Ship/Character: Tsukasa Eishi/Isshiki Satoshi Fandom: Shokugeki no Soma Major Tags: None Other Tags: None Word Count: 427 Remix Permission: sure!
thank you for prompting tsusshiki even though you don't cook here ♥
***
It’s my turn to go, Tsukasa-senpai, Isshiki said, and left Tsukasa in his apartment with a kiss on the cheek and a potted plant that wasn’t for eating.
He does not know what to do with begonias. The leaves don’t taste good and the flowers have a funny aftertaste that are at turns bitter, at turns citrus-sour. He tried cutting one off when it bloomed, tried throwing a fistful of petals into a pot of boiling water, arranging them round a pie crust, slowly crushing them to coax out sweetness to no avail.
Rindou laughs at him and tells him not everything is meant to be eaten.
You miss him, she says, and Tsukasa looks back at her with juice still staining his fingers, pours himself another cup of black coffee and goes to open the windows.
He had not thought of house-sitting as anything out of the ordinary. He has his own toothbrush here, after all. His own mug, spare ties and a change of suit, for times he tumbles into Isshiki’s bed after a long day and doesn’t have the energy to go back to his place before morning. It’s not his house, but there are pieces of him all over it. Tsukasa knows how to go to pieces. Isshiki showed him how to pick them up again, fragment by fragment, hold them close even if they cut his hands and then put them to his lips with a smile.
It’s not his house, but when Isshiki is in it, it feels like it could be. After he left, Tsukasa cleaned the whole place only to find to his mild annoyance that it was already pretty clean, that Isshiki had not left him much to do except to make himself at home.
You just need to water the plants, like so, every day. Isshiki always woke up at the crack of dawn to do this, and so Tsukasa goes one better; he wakes up when it’s still dark. Against a hazy city sunrise, he snaps a photo of the balcony garden.
They’re still alive, he types before hitting send. The begonia, despite his best efforts at taking it apart, continues to flower. It reminds him of Isshiki.
He plucks another petal, opens his mouth and places it delicately on his tongue. It’s still bright in Reykjavik. The sky would look like this, not so different; it would be pink with cirrus clouds streaking the horizon, and Isshiki would be eating something strange and new and maybe it would taste like this too.
FILL: Team Knife Emoji, G
Fandom: Shokugeki no Soma
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: None
Word Count: 427
Remix Permission: sure!
thank you for prompting tsusshiki even though you don't cook here ♥
***
It’s my turn to go, Tsukasa-senpai, Isshiki said, and left Tsukasa in his apartment with a kiss on the cheek and a potted plant that wasn’t for eating.
He does not know what to do with begonias. The leaves don’t taste good and the flowers have a funny aftertaste that are at turns bitter, at turns citrus-sour. He tried cutting one off when it bloomed, tried throwing a fistful of petals into a pot of boiling water, arranging them round a pie crust, slowly crushing them to coax out sweetness to no avail.
Rindou laughs at him and tells him not everything is meant to be eaten.
You miss him, she says, and Tsukasa looks back at her with juice still staining his fingers, pours himself another cup of black coffee and goes to open the windows.
He had not thought of house-sitting as anything out of the ordinary. He has his own toothbrush here, after all. His own mug, spare ties and a change of suit, for times he tumbles into Isshiki’s bed after a long day and doesn’t have the energy to go back to his place before morning. It’s not his house, but there are pieces of him all over it. Tsukasa knows how to go to pieces. Isshiki showed him how to pick them up again, fragment by fragment, hold them close even if they cut his hands and then put them to his lips with a smile.
It’s not his house, but when Isshiki is in it, it feels like it could be. After he left, Tsukasa cleaned the whole place only to find to his mild annoyance that it was already pretty clean, that Isshiki had not left him much to do except to make himself at home.
You just need to water the plants, like so, every day. Isshiki always woke up at the crack of dawn to do this, and so Tsukasa goes one better; he wakes up when it’s still dark. Against a hazy city sunrise, he snaps a photo of the balcony garden.
They’re still alive, he types before hitting send. The begonia, despite his best efforts at taking it apart, continues to flower. It reminds him of Isshiki.
He plucks another petal, opens his mouth and places it delicately on his tongue. It’s still bright in Reykjavik. The sky would look like this, not so different; it would be pink with cirrus clouds streaking the horizon, and Isshiki would be eating something strange and new and maybe it would taste like this too.