Chapter Text
“You’re one of the few morning people we’ve had on as a contestant.”
Shiro smiles politely at the producer’s comment as he’s led through the halls of the building to the green room. “It feels important to start the day on a positive foot, especially a day like today,” Shiro says as the two of them come to a stop outside what he presumes is the green room door. The statement sounds like an office motivational poster, but Shiro’s trying. Waking up at 4am in order be at the studio by 6am would be rough to many, but he was used to being an early riser so he could go for a run or to the gym before heading to work.
“Good, keep that positive golden boy spirit going, and it’ll definitely grate at the other contestants’ nerves eventually. That’ll make for some good interview trash talk,” the producer replies in a voice with no emotion whatsoever. Shiro cannot tell if the producer, Slav, is joking or whether he should even be saying that to Shiro at all, but it manages to chip away at Shiro’s mood, and he feels his right eye twitch slightly. Slav opens the door and motions for Shiro to go into the green room. The room looks exactly like it does on television, which Shiro realizes is obvious since this is a television set. He turns back to the door to ask Slav when the other contestants will arrive only for the door to suddenly be slammed shut, so Shiro lets out a sigh and takes a seat at one of the four chairs at the high-top table in the middle of the room.
When Shiro’s coworkers at The Garrison, the restaurant where he proudly holds the position of Head Chef, initially started prodding him to submit an application to be a contestant on Chopped, he had scoffed at the suggestion and told them he would never take part in a cooking competition show. Little sounded less appealing to him than going up against three other chefs to make a dish in a short amount of time using a basket of mystery ingredients that often looked like they were chosen by the devil himself. (Do not even get started on the cruel baskets that Viewers’ Choice episodes concocted. God, Shiro hoped this wasn’t a Viewers Choice episode.) It wasn’t because he thought his skills weren’t adequate enough for the show; his cooking was the one thing he felt incredibly confident in. He had excelled in culinary school and loved the ability to impact people positively through good food all while he moved through the kitchen, but after the accident that left him with a prosthetic and scars, he found himself retreating even further back into the kitchens where he worked. The bionic prosthetic is state-of-the-art, so it got him back to dicing and chiffonading after a few months of physical therapy. Once Shiro had successfully run through every cooking technique he could think of in his apartment, he called Chef Iverson to tell him he was ready to return to his position as a Line Cook at The Garrison. That was several years ago now, and Shiro was more than pleased to have risen to the position of Head Chef, but he still felt uncomfortable outside of the kitchen.
“I think it’d be good for you,” Iverson gruffly said to Shiro one late night after the restaurant closed and all the staff was lounging in the dining area, once again trying to convince Shiro to apply for the show. While Iverson was a hardass who frequently made Shiro’s blood boil due to harsh criticism, he knew for Iverson to recommend the show to Shiro, Iverson believed Shiro would do well, possibly even win. The man had given him a job when Shiro needed nothing more than to get back into a professional kitchen. Shiro had gone home that night and filled out the online application while nursing a glass of whiskey for some courage and passed out after clicking “submit.” Only a few weeks passed before he received an email to schedule an interview, and now after five months since the day Shiro built up that courage, he was grappling to hold onto his confidence as he felt it slowly trickling away from him as the reality of actually being on Chopped set in. Oh no, what the hell had he done?
Shiro nervously runs his hands through his freshly buzzed undercut and tries to tame his white bangs hanging in front of his face. He takes a moment to contemplate whether he should fold down the sleeves of the standard grey Chopped logo emblazoned chef’s jacket he’s wearing, feeling vulnerable to have so much of his prosthetic showing. He already felt like the jacket made his shoulders and chest look broader than they are. Breaking him from his thoughts, the door to the green room opens as two of the other contestants enter.
“Katie?” Shiro says with surprise when he realizes the sister of his best friend from culinary school has walked into the room. The Holt family, including Matt and Katie’s father Sam and mother Colleen, run a restaurant called Rockets, which was famous for mixing comforting family food with molecular gastronomy. To this day Shiro cannot explain how the transparent ravioli with a fake caviar sauce made of olive oil was one of the best dishes he has ever had when Matt took him to the restaurant during one of their breaks from school. The Holts work well together with their strengths to create familiar yet new food, and Shiro deeply respects their skills and admires their closeness.
“You know I go by ‘Pidge’ in the kitchen, Shiro,” Katie, no, Pidge, replies with a flailing motion of her hand that was probably meant to be a wave. She does not share the surprise of seeing him as he does her in the slightest. Pidge jumps into one of the chairs around the table and throws her head back, closing her eyes, clearly not agreeing with the early hour. Matt once told Shiro about how Pidge’s short stature deceived two new line cooks at Rockets, and she sent them both running into one of the walk-ins to avoid her wrath after improperly following her recipe for the day’s special. Shiro knows she’s not one to fuck with.
The other contestant that walked in with her, a lanky brown-haired young guy with pointed features, looks confusedly between Shiro and Pidge before saying, “Established friendly rivalry along with my charm and culinary prowess, this is going to be a good ratings episode for sure.” Pidge doesn’t spare a glance at the guy as she continues to face the ceiling from the chair opposite Shiro at the table. “The name’s Lance, but I’m also known as ‘Sharpshooter’ because every dish I prepare is clean and precise,” Charm And Culinary Prowess says confidently as he sticks his hand out for Shiro to shake.
“Nice to meet you, Lance, I’m Shiro,” he says extending his hand.
“Oh, man! I thought so!” Lance exclaims. “Man, you’re amazing! I read a profile about you last year and keep wanting to go try The Garrison!” He looks over at Pidge, who has opened one eye to look at the other chefs, and he nods towards Shiro while stating, “We might as well go home now since he’s going to take the whole thing.”
“How about we cook first and then see what happens?” Pidge replies, looking bored while moving to lay her head down on the table, returning to a preferred not looking at Shiro or Lance posture.
