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Too salty.
The dough was crisp, and it didn’t feel oily, but the meat’s flavor overpowered the simple mixture and pricked his tongue with an ocean of saltiness.
Michizou took the piece of paper that fell on the floor at some point. It read Cheburek on top, and the ginger had to appreciate Junichirou’s neat handwriting before reading the recipe. Salt and pepper to taste, it said, perhaps Junichirou went a bit overboard with the seasoning.
“Maybe the vodka would’ve helped,” he said.
The alcohol was optional, but it was always the right option, in Michizou’s opinion.
“We can’t have alcohol inside the school,” the redhead argued.
It didn’t matter they were both underaged, or that Michizou said he would’ve liked the small taste of alcohol in the dish. Moreover, he had subtly implied he wanted vodka, but Junichirou only cared about the flavor of his food.
“Why Russian, though? I thought you preferred to cook Chinese.”
After a couple weeks irrupting into the Cooking Club’s activities, Michizou learned a bit from them, especially from Junichirou.
Dazai, for one, didn’t show up often. He liked to roam around the school flirting shamelessly and didn’t make an act of presence until the end of the day when he could eat what the others made, or judge to his heart’s content.
Then there was Higuchi, who was far more in-depth than Michizou had thought. He started to doubt her crush on Akutagawa ever existed, and it was a bold cover for her feelings for Gin. If she wasn’t texting Gin, she was making more sweets for the little Akutagawa. Higuchi often went to Junichirou to ask for help and used Michizou as an alarm clock to tell her when to check on her cupcakes inside the oven.
He recognized someone in the club, and even though they wanted her to cook, she was stubbornly glued to the coffee maker. She helped Higuchi with her pastries and had a delicate talent to decorate. Following her crush into the Cooking Club and then staying even though he rejected her was admirable. Lucy was a strong girl who prioritized her passion for coffee over the embarrassment of being with the guy who broke her heart.
There were others, but Michizou didn’t care about them. He didn’t like Steinbeck, but he was sure he was fermenting grapes, and that Dazai was well aware of it. Haruno was just there, and most of the time, she was looking at pictures of her cat, which looked scarily similar to their principal.
The door opened, and Atsushi came in. “It smells delicious,” he told Junichirou when he sat down, waiting for the redhead to feed him.
Michizou couldn’t help roll his eyes. That leach came in every day, it gave the idea no one fed him in his house. And then, Junichirou gave him the most delicious looking meals, which he carefully prepared for his friend, and Michizou wanted that. He was a taste tester for Atsushi’s dinner; he was on the same level as Akutagawa with Higuchi. The difference was that Akutagawa didn’t want something more.
Michizou’s mind stopped. He knew that feeling; other kids in the supermarket made him feel the same way when his brother was kind to them and left him finding groceries.
But it didn’t make sense, why did he feel jealous? Junichirou was just an unusual guy who cooked like a culinary god sometimes. The redhead caught Michizou’s interest, but that was it, he had no right to feel like Junichirou owed him his attention.
The redhead surrounded himself with all kinds of people, but none of them like Atsushi. Still, that didn’t concern Michizou, then why did he want Atsushi, who had done nothing wrong, to leave immediately?
His brain wandered to logical arguments, but his body wanted to push Atsushi away.
With a racing heart and his brain trying to figure out what was going on with him, Michizou excused himself.
He understood what his heart told him, and his head couldn’t stop running images of Junichirou, giving him evidence of what he already knew.
It was Junichirou’s smile whenever he helped others, it was nervous laughter trying to conceal embarrassment behind his loose sleeves after messing up a recipe. It was the mystery to which he believed he had an answer, and all the hope it brought to his heart.
Junichirou was thoughtful and caring, and Michizou had a god damn crush on him.
Reaching the courtyard, Michizou noticed he had been running. He tried to take deep breaths, but his mouth betrayed him, trying to grasp more air, unaware the oxygen wouldn’t all reach his lungs. He placed his hand over his chest and started to breathe slowly, commanding his body to calm down.
It was just a crush, it didn’t mean much. Perhaps Michizou was just happy about having a new friend; maybe it was platonic jealousy.
But friends didn’t pay attention the way Michizou did.
The care to detail Michizuo invested when he looked at Junichirou when the redhead wasn’t looking at his direction, wasn’t the kind that had a foundation on friendship. The way his lips quivered as he tried to make the perfect decoration that rivaled the best restaurants in the city, his slender fingers, and toned arms.
Junichirou unbuttoned his shirt when the ovens were working, and Michizou couldn’t stop staring at his collarbones, at his pale skin. The thoughts that governed him were not, in any sense, platonic.
He needed to calm down.
A hand passed through his personal space, grasping his shoulder and pulling him back to reality.
“Are you okay?”
Both his eyes and his words were kindled with worry. The redhead gave a light squeeze to his shoulder, and Michizou felt everything would be okay.
Even with the feelings being born in his chest, Michizou wanted to be Junichirou’s friend first, and he wouldn’t let those bothersome feelings trouble the redhead.
Eventually, things would work out.
“Yes,” Michizou lied.
Junichirou gave him a small smile, insecure if he should believe the ginger, and all Michizou could do was pray that he did.
Then, the redhead pushed a plastic container towards his chest, leaving the matter at hand forgotten. “You left before I could give you this,” Junichirou incited him to take the green box. It probably had the leftover Cheburek. “You always say you get hungry on your way home.”
“Thanks,” Michizou smiled at the gesture, but the remainder of his title as taste tester wasn’t as sweet.
Junichirou nodded and let go of Michizou, leaving a cold spot on his shoulder.
Please don’t go , he wanted to say, but it wouldn’t be fair.
“See you tomorrow, Tachihara-san,” the redhead awkwardly waved at his senior.
Call me Michizou , a voice pleaded in the ginger’s mind. But he smiled and nodded, telling that voice to shut the fuck up.
Once Junichirou was out of sight, he opened the box. He saw a simple lunch with rice, fried chicken, veggies, and tamagoyaki, with just enough to endure until dinner.
Michizou looked up towards the corner the redhead disappeared to the next hall and wondered, just when did he have the time to prepare that.