back of the extended seating area up towards the kitchen, either at one of the closest two-person booths or at the counter on Mondays. En supposed the counter spot on Mondays was his fault- Kinugawa would arrive early on those days, before the lunch rush, when they rarely had more than three of four patrons in the restaurant at one time. Kinugawa would come in, his bag loaded with books and his notebook in hand, and pour over his schoolwork with about as much enthusiasm as with which he ate his curry. En had wondered how he could even see his writing, what with how dark the booth he usually chose was and the steam from the curry smudging his glasses. He’d wondered so much that after the second Monday, he’d said as much out loud;
“Hey, Kinugawa-san?”
“Eh? Yes?”
“Come sit over here, will you? The light’s better closer to the kitchen- you’re gonna ruin your eyes squinting in the dark over there.”
Kinugawa had just smiled at him- another one of those smiles that En found himself craving more and more- and moved seats immediately. Soon after, Mondays became less about Kinugawa doing schoolwork (although En did leave him alone if it was absolutely necessary) and more about swapping curry cooking techniques. Kinugawa, as it turned out, knew his way around a kitchen. Or rather, his tastebuds did.
“You used more nutmeg, today, Yufuin-san.”
“Did I?”
“Mmhm. It’s sweeter than last time, but it’s actually… better this way.”
“Huh.”
“I usually use more turmeric… but I might have to try it this way at home.”
En had arched his eyebrow at that, leaning over the counter separating the kitchen from the seating area and wiping sweat from his forehead. “You cook?”
Kinugawa actually blushed, turning back to look at his bowl instead of at En, vaguely stirring the remnants of his dish. “Oh, a little bit… I’m nowhere near as good as you, Yufuin-san.”
“You know I’m not that good, right?” En drawled, unable to help himself. Kinugawa looked up at that, almost so affronted that he forgot his prior shyness. It was almost cute.
“You sell yourself short. Your curry is one of the best I’ve had.”
“One of the best, hm? Then you must not have been to India, before. True Indian curry would put my slop to shame.” The drivel was his usual- he joked around with Kouji enough that the only reason people kept coming back for his curry was the ‘addictive powder’ he put into the mix, or his charm or good looks (or Kouji’s charm and good looks). But leave it to Kinugawa to leave him with nothing to say.
“…I lived in India for a year, actually.”
All he could do was stare at the steam rising from his latest, nutmeg-laden batch.
X
Somehow, Kinugawa’s admission lit two simultaneous fires under En’s rear end. One, he had to learn how to make and perfect authentic Indian curry, exact spices and all, and two, he needed to taste Kinugawa’s curry.
The second thought had come as something of a sudden epiphany, but after several Mondays (and some other days) worth of chatting with Kinugawa about curry, India and a variety of other topics, he came to a couple of conclusions. One, Kinugawa likely knew more about curry than he liked to admit, and thusly based on his knowledge alone could probably whip up a decent batch even if his technical skill wasn’t the greatest (if that was even what he was insecure about, at all). Two, Kinugawa just as a general person was one of the easiest people to get along with. He smiled a lot. He was agreeable. He liked to ask questions and had thoughtful insights about the most mundane of things. The two of them once spent a slow, rainy late spring afternoon debating about the purpose of chikuwabu- a conversation that En had attempted to have with Kouji to only be brushed off as halfway insane. Kinugawa never once insinuated En was insane. Perhaps a little eccentric- like he’d been told before- but not insane or boring. And certainly it was a bonus that each time Kinugawa came in (the frequency increasing to between four and five times a week by the middle of the University term) he would leave his bowl completely empty and his glasses absolutely smudged with fog. Sometimes he ate two portions, which En was actually rather relieved about, considering Kinugawa was just so damn skinny.
It had been those conclusions that had driven home that En had potentially found someone who was an even bigger curry nut than he was, which in and of itself was something of a feat. But not only that, Kinugawa was simply a kindred spirit. He made En’s days brighter, especially on the busy days when he’d come in after his longer class days, his shoulders sagging from the weight of his bag and a look on his face that said that his stomach was growling so loud they could hear it in Timbuktu. En was always more than happy to serve Kinugawa up a warm bowl, if only to put a smile on his face. That in turn made En smile.
But bringing up that he wanted to try Kinugawa’s cooking was another story. He’d never seen Kinugawa outside of the restaurant. He didn’t even know where he lived. He’d found out from strategic peeking at his meticulous notes that he was studying some sort of science, although the courses seemed to vary from biology to chemistry to anatomy. Perhaps he was studying to be a doctor. A doctor who liked to make curry. It certainly wouldn’t be too terribly out there, and from their brief encounters, En thought that Kinugawa would eventually make a fine doctor. He had a great manner about him, if he could learn to be more confident. Or perhaps, more sincerely cheerful.
Because Kinugawa was absolutely terrible at faking cheer when he wasn’t feeling it.