“Yeah,” Shiro chuckles nervously. The small profile done for the arts and culture section of the newspaper was one of Shiro’s first attempts to break out of the shell he had built around himself, and even though he was proud of it, it still made him feel self-conscious to know that people actually read it. “We don’t even know who the fourth contestant is.”
As if on cue, the door opens once again and the other brave individual who decided to put themselves through televised torture for culinary bragging rights walks through the door. He shuffles into the room, tossing his head to move some of the black hair falling into his face out of the way. His eyes scan the room, finally falling on Shiro and going wide momentarily before moving to look at the floor, continuing his shuffle and taking the seat next to Shiro. Slav informs the competitors that he’ll return in five minutes to walk them through the pantry and cooking space. Shiro wants to reply with a thanks to Slav even though every time he looks at the producer he feels his anxiety spike, but he is distracted by Contestant Number 4’s lean frame and ink-dark hair.
If this was a different type of game show, Shiro would want to win a date with Contestant Number 4.
“Looks like you two aren’t the only ones with a rivalry this episode,” Lance says as he sits down at the table across from Shiro’s Dream Date. “Keith and I are rivals, too.”
“Shiro and I don’t have a rivalry,” Pidge responds, muffled by her head still on the table. She seems to be trying to fall asleep.
“Who are you?” Keith asks, turning his face from the ground to examine Lance with narrowed eyes. Shiro looks away from where he had gotten lost admiring how Keith’s long and slightly unruly hair pleasantly framed his face and were his eyes indigo?
Lance makes a scandalized sound at Keith’s question. “We interviewed for the same job at Marmora! It was neck-and-neck, but you got it!”
“Oh, yeah,” Keith crosses his arms and leans back in the chair, “I remember Chef Kolivan telling me he hated the personality of the other guy they interviewed. Guess that was you,” Keith replies with a smug laugh.
Lance huffs and mirrors Keith’s pose by crossing his arms as well. “Huh, can you believe how rude?” he turns to ask Shiro, but Shiro has gone back to admiring Keith.
“I don’t think—” Shiro starts when the door opens to reveal Slav with the addition of a headset and clipboard.
“Alright, chefs, time for you to come tour the kitchen and pantry to familiarize yourself with it before we start the competition. Up, up, let’s go. We don’t have the infinite time of the universe at our disposal,” Slav announces with urgency.
The sound of four chairs scraping across the floor fills the small room as Lance, Pidge, Keith, and Shiro make their way to follow Slav outside. Shiro and Keith bump into each other, both trying to exit the door at the same time.
“Oh, sorry!” Shiro yelps, voice a higher octave then he wants to admit as he backs away from Keith, feeling a small blush start to sprout on his face.
“Really pushing your way to being Chopped Champion, huh?” Keith says with the hint of a smile as he walks in front of Shiro out the door. Shiro thanks the universe that he’s the last one to exit the room, and no one can see that the brief interaction has now caused a full blush to cover his face.
After being given time to peruse the pantry area for the first round, which Shiro honestly did not remember too much about because his eyes kept drifting over to Keith in his network issued chef’s jacket, skinny black jeans, and red Doc Martens circling the racks and shelves of spices and produce. Slav explained in a bored tone how to use some of the kitchen equipment, like the sous-vide and anti-griddle. Shiro’s gaze once again drifts to Keith, who had a determined look in his, yes, definitely slightly spacey eyes, as Slav repeatedly reminded them to not break the equipment. They were then all ushered back into the green room and told the next time they’re led out, it will be to formally start filming.
“Who do you think the judges will be?” Lance asks the room as they all return to their seats at the table. “I’m hoping we get Allura.” He sighs the statement while looking slightly wistful.
“Is it because you think she’s hot?” Pidge asks flatly.
Lance makes the same sound of indignation he did when Keith didn’t recognize him and he leans across the table, finger pointed at Pidge. “Hey, I admire her incredible strength in the kitchen as an Iron Chef and for taking over her father’s restaurant.” He leans back into the chair and puts his hand down, which is a good choice because Pidge momentarily looked like she would love to break Lance’s finger. “And yeah, she’s gorgeous on top of all that,” he finishes.
Shiro read all about Allura, as well as the other judges, once he was offered his first audition interview. Allura’s father, Alfor, ran the Michelin Star restaurant Altea, and she had trained in the kitchen with him from a young age. After his unexpected death, Allura had taken over the restaurant. Members of the culinary world assumed she was too young to become Executive Chef; she had proven them all wrong by maintaining her father’s restaurant while also bringing in her own style to the establishment. It wasn’t long before she also became a judge on Chopped and as well as an Iron Chef.
“I hope we don’t have Hunk,” Keith chimes in, surprising the other three.
“But he’s known to be the nicest,” Shiro retorts with more attitude than he intended and feels regret immediately at his tone. He doesn’t want to treat his competition poorly, but he really does not want to give Keith the wrong impression even though this is the first time he’s spoken to the other man.
“Yeah, but that makes his disappointment if we fuck up feel even worse,” Keith points out, and the other three nod in a quiet reflection that, yes, that actually would be a harder punch to their culinary egos. While Hunk is known for his incredible gourmet restaurants around the world, gentle approach to Chopped contestants, and deep care for food, he also has some trending videos to his name of absolutely tearing apart chefs who have committed crimes against food on the show. A small shudder runs through Shiro remembering the clip where during the appetizer round a chef burned saffron and served it in their final dish.
Slav breaks the four chefs from their silent contemplations as he opens the door to announce they are ready to start filming. Shiro and Keith’s eyes catch as they rise from the table and Shiro feels his earlier flush creep back onto his face and it looks like the corners of Keith’s mouth tug upward slightly. Once lined up in introduction order, Slav listens on his headset and motions for Pidge to walk out first, followed by Lance. Once it’s just Keith and Shiro left, Keith turns to Shiro and mutters a small “good luck” before Slav pulls him forward to go out the door. Shiro is stunned for a moment and doesn’t move until Slav starts yelling at him to come back to this reality and get out there.
