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'It suits you,' he had said and it's not the first time that Shinomiya Kojrou had lifted the hairs from Yukihira's neck, not even the second, but it is the first time Yukihira could recall feeling so flattered by a statement so simple, by something that had required so little effort on his part.
The uniform wasn't much - a traditional, white chef's coat, pressed straight with starch. The buttons were expensive, round black pieces that shined like marble. If he was being honest with himself, Yukihira felt borderline uncomfortable in it. The collar came up a little too high, the sharp fold brushing against his neck stiffly. It smelt of laundry, but not like the laundry at home, or even at Polar Star, but like the suits who dominated his school. Yukihira couldn't wait to get it off and exchange it for his usual get up, the black Yukihira uniform he had donned since he was a small child.
But then
It suits you
and suddenly the stiff, over starched and too fancy uniform was Yukihira's new favorite thing.
Yukihira was familiar with exhaustion. It was a concept kneaded into him from a young age. A long day's work created heavy legs, droopy eyes and a quiet tongue, but everything felt worth it when a customer smiled, or when a regular dropped off fresh eggs in gratitude. At the end of the night, when his father would put away the good knives and shut off the kitchen light, the one Yukihira couldn't reach, there'd be a smile at the corner of his mouth, something small and secret, free of the stress of a full restaurant.
'You did good, Souma,' he would say, and everyday it was the same ritual - a firm hand at his shoulder, a small squeeze and the smirk that Yukihira never tired of - and in the last moments of the night it was more valuable to him than sleep.
But this new exhaustion, the relentless efforts that Yukihira poured into his training at Totsuki; this was an exhaustion that took time to adapt to. The reward was vast, shining brightly and teasingly, flickering at moments but always at the end of the road for him, but seemingly just as always out of reach. This exhaustion had no nightly pay off, did nothing to soothe his sore muscles. Shino's Tokyo hadn't even officially opened yet and the restaurant had managed to drain him completely, plus a few years, and there was still one more day.
Six hours of research, four hours of sleep, three hours of prep work to ask a few questions that hardly amounted to an hour of answers - the goal was in sight, but dim. Perhaps that's because Yukihira had already closed his eyes for the night.
He peeled an eye open, touching a button on the side of his watch to illuminate the dark screen.
1:45
If he fell asleep now, he could wake at eight, slop through a quick shower and be in the kitchen by 8:15, probably finish a pot of coffee before eleven. Breakfast would most likely be a few of the carrots he would eventually be peeling, plus a hard boiled egg. He smirked and it was ironic - for all the cooking he did, a full meal even once daily seemed to be a rare occurrence.
Sighing, Yukihira rolled over, pulling the blanket Shinomiya's staff had left out for him over his shoulders. It smelt like the uniforms did. He wrinkled his nose. It reminded him of Shinomiya.
Since coming to Totsuki, Yukihira had learned he was not the best. In fact, he was not even close to the best, hell, he couldn't make the top ten, probably twenty.
In his world, in his small town, in the few components that made up his life, there was his father and then there was him. One day, he'd be as good as him (hopefully better) and he'd take over the restaurant and live out a happy life. Perhaps marry an old classmate, pop out a kid or two and then teach him the same concepts he'd lived his entire life by.
But after Totsuki - the overwhelming fact that Yukihira knew nothing, that the confidence he held up until this point could be shattered by talent that was so raw it was practically instinct - his old life couldn't compete. It was no longer about just his father, or himself or that imaginary family he daydreamed. Everything was so much bigger than he was, and Yukihira was damned if he was going to spend another moment being smaller than anyone else but
Shinomiya
Yukihira was half asleep and his fist was still clenched. Shinomiya represented so many things that Yukihira simply wasn't. His determination and success inspired hundreds, himself included. Yukihira's respect wasn't something that was difficult to earn - everyone deserved it, but respect wasn't even a strong enough word. Yukihira found himself endlessly impressed by Shinomiya, even when he was inches from his face, eyes narrowed and mouth moving insults faster than Yukihira could whip an egg. There was something so attractive about him, in the least physical way possible - although, physically, Shinomiya was nothing if not hard to look away from.
