Work Text:
Kunikida came into my dorm today after I failed to come to work for four days straight. I learned from asking Ranpo the last time this happened that he has a key to my place entrusted to him by the president for emergencies. This apparently counts, because going missing for a couple days is a cause for concern at the agency.
He came through the door yelling about bottles on the floor and how dark it is here. The clicking of his shoes falls silent when he reaches the doorway to my room.
I am lying perfectly cocooned from the cold outside world, on my futon, when I feel my blanket being swiped away from me. My hands fly up to cover my face as air hits my skin. It feels like hell, I despise how cold and exposed I feel now.
“Really, Kunikida is so rude, taking away my warmth so harshly. In my own home too.” My whining is lacking the usual vigor I stuff into my theatrics. Maybe he won’t notice.
“Get up, I bet you’re useless ass hasn’t eaten all day. Help me prepare some food. Go wash up while I tidy up the kitchen.” His voice has quieted down a bit.
He definitely noticed.
I continue laying there for a second, rubbing my face with my hand in frustration. I'm contemplating on pretending to fall asleep or escaping through the window, but Kunikida is already walking towards me before I can do anything.
Hands are pulling at my arms, bringing me up to stand as I groan. My face falls to a pout as I glance back at my futon, not even having the time to mourn its heat as I’m being shoved out of the room.
“Go. Wash. Up.” Kunikida’s persistent hands push me toward the bathroom.
“Yes mother dearest.” That earns me a smack to the arm. Ow .
Rubbing my soon to be formed bruise, I reluctantly follow as instructed and wash my hands and face.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I notice the curtains have been drawn and all the empty bottles have been cleared out from the floor. I head to the kitchen where Kunikida is standing over the sink.
Just as I’m about to sit on the table and settle myself in to observe, he starts his scolding again.
“Hey, no! Get your lazy ass over here. I’m not just gonna do everything by myself, at least make yourself useful and help me cut up some vegetables.”
This is probably the closest I’ve felt to tears in years. How annoying.
“Ughhh, but if I do it Kunikida is just gonna get mad at me for doing it wrong. It’ll be a million times more efficient if I just watch. That’s something I won’t mess up!” I exclaim in fake cheer.
I’m thrown an unamused glare from over his shoulder. Didn’t work I guess, damn.
He hands me the knife and cutting board he just washed and pulls me in front of the counter. I twist the knife in my hand and make a show out of squinting at it in annoyance.
“Quit that.” He pulls the board from my hand to set it on the counter and lays a couple of vegetables on top of it. Kunikida moves himself over to the stove where a pan is heating up.
I stare at the knife in my hand for a moment, tempted to make a joke that might get me in trouble, just to avoid having to help. I decide it’s not worth the risk of being put on suicide watch again and move my hand over a carrot on the cutting board. Fingers wrap awkwardly at the handle of the knife as I begin slicing the carrot into uneven chunks.
“Wait, I didn’t have these in my fridge. Where did you even get them from?” I ask while holding up the bit of carrot I just cut.
“I figured I couldn’t trust you of all people to have the proper ingredients to make a nutritious enough meal, to make up for however many you’ve skipped, so I went to the store before I came ov- hey! What the hell are you doing?” Kunikida's eyes gawk at my work on the cutting board.
“What do you mean? I'm cutting the veggies like you asked me to. See? I told you all that stress was gonna mess with your memory, didn’t you write that down?” Another smack, to the back of the head this time. What a brute.
“No you idiot, I mean why are you holding it like that!?”
“Like what?” My head tilts to the side as I inspect the knife in my hand.
“That’s not how you hold it.”
My eyes roll “Does it really matter? Don’t be so neurotic Kunikidaaaa”
“Yes it does matter” his hand pulls the knife from mine and twists it around to a firmer grasp than how I had it “it’s way less dangerous if you hold it properly, and it makes cutting more efficient.”
Thumb and forefinger are pinching the base of the blade as he holds it up for me to see.
“See? Hold it like that.” The knife is placed back in my hand.
My fingers curl stubbornly around the handle as I’m prepared to ignore the advice and keep cutting however I please. Right as I’m about to start, Kunikida lets out a squawk and grabs onto my hand.
“What did I just tell you!? You moron! Just- here.”
Kunikida moves to stand behind me. His fingers move to pry my own away from the handle, surprisingly gentle as they place them on the knife properly. He keeps them over mine as he moves both our hands so that it cuts into the carrot, making a few quick and even slices.
Everything is warm again all of a sudden. The heat feels different from when I was wrapped up laying on my futon somehow. The contrast in both our body temperatures makes me yearn for something, for what I’m not sure.
Silence envelops the room as we both stare at the cutting board. It’s only broken after a couple more seconds pass by Kunikidas throat clearing. His hand loses its grip to hover above mine before he pulls away completely. I feel cold again.
“Um, right so.. just do it like that instead.” His eyes dart away from me as he speaks.
“Okay”
We stumbled back to our previous positions facing away from each other, both with cheeks flushed a subtle pink.
The room is filled again by the noise of my cutting and of Kunikida simmering meat over the stove. The awkwardness fades away as we continue working.
I’m done cutting up all the vegetables by the time he comes back to stand next to me.
“Not bad.” I’m ashamed at how much satisfaction his reassurance brings me.
I step back as he reaches over to grab the cutting board. My eyes watch him as he heads over to the stove to drop the slices into the pan. Kunikida glances back at me and gestures with his head for me to come forward.
He hands back the cutting board along with a container of tofu.
“Cut this into squares.”
“Yes Chef, I’ll get right to it.” My unoccupied hand goes up to my forehead in a mock salute before turning back to the counter.