Filming a cooking competition show slash game show is miserable, Shiro concludes after the chefs are once again made to open and look into their baskets of mystery ingredients with surprise. The director and producers are trying to capture all the best takes of their reactions, but it’s a bit difficult when there’s a black cloth over the ingredients. Shiro already feels warm on the kitchen set between the lights, ovens already pre-heated to 400, and boiling pots of water.
The judges look calmly over the competitors from their table, the Chopping Block. It turns out they would be judged by Allura and Hunk this episode along with special guest judge Sal, who Hunk had once worked for and become business partners with for Sal’s restaurant, Vrepit Sal’s. Allura’s platinum white hair gleams in the studio lights as she sits still, fingers interlaced on the table in front of her, with her eyes moving quickly to watch the activity in front of her. Hunk sits in the middle of the Chopping Block, looking relaxed with his hands moving excitedly as he speaks to Sal on his right. Sal does not seem to share Hunk’s enthusiasm and has no emotion on his face, only moving to fidget with the neckline of the t-shirt he’s wearing and the lapels of his blazer. Sal looks as uncomfortable as Shiro feels.
“Alright, chefs, please open up your baskets!” the host, Coran, cries with a flourish of his hands that ends with a move that spins his whole body to point at the contestants at their cooking stations. Coran is the type of person who seems to have been born to be a television host. His bright orange hair always manages to clash with whatever extravagant outfit he wears on the show while he twirls his equally bright mustache between white-gloved fingers. He’s known to accentuate announcements throughout the show with full-body moves that are somewhere between dancing and thrashing, but the audience at home always loves it.
Shiro once again opens up the basket and hopes his forced raised eyebrows at the black cloth inside provide enough a reaction so the producers can finally move them all on to the actual reveal and cooking portion of the show.
“Cut!” yells the director, and he instructs producers to go around and remove the cloth as the chefs turn around as to not see the inside before the baskets are shut again. Each chef has a producer that watches over their cooking station, and Shiro internally mourns why the universe found it funny to keep Slav as his overseer.
Everything is in place and the real grit of the show is finally, finally about to happen. Shiro’s nerves had just entered a moment of peacefulness after the fifth basket take, but now he feels overwhelmed by fear about if he really should be here. His cooking area is also the one closest to the judges, and Shiro feels dread that he probably will be able to hear their discussions while he’s cooking. He sneaks a glance at Keith, who is at the cooking station next to him on the left and sees Keith’s eyes are set firmly on the top of the basket, not one ounce of hesitation or fear on his face. Shiro admires that determination.
“This is for real this time! Let’s go!” the director yells as the crew gets into their final spaces. Coran repeats his words and movements from earlier, and Shiro opens up the basket to see what evils await him inside for the appetizer round.
“And your appetizers must include,” Coran announces, and Shiro pulls out each ingredient as Coran names it, “Italian sausage, kelp noodles, Calabrian chili peppers, and enoki mushrooms.”
What the fuck is Shiro supposed to do with any of this?
“20 minutes on the clock…” Coran starts and pauses dramatically. “Time starts now! Go, go, go!” Shiro barely sees the spin Coran does as he turns to dash towards the pantry area.
As Shiro looks around the pantry, he wonders if the other three already know what they’re doing while he watches Pidge grab pancetta and eggs and Lance loads his arms with spices. Keith is methodically examining the produce area before he grabs tomatoes. Feeling overwhelmed as he stares at the shelf of spices, Shiro mutters a “patience yields focus” to himself and thinks of all the obvious possible ways this basket could go and lets the memory a comforting noodle broth his grandfather would make him as a child float to the front of his mind. Shiro decides to take that thought and run with it. With the idea in his mind, Shiro grabs what ingredients he needs from the pantry area and runs back to his station. He takes a deep breath and tries to tune out the judges and Coran already speaking with each other. The show allows chefs to bring their own knives, so Shiro pulls out one from the brand new set his grandfather bought for him just for the show. It had arrived from Japan earlier that week with a note of how proud his grandfather is of him. As Shiro settles in to start his mad dash of cooking, he sees Keith take out the knife he brought. It’s very large. And purple.
“You’ve got a big knife,” Shiro blurts out dumbly.
Keith looks over at Shiro, surprised, but the right side of his mouth quirks upward in a half-smile while he replies, not smoothly at all, “well, uh, yours is big, too...” It’s not; Shiro is holding a peeling knife.
Shiro vaguely hears groans and muffled laughs from the room and remembers this moment was definitely just filmed for television. A blush comes back to his face and Shiro hopes everyone will think it’s because of the heat of the kitchen and not because he’s got the hots for another contestant. Shiro also vaguely realizes that the blush makes the scar across the bridge of his nose stand out more, but he shrugs that thought off. Part of coming to Chopped was to become more comfortable with himself, and not caring what he looked like was part of that.
Shiro feels like he lucked out with the enoki mushrooms because of his background, and he has experience with kelp noodles but has no idea what Calabrian chili peppers are until he takes a small taste from the jar and concludes they will make a decent enough inclusion in his miso broth base. Once he’s satisfied with the start of the broth’s cooking, Shiro realizes he’s forgotten to grab ginger he needs for the sauce he has in mind. In his haste running, Shiro grasps Keith’s shoulders as he yells warning of “behind” and feels Keith quickly tense and relax under his hands. Shiro lingers for a beat longer than necessary, especially given the circumstances, and continues to make his way past Lance and Pidge to the pantry. As he’s running back to his area, Shiro looks at Keith sauteing something and has a vision of a domestic scene where Keith and Shiro team up to make exquisite meals, true food masterpieces, together in their shared apartment. Forgetting to yell a warning that he’s running behind the other chefs on his return trip, Shiro almost crashes into Lance and the vision dissipates in his head. Get it together, Shirogane, you’re pining for him and dreaming about domestic bliss when you’ve exchanged a couple of barely-sentences. But it was a nice domestic dream, Shiro does concede to himself.