A hard face, one that didn't move easily, but his eyes were warm beneath thin frames, soft and brown, so long as they weren't directed at you in a glare. Full lips that rarely pulled into a smile and a straight nose, but Yukihira hadn't spent a lot time looking at Shinomiya's face.
More time than he was willing to admit, anyway, but what fascinated the Totsuki student was his upperclassman’s hands - strong and lithe, each finger was somehow both delicate and rough, individual things capable of doing a multitude of tasks at once.
Yes, Yukihira could definitely admit that Shinomiya was easy on the eyes.
Giggling to himself, now more than half awake, Yukihira slid a hand down the waistband of his pants.
Totsuki had changed a lot of things about Yukihira, but perhaps that was owed more to his growing up than the actual school. Thoughts of Shinomiya filtered through his mind - the man's cruel, short laugh and the glint that sparked in his gaze when Yukihira challenged him. The tight curl of his lips when the word shokugeki crossed Yukihira's tongue and the thrill that lit his body aflame when Shinomiya accepted.
Failure was never an option, but if he had to fail to anyone...
His hands stiffened around the base of his cock when he heard a door slam. Startled, Yukihira sat up straight, but he barely had enough time to open his eyes before another door slammed, this time to the door to the back room of Shino's that he was residing in. He was blinded in the next moment when the light on the ceiling turned on with a rough pull of a switch.
Blinking slowly, Yukihira squinted through sleep filled eyes, his vision blurred by the brightness of the room and the hand that was roughly shaking him awake.
'Yukihira? Get up, and for the love of god, take your hands out of your pants. I need your help.'
'Senpai? It's two in the morning,' Yukihira replied, checking his watch. 'What are you doing here?'
'It's not worth explaining. Get. Up.'
Yukihira scrambled, stuffing his dick back into his underwear and slipping on some shoes. He barely made it to the kitchen when he realized he didn't have a shirt on and the sweat pants he had gone to sleep in weren't providing enough fabric to cover the evidence of how he had planned on spending the rest of his night.
Shinomiya glared, hard, glancing once at his waist and another at his chest. With a click of his tongue, he grabbed a coat off a hook on the wall and tossed it to Yukihira. 'Put this on.'
Yukihira complied, noting that this was not the normal uniform of those employed at Shino's. It was worn and thin, with a tear in the sleeve and a stain on the front. The faded red of it hardly concealed the years of wear. It smelled good, like it had been in a kitchen for a few years.
‘Start some chicken stock,' he snapped before Yukihira could ask about the coat. Fumbling, Yukihira made his way to the freezer, pulling out blocks of frozen chicken stock. Shinomiya set to work at the stove, melting butter and measuring out flour. The set of his shoulders was stiff, as if he was angry, and he might not have been angry but he was definitely frustrated. He slammed a pot on the counter and Yukihira jumped; not because he was frightened but because he was so shocked - the act was so uncharacteristic of the cool, collected Shinomiya he had always seen that it set his skin on edge.
He knew better though, then to voice his concerns before he had finished the task at hand. He quietly made his way to a cabinet, fishing through the pans until he found a stock pot.
After placing a few frozen blocks in a pan on low, Yukihira made his way to Shinomiya's side, clearing his throat softly when he didn't immediately notice his presence.
'Anything else, senpai?'
'Yeah,' Shinomiya growled, slamming a wooden spoon to the counter. 'What the hell were you doing before I turned on the light?'
Yukihira swallowed the lump that quickly took up the majority of his breathing space while Shinomiya smirked.
'Okay, i know what you were doing. But still, what time were you planning on waking up tomorrow? You have enough time for Totsuki, sleep and personal time?'
Yukihira gritted his teeth, anger biting at his tongue.
'Y-You interrupted me! It's two in the morning! How was I supposed to know -'
'Relax,' Shinomiya interjected, barely audible. 'I’m glad you were up. I just needed something to keep my hands busy. I didn't expect reevaluating the veloute recipe would really help clear my head, but laughing at you a bit did.'
Letting out a gust of breath, Yukihira sighed. 'I rarely have time, to be honest. The dorms don't exactly leave room for...privacy.'