The University’s summer holiday had just begun, and En hadn’t seen Kinugawa for several days. En was beginning to think that Kinugawa had gone home for the break, which reminded him that he hadn’t even asked Kinugawa where home was, when speak of the devil, according to Kouji, he showed up an hour before close, looking quite droopy and clutching his smartphone like it was some kind of lifeline. He didn’t even grab a menu card (although he never needed it, En had noticed Kinugawa would always take one anyway, for reference), he just slumped into a booth, dumping his heavy bag onto the floor and effectively letting out a full-body sigh.
It was disconcerting, to say the least.
“You better take this, Yufuin,” Kouji said, clapping his hand on En’s shoulder. “I’ll clean up the other tables. Go bring him his usual and sit.”
Kinugawa hadn’t moved when En emerged from the kitchen several minutes later, carrying the tray of two servings of lamb curry and two glasses of mango tea to the corner booth. En smiled as he approached, although it took a gentle nudge of his foot against Kinugawa’s to get him to look up from his phone.
“Mind if I join you?” En asked, smiling.
“Huh? Oh, of course Yufuin-san,” Kinugawa said, attempting to smile brightly, but it was obvious that the smile didn’t meet his eyes. There were dark circles underneath his glasses and his skin seemed sallow and lacked its usual glow.
En raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything just yet, not wanting to draw attention to Kinugawa’s mood until he’d at least gotten some curry in him. He set the tray down and reached out to hand Kinugawa a spoon. “Eat,” he said. “You look hungry.”
“Thank you…” Kinugawa said, and his smile was a little more genuine, though he still seemed troubled. Though it was replaced by puzzlement soon after, as if his brain took a moment to catch up to speed. “Though… I don’t recall putting in what I wanted… how did you know?”
En chuckled and shrugged, trying to ignore how his stomach did an odd flop at Kinugawa’s intonation. “Lucky guess. Or skill. You decide.”
Kinugawa smiled a bit wider. “Itadakimasu.”
They both picked up their spoons and started to eat, En attempting to not be too terribly obvious that he was watching Kinugawa as usual. Like always, Kinugawa didn’t wait for the curry to cool before digging in, the warm steam rising from the bowl meeting his glasses full force and obscuring his eyes for a few moments as he ate. He was just about as ravenous as always, but he kept glancing towards his phone on the table and frowning ever-so-slightly. The screen lit up once and Kinugawa for a split second looked excited, but the text on the screen evidently wasn’t what he was looking for and his expression returned to the half-pleasant-yet-still-slightly-depressed look.
“Is something bothering you, Kinugawa-san?” En asked after a moment.
“Hm?” Kinugawa said, glancing up from his bowl, the fog disappearing from his lenses. “Oh… no… I’m fine.” He smiled, but it was most definitely false.
“You don’t seem fine,” En said.
“Don’t I?” Kinugawa tilted his head.
En nodded towards Kinugawa’s smartphone. “Are you waiting for a call?”
If he was reading it right, En thought Kinugawa looked a bit sheepish. He looked back down at the offending device, stirring his curry absently. “Something like that.”
“Oh?”
It took a moment for Kinugawa to speak again, his voice soft and a bit sad-sounding. “…my friend from high school was supposed to contact me about coming to visit over break, but I haven’t heard anything from him in a few weeks.”
En blinked. “Is he busy with exams?”
“I’m… not sure,” Kinugawa said slowly. “We… had an argument over the phone the last time we talked. It was stupid… I shouldn’t have hung up when I did. I guess he’s angry with me.”
“What was the argument about?” En asked.
Kinugawa actually smiled a bit, letting out a half-laugh. “Curry, believe it or not.”
En raised his eyebrows, chuckling as well. “Oh really?”
“Mmhm. He’s… not a fan, although I’m not sure he’s ever tried it. I wanted him to come here to try yours since it’s so good but he refused.” En wasn’t quite sure how to take that, although he felt his heart speed up a little bit. Carefully, he stuck to neutral advice.
“You can’t really force someone to like something.”
“I know, but I think he would like it if he gave it a chance,” Kinugawa said. “He’s… he can be set in his ways, though. It’s my fault the argument ended how it did… I got upset with him…” He ran his hands through his hair, as he often did when he was studying. Must’ve been a nervous habit.
“I’ll feel guilty if my curry caused a fallout between the two of you,” En said, vaguely wondering if he was reading the situation right. Kinugawa seemed pretty torn up about the whole thing, even if it just seemed to be a silly argument between friends. Still, what he said was true. Even though it was… touching that Kinugawa liked his curry enough that he wanted to share it with friends from home, he didn’t want to be responsible for the end of a friendship, no matter how indirectly.
“Well it’s not quite about your curry…” Kinugawa said, frowning. “I offered to make some for him, myself, instead… but that almost made it worse.”