“Ten minutes remaining chefs!” Coran seems unable to announce anything without a full-body flourish. Shiro panics momentarily since that means he has five minutes to make sure all his food is where he needs it to be and then five minutes to plate. He mentally goes through the basket ingredients and where they’re featured in his appetizer as he takes his finely diced Italian sausage and lightly browns it with some ginger and garlic. Allura makes a sound of interest and Shiro tunes into what the judges and Coran are discussing for once. It sounds like Pidge is already throwing some of her molecular gastronomy to use by creating a foam. Shiro doesn’t hear the whole conversation and goes to get his plates.
Coran declares five minutes remaining as Keith runs through Shiro’s space, grabbing Shiro’s bicep as he warns Shiro he’s behind him to run to the plates. Shiro wonders if he’s imagining that Keith squeezed his arm a bit more than needed as he went by. Shiro is minutely disappointed that when Keith makes his way back to the cooking area the plates in his hands don’t allow for a repeat moment of physical contact.
“You need to start plating in order to finish in time!” Hunk yells from the judge’s table, and Shiro goes through his mental checklist of the damned basket ingredients and the components of his dish a final time. He gently twirls kelp noodles into the bottom of the bowls he’s chosen, enoki mushrooms and julienned vegetables deftly placed around the noodles with the broth gently poured over each serving. Everything around him feels like chaos as both the judges to his right start frantically crying for the chefs to finish and Pidge and Lance on the far side of the set are flinging expletives as they finish their appetizers. Chancing a look as he goes to retrieve the Italian sausage sauce to top off his dish in the last seconds, Shiro sees that Keith has sweat making its down down his forehead, hair around his face curling slightly as he squints to arrange components how he desires onto a plate.
Shiro hears Allura’s worried cry of “What is Shiro doing?” and frantically starts adding the sauce to his dish, not realizing he has maybe stopped a bit too long to look at his competitor. Coran starts counting down the last few seconds of the round, and Shiro takes a moment to clean up any splatter on his bowls and throws his arms up in the air when Coran calls that time is up. Shiro gazes down at the perfect bowls in front of him and nods to himself in relief and satisfaction.
“Good job, looks great,” Keith says from right next to Shiro, making Shiro jump in surprise. While feeling relieved at the concluded round, he had somehow failed to notice Keith move over to his cooking space and admire Shiro’s food.
“Thanks!” Shiro replies while looking over at what Keith made. “Wow, that looks amazing!” Shiro exclaims at what appears to be some type of pesto based dish on Keith’s finished plates. He looks back at Keith, who is beaming and still standing close to him, and Shiro momentarily forgets how to breathe.
The chefs stand in silence in the pantry area as the crew moves around the set to prepare for the judging round. Once lined up in front of the judges, Shiro’s anxiety spikes again, but he knows there’s no turning back now. Producers quickly set down his dish in front of the judges and the director calls for filming to begin.
“Chef Takashi Shirogane, please tell the judges what appetizer you have prepared for them,” Coran invites.
“Today, judges, I have prepared for you a miso and enoki mushroom broth with kelp noodles, topped with an Italian sausage and Calabrian chili sauce.” Shiro holds his breath as he watches Allura, Hunk, and Sal start trying his dish and waits for one of them to start speaking. To his great relief, all the judges enjoy his cooking. Not one for many words, it seems, Sal simply informs Shiro that his appetizer has strong well-developed flavors and everything is cooked well. Hunk asks what his inspiration behind the dish is, and Shiro explains how the ingredients made him think of his grandfather, to which Hunk gives a warm smile that makes Shiro also share a look of joy.
Finally, Shiro knew this would come at some point but didn’t think it would be the very first round. After Allura provides her agreement with the other two judges on Shiro’s cooking, she asks Shiro what brought him to Chopped.
“Well, as you can kind of tell…” Shiro falters for a moment before continuing on. “I was in an accident shortly after finishing culinary school, and it left me in a difficult place,” Shiro raises his bionic arm and gently grazes the scar on his face and his white tuft of hair. “I was able to overcome the physical setbacks and get back into a professional kitchen less than a year later, but I’m still trying to get better at not hiding in the kitchen and just—” Shiro suddenly stops again as his chest begins to feel tight actually saying the words out loud in front of strangers and cameras.
Next to him, Keith shifts on his feet slightly and he feels the other man’s hand gently brush his along with a quietly murmured “it’s okay.”
“And I’m just trying to be able to put myself out in the world and be comfortable again,” Shiro rushes out and wishes he could turn to Keith and say something instead of having to keep looking at the judges who all nod and praise him for being on the show.
He’s only known the man standing on his left for a few hours, a couple of exchanged words and moments of physical contact, yet it feels like some level of understanding and familiarity already exists between them. Shiro aches inside between feeling raw from what he just expressed to the room, and really, the world, but also for how what started as a mild crush has escalated to a deep feeling in his bones that he must, he needs, to get to know more about Keith.
Letting the rest of the judging fall into background noise as Shiro calms himself back down, he briefly becomes aware of the judges being impressed with Pidge’s Calabrian chili foam and less than enthused at Lance’s attempt to fry the kelp noodles. When the final dish of the round, Keith’s, is placed in front of the judges. Shiro perks himself back into full attention mode. Keith explains that his dish is kelp noodles with a Calabrian chili pesto and roasted enoki mushrooms with some type of Italian sausage sauce on the side. Relief floods through Shiro, stronger than during his judging, when Allura and Hunk praise Keith’s work and Sal nods in agreement. The next round feels hopeful.