Shinomiya laughed again and Yukihira felt his chest swell. With every snigger, Shinimoya's laugh sounded less mocking and more genuine. Yukihira didn't think he could tire of it.
'Well, I'm not about to apologize for entering my own restaurant but - sorry for the intrusion. I can finish the rest on my own, get back to bed. Morning will be here soon.'
‘I can help,' Yukihira started, but Shinomiya shook his head.
'No, it's fine, but unfold the futon - I need somewhere to sleep tonight.'
Yuikihira stiffened. 'Sleep?'
'Yes. I took the last train here and the hotel is too far. There's extra pillows in the storage room, if you don't mind.'
Yukihira turned, if only to mask the shock that was spreading across his face. 'Also, if you could not be doing what I walked in on earlier. It was funny, once, but I’m not so sure about a second viewing.'
Yukihira burned to his ears, but he nodded, leaving the kitchen and heading towards the storage room. Two pillows and an extra blanket were on the top shelf; he quickly grabbed them and headed towards the back room.
The futon was set up as a couch currently. Yukihira pulled the legs out from the bottom, unlatching the hooks that kept it in place. The bed spread out, taking up most of the room.
At least it's big, Yukihira thought, embarrassment filling him. After removing Shinomiya’s jacket, he set up the new pillows and blanket and took the space nearest the wall, pressing close to it and bundling himself in blankets.
The irony wasn't escaping Yukihira - an hour earlier he had been ready to touch himself, pleasure himself to fantasies of Shinomiya Kojrou - now he was trying to calm himself down, because in a few moments Yukihira would be sharing a bed with Shinomiya.
No matter what had happened, tomorrow was his last day at Shino's. Surely Yukihira couldn't mess up all his hard work in one night.
The door creaked softly when Shinomiya entered. It didn't escape Yukihira that he was trying to be quiet, to be considerate of a potentially sleeping Yukihira. Shinomiya slipped his shoes off silently. The bed sank under his weight and Yukihira waited, his eyes open and breath missing. His gaze could remain open so long as Shinomiya faced away from his, but Yukihira desperately wanted to see his face. He stripped slowly, his head leaning forward and coming to a rest between his legs.
Seeing Shinomiya like this, in a moment of solidarity, left Yukihira feeling like he was intruding on something. He shut his eyes, determined to leave Shinomiya the peace he deserved and rolled over, praying he wasn't noticed.
Of course, he was.
'I thought I told you to sleep, Yukihira,'
Yukihira swallowed. 'I'm trying, Senpai,'
'Try harder,' he grunted, slipping into the covers. He slept with his pants on, which embarrassed Yukihira further, for he had taken his off.
Sleep was the farthest thing from him tonight. Shinomiya was closer.
Their legs brushed against each other through the blankets and Yukihira shivered, goosebumps spanning his arms. Shinomiya rolled over once, twice, and then was asleep.
2:45
Fuck it, this was worth it.
Carefully, Yukihira extracted his arms from the blankets and turned on his side, so that he was facing Shinomiya. The man slept with a face of ease, the light from the window casting his brow in a glow. Strands of his hair fell across his forehead, covering his eyes and Yukihira couldn’t help himself - he gently pushed Shinomiya’s bangs away, tucking the longest strand behind his ear. He let his hand graze Shinomiya’s cheek for the smallest of seconds. His breath was warm on Yukihira’s hand and Yukihira was awestruck at how pretty the man was when he wasn’t scowling. He definitely had not spent enough of his time staring at Shinomiya’s face. It was perfect, really, and the dark circles under his lashes gave character, showed the effort Shinomiya expended towards his life and passion clearer than anything he could demonstrate.
Knowing he was pushing his luck, Yukihira withdrew, careful not to touch Shinomiya again. With his hands, anyway. So what if Shinomiya woke up with his chest to Yukihira’s back? He was the one who insisted they sleep together.
♦
Shinomiya knew the moment he met Yukihira Souma he was dangerous. Smart, charming and full of vigor, the boy would no doubt dominate his class and generation.
But it wasn’t until his eyes were closed and he felt careful fingers pressed to his face did he know how dangerous Yukihira Souma would be for him.