En blinked. “Really? How so? I’d think offering to cook for your friend would be better than taking them out, especially to this dump.” He grinned slightly, waggling his eyebrows when Kinugawa looked up. It earned En a smile and one of Kinugawa’s soft laughs, which lightened the atmosphere slightly.
“You’re too much sometimes, Yufuin-san.” Kinugawa shook his head. “You really ought to have more confidence.”
“So what did your friend say to your offer?”
“…Kinchan said that even if I made the best curry in the world he still wouldn’t eat such a ‘foul thing’,” Kinugawa said, lowering his voice in what En assumed was an approximation of his evidently ‘fussy’ friend adorably named ‘Kinchan’. “I guess I took it too personally and hung up on him.”
En didn’t quite blame him; curry was serious business. “Did you call back to apologize?”
Kinugawa nodded. “I emailed him the next day but I don’t know if he got it or if he’s ignoring me.”
“Curry shouldn’t be so dramatic,” En said, leaning back in his chair a bit. “It’s supposed to warm people up from the inside.”
“That’s what I said!” Kinugawa said emphatically. Once again, En thought he would never meet another person as long as he lived who liked curry as much as he did. He’d been told he was strange for his tastes and most of the time he believed people, but in Kinugawa, it was endearing.
“Are you two good friends?”
“We’ve been best friends since elementary.”
For some reason, the longevity of the friendship made En feel better. He assumed it was because that meant that Kinugawa wouldn’t have to worry more than necessary. Which was actually rather important to En. “Then I’m sure your Kinchan will come around eventually.”
“I hope so…” Kinugawa said, chuckling slightly in what En could only assume was for his use of Kinugawa’s nickname for his childhood friend. “I would go back to see him, myself, but I won’t have enough money leftover after paying for my apartment to afford a train ticket to his University.”
En frowned. “I’d imagine money would be tight with going to school and living on your own.” En could barely make ends meet, himself, and he lived above the restaurant in the apartment across from the Owner. Of course, he was a bit irresponsible with his money, spending most of it on recipe books. “Do you have a job, Kinugawa-san?” he asked.
“I work part-time for a convenience store on the weekends but it doesn’t pay much,” Kinugawa said. It suddenly made sense why Kinugawa only rarely stopped by the restaurant on weekends. The wheels in En’s head started to turn.
“…I have an idea on how you could make enough money.”
“Hm?”
“We’ve been starting to get a bit busier,” En said, slightly conspiratorial. “Owner is looking for another chef to help me out when there’s a lot of people here. You said you can make curry and you seem to know the process well enough-”
Kinugawa raised his hands and shook his head. “Oh no, I couldn’t-” he said, then promptly cut himself off, seemingly flustered. His nervous face is kind of adorable. “I’m nowhere near where you are.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” En said with a smirk. “How about this? This weekend, you make me your best curry- what you were going to make for your friend. If I think it’s good, you can work with me here as a paid apprentice… until Owner thinks you’re ready to be on your own.”
Kinugawa blinked, looking concerned. “Are you thinking of leaving, Yufuin-san?”
En was taken aback at first, but he smiled slightly. “No, not entirely,” he said. “I was thinking of cutting back my hours next year, though, if I could pass the entrance exam to Binan. I like being a chef well enough but I suppose I should go to school for something useful.” The thought had been at the back of his mind since before he’d met Kinugawa, but what he would likely never know was that Kinugawa had actually put a fire under En’s chronic laziness (as called out by Kouji) and tendency to fall into comfortable habits to make him actually want to go back to school. Maybe he’d tell him someday. Still, he expected an academic like Kinugawa to be happy about schooling. They still didn’t know each other too well, but En thought he’d had Kinugawa figured out. But apparently…
“Being a chef is useful, though,” Kinugawa said so earnestly En felt something inside his chest tighten. “You give people good food and make people happy.”
“…I’m glad you think that, Kinugawa-san,” En said after a moment. “But a chef isn’t as important as what it is that you’re going after. Medicine, right?”
Kinugawa looked startled. “How did you know?”
“I peeked at your notes once or twice.” En smirked. After a beat, Kinugawa laughed. Actually laughed. And for a good while, too. En had to grin.
“Yufuin-san,” he said after a moment or two, still chuckling. “You’re rather sly.”
“What do you say, though?” En said, leaning over the table slightly. “Even if you don’t accept the job… I still want to try some of your curry.”
Kinugawa seemed to mull it over for several agonizing seconds, glancing back and forth between his bowl, En himself, the kitchen and his phone. En hardly realized he was holding his breath.
Finally, quietly, Kinugawa responded, dipping his head and letting the steam from the remainder of his dish fog his lenses. “…maybe I could make you some.”
En spent a lot of time hovering over hot curry. But never had he felt as much heat as he did when the boy with the glasses smiled and promised him his very own curry.