Once back in the green room to wait during the judges’ deliberation, Lance immediately starts bemoaning how his appetizer didn’t go the way he wanted at all but he knew it would still be strong enough to make it to the next round. Remembering that Pidge created a foam, Shiro tells her he’s glad to know she’s bringing Holt family staple techniques to the competition, and she excites at the thought of representing her parents and brother well. Keith remains quiet through most of the chatter between the chefs, the post-round smile dropping from his face as soon as producers had told them to walk away from their cooking stations.
“Pesto was a smart idea,” Shiro tells Keith, with a slight nudge of his elbow. Keith’s cheeks flush slightly as he mutters a small thanks and says the same of Shiro’s noodle broth.
“Yeah, but I think I played it safe maybe,” Shiro contemplates.
“At least you didn’t melt your kelp noodles in the fryer, like Sharpshooter over here,” Pidge offers to Shiro, and Lance yells a “HEY!” as Shiro and Keith both let out small laughs. The discussion doesn’t get a chance to move any further as a producer comes in to take them one by one for quick interviews about the round.
“Whose dish is on the Chopping Block?” Coran questions as he looks upon the four, soon to be three, chefs. Allura, Hunk, and Sal all look stoic as Coran raises his arm to the cover on the dish of the contestant who is about to be out. Even though Shiro feels confident in his dish after the judging and green room discussions, he cannot help but feel uncertain about his success at the moment. Coran suddenly lifts the dish to reveal a plate of congealed noodles as Keith exhales a sigh of relief next to him. It takes Shiro a second to process that it’s neither his or Keith’s dish staring back at them while Lance let’s out a groan.
“Chef Lance, you’ve been Chopped,” Coran intones while lowering his head slightly, as if in mourning. “Judges?”
“Lance, even though the sauce you created for the dish was wonderful, we could not excuse your treatment of the noodles. For that reason, we had to Chop you,” Allura delivers the final blow to Lance’s Chopped dreams. He rocks back and forth briefly on his heels before nodding at the judges and offering his thanks for the opportunity and turning to leave. Shiro feels sad to see the confident man leave because it’s still a shame to witness a fellow chef perform below their normal standards, even if in the conditions of a competition designed to try and make you fail. Trying not to dwell on it too long, Shiro allows himself to once again feel accomplished at making it past the first round.
The remaining three chefs sit around in the green room as the crew reset the kitchen and pantry until a producer retrieves them to go to a different room for lunch.
“I’ve read that the catering company they use to feed us is awful,” Shiro jokes to Keith, feeling a little bit bold as they walk side-by-side through the hallways.
“But it’s literally a cooking show on a channel with ‘Food’ in its name,” Keith frowns.
“I think it’s for added torture to the experience,” Shiro responds solemnly.
Both men look at each other from the corners of their eyes and share similar small smiles.
Loading their paper plates with abysmal sandwiches, Shiro and Keith sit next to each other in the catering room while Pidge elects to sit by herself on the opposite side, away from the other two. Shiro thinks he should probably try to talk to her since they do know each other, but he’s also very content taking this time to attempt to learn more about Keith.
“So, um,” Shiro stumbles out with no grace, “Sorry about the knife comment during that last round.”
“No big,” Keith shrugs and makes a face of displeasure as he takes a bite of his turkey sandwich. “I like my knife, and I think everyone found the whole moment kind of funny.”
“Yeah, I guess it’ll add to the entertainment value,” Shiro muses, “Where did you get the knife?”
“My mom.”
Excited at the realization that in a way the two of them have something in common, Shiro fails at successfully swallowing his bite of the sandwich before trying to speak and promptly begins to choke and cough. Keith’s eyes widen with shock as he tries to thump Shiro’s back in an effort to ease the choking. Pidge looks over from her corner, while Slav—who is, unfortunately, watching over them—seems to think Keith has it under control but still deadpans, “Oh, great, now we’ll have to start filming over if you choke.”
“Are you okay?” Keith asks while still resting his hand on Shiro’s back.
Shiro nods and lets out a few more coughs. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he heaves, a slight pang of disappointment goes through him when Keith moves his hand back. “Just a mild mishap,” Shiro tries to laugh but ends up coughing again as Keith looks on with worry. “I’m fine!” Shiro finally gasps. Once he regains the ability to speak without the feeling of dry turkey and bread lodged in his throat, Shiro shares with Keith that his knives today were also a gift from family.
“Did your mom get you into cooking?” Shiro asks. Keith’s face turns downward at the question, making Shiro regret the inquiry immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, you don’t have to answer…” he trails off. Silence wedges between them while Shiro kicks himself mentally for not keeping conversation lighter than family dynamics and personal stories.
“My mom wasn’t around until recently,” Keith informs the sandwich on his plate more than Shiro as he speaks, long hair falling into his eyes. “Both my parents weren’t around for a while, so I went between foster homes. Some were better than others. Sometimes I got to learn cooking during family meals. Sometimes I had to scavenge the kitchen and cook something myself if I wanted to eat. Cooking became stability, in a way. It was something I could always do.” Keith turns to Shiro with a thoughtful expression, head slightly tilted. “So, I guess in a way, Mom did get me into cooking”
“Wow,” Shiro breathes, “that's—”
“A lot,” Keith cuts him off. “Yeah. I know. Sorry. People don’t want to hear sad orphan tales.”
“They do on reality TV,” Shiro quips, words out of his mouth before he thinks. “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” he panics.
Much to Shiro’s surprise, Keith chuckles gently. “You’re not wrong, and I kind of wonder if that sad, sappy story is what made them call me for the interview in the first place.”
“I mean, I didn’t come here with a glowing backstory full of good fortune,” Shiro comments, waving his hand over his body.
“You’re right, what a fucking tragic pair we make.”
The statement makes both of them break into a surprising fit of quiet, shoulder shaking laughter. It feels good to be open about his life and not have the other person pity him, Shiro thinks. Talking with Keith lets something warm unfurl in his chest alongside that strange, aching familiarity he feels with the other man. This moment feels as much like letting go and becoming comfortable with himself as putting himself in front of television cameras; the closeness of this moment with just one other person feels even more powerful.
