Ship/Character: Kurokiba Ryo/Hayama Akira Fandom: Shokugeki no Soma Major Tags: None Other Tags: let them be spicy friends, hayama actually asking for help, mentions of blood Word Count: 500 Remix Permission: blanket permission granted!
***
Ryo finds his favourite bandanna in the last place he thought it would be.
“Oh,” he mumbles. “You.”
Hayama’s leaning back against the counter, his white shirt streaked in burnt red. Why he chooses to wear white in the kitchen, Ryo’s never understood, but the bandanna he’s twirling round his index finger now matches the chilli and the stains and if he put it on, it would make a sight to remember; red on white and red on white. Hayama looks like he’s just murdered something in the kitchen and the air smells fit for blood as well. If Ryo can smell it, he can’t imagine how Hayama’s still breathing.
“What died in here?” he asks as he makes a half-hearted grab for his bandanna, only to have Hayama lift it up out of reach.
Hayama frowns. “My new test recipe.”
“What were you making? Give that back—”
It’s not even like Hayama’s taller than him. Ryo’s aware, vaguely, that he is the one with the height advantage when he straightens out of his perpetual slouch, but he’s too tired to bother now when all he needs to do is out-wait Hayama. This close, he can see a vein straining in Hayama’s neck, see him grit his teeth.
“If I give it back, will you help me?”
“Huh? You want me to help you?”
Hayama’s other hand digs into the countertop. Ryo stops reaching for his bandanna, glances over at the mess on the stove that could have been an eel, or a stingray. It’s been sliced up beyond recognition, and there’s still a bowl of spice powder sitting to one side that makes Ryo's nose tingle.
“Are you the seafood expert or not?”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Ryo. He holds out his hand, palm out. With a sigh, Hayama lowers his arm.
Chilli. It hits Ryo hard as he raises the bandanna to his forehead, ties it on, and then all of his senses are pricking so terribly alive and everything is red and sharp and clear, the stingray in the pan—he sees it now—flicking its barbed tail at him, the spices thick in the air and Hayama, brushing his hair out of his eyes, crossing his arms as he tilts his chin ever so slightly to look at Ryo like he expects a miracle. Like he believes that if anyone will make one now, it’s Ryo. Everything is raked over coals, and Hayama’s gaze is full of smoke that makes Ryo’s eyes water.
As he starts to tighten the knot, his fingers slip, unthinking at first, then—
“You know what,” Ryo murmurs. “I don’t need this to help you.”
He lets go, tucks his bandanna into his pocket for now. The roaring in his ears starts to quiet, but when he looks at Hayama, waiting, the red’s bleeding in the edges of his vision all over again. Kitchen accidents happen, sometimes, when he has his bandanna on. One day, Hayama might be his next one.
FILL: Team Knife Emoji, T
Fandom: Shokugeki no Soma
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: let them be spicy friends, hayama actually asking for help, mentions of blood
Word Count: 500
Remix Permission: blanket permission granted!
***
Ryo finds his favourite bandanna in the last place he thought it would be.
“Oh,” he mumbles. “You.”
Hayama’s leaning back against the counter, his white shirt streaked in burnt red. Why he chooses to wear white in the kitchen, Ryo’s never understood, but the bandanna he’s twirling round his index finger now matches the chilli and the stains and if he put it on, it would make a sight to remember; red on white and red on white. Hayama looks like he’s just murdered something in the kitchen and the air smells fit for blood as well. If Ryo can smell it, he can’t imagine how Hayama’s still breathing.
“What died in here?” he asks as he makes a half-hearted grab for his bandanna, only to have Hayama lift it up out of reach.
Hayama frowns. “My new test recipe.”
“What were you making? Give that back—”
It’s not even like Hayama’s taller than him. Ryo’s aware, vaguely, that he is the one with the height advantage when he straightens out of his perpetual slouch, but he’s too tired to bother now when all he needs to do is out-wait Hayama. This close, he can see a vein straining in Hayama’s neck, see him grit his teeth.
“If I give it back, will you help me?”
“Huh? You want me to help you?”
Hayama’s other hand digs into the countertop. Ryo stops reaching for his bandanna, glances over at the mess on the stove that could have been an eel, or a stingray. It’s been sliced up beyond recognition, and there’s still a bowl of spice powder sitting to one side that makes Ryo's nose tingle.
“Are you the seafood expert or not?”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Ryo. He holds out his hand, palm out. With a sigh, Hayama lowers his arm.
Chilli. It hits Ryo hard as he raises the bandanna to his forehead, ties it on, and then all of his senses are pricking so terribly alive and everything is red and sharp and clear, the stingray in the pan—he sees it now—flicking its barbed tail at him, the spices thick in the air and Hayama, brushing his hair out of his eyes, crossing his arms as he tilts his chin ever so slightly to look at Ryo like he expects a miracle. Like he believes that if anyone will make one now, it’s Ryo. Everything is raked over coals, and Hayama’s gaze is full of smoke that makes Ryo’s eyes water.
As he starts to tighten the knot, his fingers slip, unthinking at first, then—
“You know what,” Ryo murmurs. “I don’t need this to help you.”
He lets go, tucks his bandanna into his pocket for now. The roaring in his ears starts to quiet, but when he looks at Hayama, waiting, the red’s bleeding in the edges of his vision all over again. Kitchen accidents happen, sometimes, when he has his bandanna on. One day, Hayama might be his next one.