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Tadokoro’s going to kill Naruko.
It’s the third time this month that the moronic red bean has decided breaking into his and Shinkai’s apartment is a great way to save money on his food bill. Tadokoro had let it pass the first time because Naruko had told him with sparkling eyes, “your food tastes the best, Tadokoro-senpai!” and he’d been flattered enough that he’d even packed a full container of his latest pastries for Naruko to take home. The second time, neither he nor Shinkai were home, and they’d only learned about the recurring issue after a neighbour had informed them she’d witnessed Naruko climbing down their fire escape in the early morning with two plastic bags on each arm and a loaf of bread in his mouth. Tadokoro had noticed the missing food, but stupidly assumed Shinkai was the one who had stolen his food.
“I did steal a few of your pastries to take to work,” Shinkai had admitted, later that night, “but I didn’t take that much food.”
Tadokoro had kissed his cheek. “You can take all the food you want, you live here and it makes me happy when you eat my food,” he’d said. “Naruko, on the other hand, does not live here, and I’m going to kill him if he does it again.”
He hopes Shinkai took the threat seriously, so he’s not too shocked when he hears about the murder Tadokoro is about to commit.
Rolling out of bed with a groan, Tadokoro spares a glance at his phone for the time — 6:30 a.m., way too early for him to be awake on his one day off this week — and yawns as he shrugs on his fluffy green bathrobe. Shinkai’s side of the bed is empty, but he vaguely remembers his boyfriend mumbling something about timezones and waking up early to have a video call with Toudou, so he pushes the matter out of his mind and storms towards the kitchen.
There’s another crash of metal striking stone, even louder than the one that had woken him up, and Tadokoro grits his teeth. He’s invested money into buying good quality cooking equipment, both for his work and for his own personal cooking projects, and if Naruko dares to break anything out of sheer carelessness just because he’s hungry and can’t find food at a store like any normal person —
“Naruko!” he bellows, rounding the corner. “I’m gonna start locking the windows at night and leave you to freeze outside if you don’t stop scaling our fire escape…”
His voice trails off and he stares, open-mouthed.
“Um,” says Shinkai, offering him a sheepish smile and a wave with one pink oven mitt-clad hand, ““good morning?”
His boyfriend is wearing the same fluffy bathrobe as Tadokoro over his flannel pyjamas, but he’s still shivering a little despite the heat emanating from the open oven. From the window over their kitchen sink, Tadokoro can see snowflakes tumbling from the dark sky in droves, coating the pane with a thick sheet of white. He silently muses that last night’s weather forecast promising a full day of sun was completely wrong, but his thoughts are immediately derailed by the acrid scent of charred flour.
“Good morning,” Tadokoro echoes on instinct. “I think you burned those cookies.”
Shinkai glances down at the tray he’s holding with his other hand with a wince. “Yeah, I got distracted and lost track of time,” he says, setting it down on the cooling rack. “I swear the first two batches are okay.”
Tadokoro’s gaze drifts to their kitchen table, where the aforementioned two batches of butter cookies are arranged in a looping spiral on a large ceramic plate. They look particularly delicious under the kitchen’s warm incandescent lighting, the dough glistening gold and crispy, and Tadokoro is so distracted by his instant desire to eat one that it takes him several seconds to notice that it’s not the only food on the table. Next to the cookies, there’s a full-scale Western-style breakfast served up: a platter piled high with slices of French toast, scrambled eggs, and sausages, plus a large plate covered with colourful, neatly cut slices of fresh fruit.
Tadokoro slowly turns back to face Shinkai. “Are we expecting guests or something?”
Shinkai laughs. “No, this is just for us. I would never invite anyone over at this time on your day off. I’m sorry about waking you up this early, though. I didn’t realize making breakfast would be —” on cue, the loud beep of their coffee maker cuts off his words and he winces again — “this noisy.”