“This isn’t even the first knife my mom got me,” Keith adds as their laughter dies down. “When I was a kid before she disappeared, she left me with a dagger. An honest to god dagger. I had to hide it with me through all the homes, and then when she found me last year and saw I was a chef, she thought it would be fitting to get me a high-quality cooking knife as some sort of knife giving family tradition.”
“Are you serious?” Shiro guffaws.
“Maybe I can show you that knife sometime, too,” Keith smirks.
Shiro chokes on air at what sounds like a proposition. This time Keith makes no move to try and help him, choosing to take another bite of his sandwich to hide his smile.
Eventually, the time comes for them to march back out to the set for filming the entree round of the competition, but Shiro still feels airy, lighter as he stands before his cooking station. There’s a brief incident when Keith pulls out a hair tie to put his long hair up in a ponytail and Slav starts yelling at him about universal continuity. Keith eventually put both arms up in surrender and took his hair down, muttering under his breath about how Slav looked like the lovechild of a bird and a weasel. While he still feels the press of competition nerves on him, the anxiety of simply being himself has dissipated significantly and replacing it is a soft feeling towards the chef next to him. Shiro vaguely thinks that developing a crush on your game show competitor probably isn’t the best idea, but he can’t find it in himself to dwell on the conundrum too hard. When the three remaining chefs are allowed to open the baskets sans cloth covering to start the round, Shiro gazes down at the ingredients—yak strip steaks, soft pretzels, coconut chocolate bars, and goat cheese—thinking, yeah, he can do something with this.
Staring in shock at the plate revealed by Coran, Shiro takes a moment to comprehend that neither Keith or him has just been cut from the competition.
“Chef Pidge, you’ve been Chopped.”
Each of the final three had their problems with the finished products of the entree round, particularly with properly cooking the yak steaks; everyone either overcooked or undercooked the meat. Hunk truly bemoaned the fact that the animal deserved better treatment than what the chefs put it through in the kitchen. “It’s already dead, have some respect,” Hunk had mournfully said. Keith’s goat cheese mashed potatoes have ended up a smidge on the runny side, while Shiro’s attempt at a chocolate coconut pretzel breading rub for the meat did not wholly achieve its desired effect. Luckily for them, and truly, truly unfortunately for Pidge, as Shiro reminded himself since she was technically a dear friend, the short but ferocious chef had attempted an ambitious use of the smoking gun to infuse some hickory flavor into the yak. Because of all her effort on the not-quite-successful smoking, the rest of her components fell short, Hunk explained, as Pidge stated her thanks and walked off the set.
Dazed by the fact Keith and he made it to the final dessert round, Shiro felt like the steam and heat from the kitchen was permanently clogging his senses as they went through the motions of waiting for the crew to reset the kitchen one final time. Keith kept clenching and unclenching his fists on the tabletop as they sat in the green room; Shiro kept his eyes on the door while nervously running his hand through his bangs.
“It’s been a long ass day,” Shiro sighs, eyes still on the door.
Keith simply nods and continues his unbroken pattern of clench-fist-and-unclench. Shiro’s eyes break from their door vigil to watch the motion of Keith’s hands, which he finds somewhat mesmerizing. Even though Keith has been cooking next to him, Shiro hasn’t actually watched his hands at work and can now imagine the sure-grip they have on a paring knife or the force they’d have while smashing a cleaver down. Shiro also momentarily imagines how Keith’s hands would looking clenching on one of Shiro’s shirts as he pulls him down to mouth-level.
Conversation between the two chefs hasn’t flowed since they left the catering room; nothing about the silence feels uncomfortable. Each chef is trying to focus amid the coiling wires of nerves within them, and somehow the air between holds less tension and more complacency. Shiro knows that making it this far on the competition and overcoming some of his own inhibitions are victories in their own way, but he truly can taste that last win, it’s so close right now. One dessert round that could make him the Champion. On the other hand, if he were to lose to Keith, he wouldn’t mind it at all. The man across him had his own personal battles to win here, and Shiro would be glad to see him take home the prize at the end of the day.
A producer sticks their head through the door to let Shiro and Keith know they’re ready for the dessert round to begin. As the competitors amble out of the room, Shiro quietly says “good luck” at the door, recalling the sentiment from Keith before the first round. Keith turns his head and smirks back a “you, too.”
Since this is the last round, the crew wants to create tension and position the chefs face to face as Coran announces the dessert round. Shiro meets Keith’s eyes and stares right back. There’s no battle for dominance between their respective bright-eyed gazes, but there is something burning behind Keith’s eyes that Shiro strongly believes is mirrored back to the dark-haired man. Maybe they’ll find each other after all this television nonsense is over. Maybe they are always meant to find each other.
Coran stands between the two men and looks from one to the other before prodding, “Chef Keith, any last words to Chef Shiro before we take a look at what’s in those baskets?”
“There’s no one else I’d rather be here with,” Keith says impatiently, not breaking eye contact with Shiro.
“Any response to that, Chef Shiro?” Coran presses.
“I feel the same,” Shiro nods with his answer, letting the right side of his mouth raise in a small smirk. Somewhere in the background, Shiro thinks he hears an “ugh” in Slav’s voice.
Coran laughs, a little more deeply than is needed. “Chef Shiro, Chef Keith, open your baskets!” Coran cries with a full-bodied twirl so exaggerated, he almost topples to the ground.
“For your dessert round, you will need to include: green papaya, rock candy, chocolate cigars, and sauerkraut.” Shiro pulls out the ingredients from the demon basket one final time and already feels dread over the last ingredient. What the hell is he supposed to do with sauerkraut? Dessert hot dogs? “Thirty minutes for this last round…” Coran pauses and pulls out a gold pocket watch from his suit jacket and twirls his orange mustache. Shiro is not amused. “Time starts, now, now, now!” Shiro and Keith both dash to the pantry as Coran most definitely pirouettes back to the judges' table.