A cheeky grin stretches my face as I look back to glance at Kunikida who’s shaking his head in disapproval. I’m about to turn back when I notice his mouth moving, almost like he’s trying not to laugh. Oh?
My face falls to a pleased smile as I begin cutting up the tofu. When I’m done I take the board to him myself this time and watch as he places mushrooms and noodles on the pan.
“Come on, put the tofu in there yourself.” He gestures to the pan. I drop a couple pieces as I’m trying to scrape them on there with the knife, but strangely enough he doesn’t yell at me for it. He simply picks them up and throws them away before returning.
After pouring in some broth, he places a lid on top and turns to me.
“You’re like a newborn deer when it comes to basic life skills. Since when are you so clumsy?” He looks at me from where he’s leaning on the counter with his arms crossed.
“Hah? Is Kunikida trying to tease me? What a bully!” I say with an over exaggerated frown. My face starts feeling warm for some reason, and I move to sit at the table to avoid his gaze.
I start to pick my nails once I sit, trying to keep myself distracted. From the corner of my eye I watch him gather the used dishes and begin washing them. Once I’m sure the pink has faded, I turn my face to watch him continue to clean.
Ten minutes of comfortable silence pass until the food is ready. From the cupboards he pulls out two bowls (gifts from kenji, who took my lack of dinnerware personally) and begins serving us even portions. He sets one of them in front of me and takes a seat at the other end of the table with his own bowl. Kunikida gives thanks for the food and digs right in. Must’ve been a long day at the agency.
I lean over my bowl, and watch the steam float into the air. The smell of the homemade food it emits is suddenly suffocating. Despite the pleasantness of the evening, a subtle gloom has been plaguing the back of my mind all day. I was ignoring it in favor of satisfying my company enough to avoid questions, but it’s rearing its ugly head now.
I’ve never been one to eat much and even during my mafia days I usually ate food that was either pre made or from a can. It was always something small and quick and no one ever seemed to question it so I never bothered fixing my habits. Freshly cooked meals were always sparse and I never was the one cooking when I had them.
There were times when Chuuya was feeling generous and would throw a small container of whatever he had made for lunch at me. After teasing him endlessly about it he confessed that Kouyou had been adamant on teaching him how to cook a proper meal. Mori never bothered to go beyond handing me a granola bar so he wouldn’t have to deal with me passing out while working.
During the rare times I would stay at Odasakus place he would occasionally cook for us. It was usually food that was too spicy for my taste and he would always promise to lay off on the spice next time. I didn’t mind though, as long as I was allowed to stay and watch him as he cooked, I would’ve let his food burn my tongue off every time. Anything to not have to eat alone again in cold silence.
The smell of home cooked meals always makes me hungry for something that isn’t food. I try to avoid it if I can, so I never bothered learning how to cook even now.
My eyes are still locked on the steaming bowl when I feel Kunikidas' gaze on me again. Not interested in raising suspicions, I push my hesitation aside and begin eating in small bites.
We eat quietly for the most part. By the time we speak again Kunikida is almost done with his food while I’m only half way through mine. He doesn’t mention it though, we’re both relieved I even finished this much.
“How you’ve managed this long on just cups of ramen and canned crab I’ll seriously never understand. How is that the only thing in your kitchen?”
I let out a breathy laugh at his remark. “I’m just not that big on cooking I guess.”
Kunikida rolls his eyes. “I’m beginning to think you don’t even know how to at all.” I give him a tight smile in reply .
An eyebrow lifts from his face as he glances at me. My stomach tightens.
“You don’t?” The question makes me feel oddly defensive and something akin to shame bubbles up.
“Just never had the time or patience, I had other things to worry about.” The coldness in my voice is louder than I meant it to be and it makes me correct my composure. I should know better than to take my frustrations out on those who don’t deserve it.
“I don’t- No, I never learned. I don’t know anything about cooking.” My face shifts to something more sheepish and it feels a little more genuine than what I’m used to.
The look of apprehension he gives me makes me desperate to shift the topic away from myself.
“What about you Kunikida, how did you learn how to cook so well?” I playfully fold my hands under my chin and stare directly at him with an impish grin.
He sighs in exasperation and goes to pick up our bowls. “My mother taught me when I was younger and I picked up some things on my own.”
“Aw I should’ve known Kunikida would be a mama’s boy.” I shift in my chair so that I’m facing him as he cleans our dishes.
“Shut up you idiot, it's not like that.” Maybe it’s my imagination but I sense underlying dejection in his voice. I decided not to prod for now.
“So what about you then, no one ever taught you how to cook or something? Have you really never had to make food for yourself?”
I must’ve accidentally hit a nerve. It’s clear that he wants to switch the topic back to me to avoid explaining whatever he meant. In other words, he’s throwing me under the bus. Jerk.
“Nope.” I don’t want to explain myself either.
We both stare at each other for a minute, unsure of what to make of our unspoken half confessions.
Kunikidas expression suddenly changes to something more resolute.
“I guess I’ll have no choice but to help you change that then.” He doesn’t ask me anything else, and I know that he must’ve realized my sensitivity to the subject. It makes me feel warm again.
“I guess you will.” I give him an honest smile that he returns as well.
My feet move me towards the couch to set up the board game we usually use for these occasions (another gift, this one from Ranpo).
“Who knows, maybe I’ll even out do you as a chef and end up cooking for you next time.” I call out from the living room.
Kunikida is making his way over as he laughs. “Maybe, we’ll see how fast your lazy ass learns.”
We play the board game and talk for hours on end until we both run out of energy and fall asleep on the floor. My blankets and futons lay forgotten in my room. They never provided the right kind of warmth anyway, not the way these evenings with company do.