Understandable, considering Tadokoro is usually the one who cooks breakfast for both of them and he doesn’t have enough hands to count how many times he’s had to literally drag his boyfriend out of bed before 9 a.m. “Is that why I kept hearing you drop things?” he teases.
“Sort of. I’m not surprised you thought I was Naruko,” says Shinkai, grimacing as he pours the coffee into their usual matching bike-patterned mugs. “I dropped the mixing bowl a few times, and I banged my hip on the counter so hard it definitely left a bruise. Either I’m clumsier than I thought, or I’m only half-awake right now.”
Tadokoro lets out a snort. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re half-awake right now, when the sun’s not even up yet. What I am surprised about is that you’re awake at all. That bit you mentioned yesterday about calling Toudou…was that a lie?”
Shinkai empties two packets of sugar into his coffee. “I did call Toudou, but not this morning,” he admits. “While you were working yesterday evening, I asked him for cooking advice. It…wasn’t that helpful, to be honest, but he did help me find some good recipes and breakfast tips.”
“It all looks really good,” says Tadokoro, bending for a closer look and inhaling the food’s delicious aroma, “especially considering you don’t usually cook.”
Shinkai’s cheeks flush lightly at the praise. “I don’t really mind cooking. It’s just that you really love cooking, and I love your food, so since we moved in together I ended up leaving the cooking to you most of the time…but you deserve to be treated to a nice meal that you don’t have to cook yourself.” He passes Tadokoro's mug of black coffee over to him. “You deserve to be spoiled sometimes, too.”
Tadokoro takes a long sip of his coffee to hide the redness he can feel spreading over his face. It’s true that he’s usually the one who cooks their meals, a task he took up shortly after they moved in together a year ago and he watched in horror as Shinkai burned soup on their stove. It’s not a chore for him since he genuinely loves making food and he loves watching Shinkai enjoy his food. Besides, Shinkai always takes care to show his appreciation in other ways — taking over Tadokoro’s cleaning duties in his spare time, buying little gifts to sneak into his backpack, texting him short messages that range from sappy to filthy during his work breaks.
In hindsight, maybe Tadokoro shouldn’t be so surprised by this gesture. He knows how thoughtful his boyfriend can be. Shinkai isn’t the type of person to be satisfied with letting his life become routine, not when he has the opportunity to move forward and challenge himself. According to Shinkai, it’s how he found the courage to ask out Tadokoro in the first place, and it’s one of the many reasons why Tadokoro fell in love with him.
“Well, thank you,” says Tadokoro, instead of throwing himself at his boyfriend and kissing him senseless the way he’s tempted to “I’m glad this was just to surprise me and not for our anniversary, because that would mean I completely missed the date. Though I’m gonna have to go all-out for that to top this.”
Shinkai’s mouth quirks up in a smile as he sets their plates and utensils on the table. “There’s only about a month until then. Do you have enough time to plan something equally elaborate and surprise me?”
“Ha! That’s plenty of time.” Tadokoro places his mug down and takes a seat, making sure Shinkai doesn’t miss the challenging look he sends his way. “Don’t underestimate me.”
“Never,” Shinkai replies.
epilogue:
Tadokoro has just finished devouring several of Shinkai’s wonderful, non-burnt butter cookies and is preparing to start on the sausages when a series of frantic knocks from their living room makes him jump.
“What’s that?” he asks in alarm.
“Don’t worry about it,” Shinkai says calmly, plucking a bright purple grape from the fruit platter and popping it in his mouth. “It’s probably Naruko.”
“Naruko?” Tadokoro frowns. “But he’s never bothered knocking before.”
“I’ve never locked all our windows before,” says Shinkai.
Tadokoro blinks. A grin stretches across Shinkai’s face.
“Have I mentioned that I love you?” says Tadokoro.
“Pretty often, yes,” Shinkai says cheerfully, “but I’m always happy to hear it again.”
As the knocking dramatically increases in volume, Tadokoro gives in, dropping his fork and standing up to lean over the table. Shinkai meets him halfway.