For whatever reason, Shiro’s mind automatically goes to pie as the answer to this dessert basket. Knowing there’s no way in hell he can get a pie crust together in the short period of time, he decides to figure out a way to make sauerkraut into a flaky pie dough with some flour, butter, and sugar. Green papaya has no flavor since its unripe, so Shiro knows he’s going to have to coax it into submission to work for him. Maybe with the rock candy? He’ll get to that soon, for now, the pie crust.
Next to him, Keith starts using the food processor to break down the chocolate cigars, and Shiro is thankful he looks over because it reminds him he needs to acknowledge those damn things as well at some point. Shiro allows himself to get into the groove of cooking as he cobbles together what he hopes passes as a pie dough to make some small papaya tarts. He moves on to cutting up the papaya and makes the mistake of taking his eyes away from the fruit and knife in front of him to quickly look at the countdown clock on the wall. In those few seconds, Shiro cuts himself and feels as if someone poured ice water down his back. Reflexes set in to pull his hands away from the cooking space to avoid contamination, and he yells at the crew that he needs to be bandaged as he runs to wash his hands in the sink. At hearing Shiro yell about requiring a bandage, Keith’s head whips up from the stove while Shiro makes it to the sink, and the judges all stand up to see what’s happened. Slav makes his way over to Shiro’s station while the medic comes to help Shiro.
The crew gives Shiro’s station an all-clear as he hastily shoves a glove over his injured hand and yells a “FUCK” for good measure at the minutes lost due to his stupid mistake. Even though he knows he needs to get back to work, Shiro just feels overwhelmed and stares at his work on the counter. Seeing the chef not moving after already having a setback, Allura and Hunk start yelling respective “what is he doing”s, which only serves to make Shiro freeze up more.
“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Keith yells over from his cooking station. Shiro turns his head to look at him; Keith is looking back at Shiro as well, cooking paused.
“Oh, this is interesting,” Shiro hears Coran comment in the background.
“Just focus,” Keith says, finding Shiro’s eyes in the kitchen heat and haze. “Just focus and you’ll be fine.” Keith doesn’t look away after he finishes speaking like he’s waiting for Shiro to react before returning to the task at hand.
“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” Shiro nods slowly, feeling as though responding any way other than affirmatively would be the worst thing in the world he could do to Keith. Shio knows he can do this. Keith knows Shiro can do this. The lightness and chest ache from earlier returns and settles deep within him.
When Coran announces ten minutes remaining in the round, Shiro knows his pie crust will not be where he wants it to be at all, the papaya rock candy filling will be passable, but the sauce he’s made from the chocolate cigars kicks ass. Hopefully, together they will be a functional dessert, and that’s all Shiro can do as he wraps up cooking, hope. Hope that the final plate he presents is edible. Hope that it might be enough to make him win. Hope that maybe after today he can see Keith in a less hectic context.
Six minutes remain, Keith grabs Shiro’s bicep again as he runs past to get the plates, and Shiro swears he hears the other man breathe out a “you’re okay” to him. Even if it was just his imagination, that additional small show of support pushes an extra amount of determination from somewhere deep within Shiro that he didn’t even know he had. Shiro begins gingerly plating his dessert and executes perfect sauce swipes, mentally high fiving himself on the exquisite presentation he’s putting forth. When Coran calls time and Shiro steps away from the counter, relief, pure, sweet relief floods his body. It’s over, well, the cooking portion, there’s still more parts of the show left to deal with, but the most agonizing part is over.
“Great job!” Keith cries, walking over to Shiro and raising his hand. Shiro surprises himself by automatically raising his hand as well to grasp Keith’s and bring their bodies together in a brief not-quite-hug of acknowledgment. When they let go and move apart, Keith wipes the sweat off his forehead and smiles. Shiro thinks he’s glowing.
When the two chefs wait for the judging, Shiro tells Keith quietly, “Thank you, for your encouragement...during the round.”
Keith shrugs, “I figure you’d have done the same for me.”
“Yeah, I would have,” Shiro agrees softly. Standing next to Keith in a major cable network studio’s fake kitchen set after ten hours of filming a cooking game show feels surprisingly pleasant. The mood is short-lived when the producers call them back out for final judging.
Shiro’s dessert gets the honor of being judged first, and he explains his attempt to riff an apple pie by making a sauerkraut pie crust papaya tart with rock candy glazed fruit and chocolate sauce. As expected, the crust gets deemed creative and ambitious by Hunk, but a failure of execution by Allura. Sal simply says the sauce is good but the fruit tastes artificial due to the candy.
When Keith’s dessert comes out, Shiro feels embarrassed at first to realize that he didn’t even bother to look at Keith’s plates when the round ended, especially because they look perfect.
“Chef Keith,” Coran calls, “please tell the judges about your dessert.”
“Judges, I have prepared for you a German chocolate custard with strawberry rock candy sauce and cinnamon papaya chips,” Keith recites confidently.
And it’s all so smart, every single component. Cooking the sauerkraut with coconut for German chocolate, the treatment of the strawberries with the cooked down candy, and the papaya. It’s all such smart cooking, and Shiro knows that he’s lost; if Shiro won, he would tell the judges they’re crazy. But he doesn’t have to fear that because each of them loves every aspect of Keith’s dessert. Hunk possibly has tears in his eyes over what Keith did to transform the sauerkraut, while Allura admires the papaya chips and consumes all of the ones on her plate. Sal, ever the man of few words, says he agrees.
“Finally, Chef Keith, can you please tell us why came to Chopped today?” Coran questions.
“Well,” Keith sighs, ”I like cooking. I’ve always been good at it, and I wanted to be able to push those skills.”
“What would you do if you win?” Coran follows up.
Keith stalls for a moment before answering. “My mom just recently re-entered my life, and it would be nice to have something to help us both start over as a family again.” Keith looks at the floor while he says this, which Shiro knows will piss off the crew for the ruined shot.
“That’s wonderful,” Allura proclaims with her eyes twinkling, possibly from the set lights, but more likely because she is genuinely touched by Keith’s shy admission.
Shiro feels hyper-aware of the cameras recording them when they return to the green room during final deliberations.
“You’ve totally won this,” Shiro declares.
Keith scoffs, “But you used way more elevated techniques than I did all day.”
“But your creativity definitely passed mine! German chocolate with sauerkraut! That’s incredible.”
“Your presentation has been gorgeous all day.”
Shiro barely prevents himself from rebutting that Keith is the one who’s been gorgeous all day and settles for saying presentation doesn’t make up for flavor. Shiro and Keith then go back and forth on who deserves to win more, and Shiro feels like today was significant for both of them in their own ways. The fact they’re the last two standing in today’s competition signifies matters much grander than just winning a game show.
“You’re right,” Keith agrees, eyes diverting from Shiro’s face to the tabletop between them. “You’re so good,” he barely whispers. Shiro wasn’t aware he even said his thoughts out loud, but he’s glad he did.
“Alright, time to go back out for the end!” one of the producers booms from the corner of the room.
“Great, I want to be in a universe where I don’t have to listen to them anymore,” Slav intones as he walks to open the green room door.
“See you on the other side,” Shiro says with a smile as he steps out of the room with Keith mirroring the smile.
Shiro and Keith step onto their marks in front of the judge’s table. Crew members run around to get everything in its final place and touch up the judges’ appearances. When the all-clear is given throughout the set, Coran steps up and starts at the director's yell of “action!”
“So, whose dish is on the Chopping Block?” Coran recites, looking between Shiro and Keith. His hand moves to the stainless steel cover hiding the loser’s dessert. The seconds pass and Shiro can feel the dramatic music that will get placed over this scene in the editing room.
Coran’s hand raises to reveal a plate with a failed sauerkraut pie tart.
“Chef Shiro—” Coran stops suddenly because Shiro turns to Keith and launches himself on the other man in a tackle hug. Shiro’s larger height and build should send the two falling to the ground, but Keith’s shorter and leaner frame has more than enough strength to keep them upright.
“You did it!” Shiro rejoices, face tucked into Keith’s hair. The other man only comes up to Shiro’s chin, and his arms wrap all the way around, and then some, Keith’s body. Keith is essentially buried in Shiro.
“Chef Shiro,” Coran attempts to start again, and Shiro pulls off Keith, who clasps one of his newly freed arms on Shiro’s shoulder and lets out a pure laugh that rings through Shiro’s entire being. The unfiltered joy from Keith sets Shiro off, and they both look at each other and laugh with equal amounts of happiness.
“Are you friends?” Coran asks, deviating from the Chopped script norm to accommodate the fact that the two contestants don’t care about sticking to what they’ve been told to do.
“Nope,” Shiro says, this time actually moving away from Keith, turning to look at Coran and the judges. “Just met today, honestly.”
“Well, I’m glad that even during the savage battle of culinary skill, you two were able to bond,” Coran says, with what feels like genuine jubilance, “but Chef Shiro, you have been Chopped.” Coran gestures towards Sal.
“Chef Shiro,” Sal starts in his standard monotone, “your appetizer was not creative enough and your entree’s meat and sauce were not well executed. For these reasons, we had to Chop you.”
“I understand,” Shiro agrees, “Thank you for allowing me to cook for you,” Shiro nods at the judge’s table and turns to Keith one more time. “Congratulations, Keith!” he cries before finally doing as instructed and walking down the Hallway of Disappointment.
Once off the kitchen set, producers usher Shiro into the room where he must complete all his interviews that will be spliced into the show. Initially, he had thought this process would be miserable if he lost, but now, after a day spent cooking next to Keith, he doesn’t care. He has no qualms about the day and will gladly tell everyone what happened as he cooked and what went wrong.
Producers prod him with questions about choices he made and techniques he utilized during the competition while also throwing in prying inquiries about his personal life. He agreeably talks about Pidge and the Holts because he can shower the family with praise all day, but he refuses to talk smack on Keith as one of the producers keeps pressing. In defiance, Shiro keeps complimenting Keith’s cooking, even when not directly asked about it. Maybe he talks about Keith a little too much. After finishing up another statement about how he feels his loss is not a setback and the entire day has been a positive step forward for him, Shiro signs the non-disclosure agreement and is released back out into the world.
Shiro turns his phone back on and watches notifications light up the screen as he stands outside the building he spent fourteen of the most grueling hours of his life in and contemplates what he’ll do next. He thinks he’ll just start walking and appreciate the cool spring evening when the door behind him opens and Keith walks out.
“Hey,” Keith says with surprise seeing Shiro standing there.
“Hey,” Shiro smiles, “How did your interviews go?”
Keith scowls, “I hated it.”
Shiro laughs, shifting from one foot to the other. He’s at a loss with what to do now that Keith is in front of him, outside of the eyes of the crew and cameras.
“You should, uh, come by the restaurant I work at some time,” Keith awkwardly mumbles out.
“Yeah?” Shiro breathes. “I think it’s fair I try the cooking of the chef I lost to.”
“Exactly, learn to respect your superiors,” Keith laughs.
They continue to eye each other until Keith breaks the silence again. “Well, I’m fucking tired and going to go pass out until I have to go to work tomorrow.”
“You’re going to work tomorrow?” Shiro asks incredulously.
Keith responds with a half-shrug-half-nod.
“Okay, well...I won’t keep you, then,” Shiro tries to hide his disappointment and kicks himself for not knowing how to handle this better.
“See you around, Shiro,” Keith says with a wave and starts walking down the street.
“Bye,” Shiro calls after him. As Shiro watches Keith walk away, the ache once again manifests in his chest with thoughts of Keith’s glowing laughter and gently curling hair in the kitchen heat. Yeah, Shiro will see Keith around soon.