Chapter Text
The toaster goes off.
Mikoto scratches one foot with another as he goes to collect the coffee from the dispenser.
He blanches when he extracts the toasts.
How he manages to burn toast with a one-button toaster is a mystery even to him, but that was why he decided on a shared dorm room in his last year of studies.
Trotting away from their entrance-slash-makeshift-kitchen, Mikoto grins impishly at his sleeping roommate, so full of openings.
“Wakey, wakey~ Time for school, you big baby!”
Fuuta’s rarely creaseless face scrunches up into a delightful look of horror at the crumbs of burnt toast assaulting his nostrils. He leaps up from his curled-up posture in one fell swoop – Wow! Mikoto snatches the charred bread from mid-air – and lands smoothly in a crouched feline posture on his mattress, throwing one knuckled fist at his face.
“Good morning, Fuuta!” Mikoto crows cheerfully, all rainbows and sparkles as he ducks to evade the hit.
Sure, he may have been liable to such assaults in the beginning, but after a week and some of this boorishness, anyone will have picked up one or two tricks.
Fuuta profusely spits and wipes the crumbs off his face.
“Fuck you!”
He grabs the coordinated clothes Mikoto hung at the foot of his bed and storms off.
“You’re welcome~!” Mikoto simpers cheerfully. “Ah—”
A soap bar shoots out of their private washroom and knocks the toast out of his hand.
…Well. Whatever. He wasn’t going to eat it anyways.
Contrary to popular assumption, Kayano Mikoto and Kajiyama Fuuta live well together.
That is, they ‘live well together’, not ‘get along well’. There is a clear difference.
“Wow. What a petty way of harassment…”
“What is?” Mikoto falters mid-bite, looking up at his friends.
“That. What else can I be referring to?” Iruka sweatdrops.
He plops his rucksack in the cafeteria seat opposite of Mikoto, before smoothly pulling out the chair beside him for his girlfriend. Mahiru’s joy explodes in the form of a heart-shaped smile and the beginnings of a squeal which she quickly stifles with both hands, peeking up at Iruka shyly. Mikoto leans back with a large smile and takes note to tease his friends later.
“What? You mean this?” Mikoto makes a mean show of scooping up the alphabet macaroni. “What’s there to be embarrassed over? It’s bento, made for me and only me by my very own lovely hubby.”
‘Remind me, how old are you again…’ Iruka’s deadpanning eyes ask.
’He’s 22, yay.’ Exasperation overtakes Iruka’s face at the double peace signs he unabashedly lifts up to his cheeks.
“‘Hubby’, you said…? Is he the one wearing the pants in the relationship?” Mahiru asks, curious.
“Ahaha, no…” Mikoto starts off chuckling then shirks away, mumbling, “…It’ll be less painful this way, if he ever learns about the things I’ve been saying.”
“You know, and I wonder about this every time… Do you even have a sense of self-preservation? Why make these jokes if you know they’d come back to bite your ass later?” Iruka asks, with dead-looking eyes that bored into his soul.
“Heheh…” Mikoto brings his hands up defensively. He’s not sure his honest answer of “Because it’s fun!” will win him any points here.
Mahiru cracks a giggle into a dainty hand, drawing curious looks from both men.
“Despite everything, you sure get along well, don’t you? You and Fuuta, that is.” As Iruka wordlessly questions his girlfriend’s sudden vision loss, Mikoto wonders for the nth time, how a guy with a heart as black as Iruka managed to snag such a sweetheart. “How have you been finding dorm life? Has there been any difficulties? Maybe Iruka and I can offer some insights?”
Oh. There it is, her ulterior motive. Mahiru always has a weakness for all love stories, be it her own or others’.
Mikoto folds his arms with a hum, thinking about it.
“Oh, I don’t know? Things have been a little – dry, is that how you put it? I’ve been doing so much at home, washing his laundry, tidying up his things, and it’s all without a single word of thanks. Urgh, how do I put it…? I feel like a housewife being taken for granted!” He cracks an eye to sneak a peek at their reactions. “You get me?”
“Mh-mh!” Mahiru nods enthusiastically. “You just want to be appreciated, don’t you?”
“Gh. That poor sop…” Iruka sees through him like he’s made of glass.
“Ignore him, Mikoto! There is no right or wrong when it comes to your feelings. Whatever you think and feel, they will always be valid, no matter what anyone says!” Mahiru speaks over her boyfriend in a rare show of strong opinion.
“—Haha!” Mikoto cracks a laugh at Iruka’s thoroughly done expression. He beams at Mappi’s pureness. “That was a joke, Mappi. Don’t take it so seriously!”
“Ah…” Mahiru explodes in a pile of fumes, thoroughly flustered. ‘That’s just how he is. Don’t mind it.’ Her boyfriend pats her shoulders in consolation.
“But – really, there’s nothing much to say about the dorm life on my side!” He cheerfully reassures them, astute eyes taking in the faint etchings of concern crumpling Mahiru’s expression and the subtle but unsatisfied set to Iruka’s jaw. He can’t have that now, can he? “I take care of the chores. He takes care of my meals. We both opted for a shared dorm to save money. See? It’s a win-win arrangement all around!”
Mahiru’s brows crinkle together, “…But Mikoto, he’s your—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Mikoto cuts her off. “That was an assumption anyways.”
The only reason why he hopes for more and teases Fuuta so relentlessly – is because he went to sleep one day and woke up to see colour on the same day his new roommate happened to move in.
It does not have to mean anything.
For all he knows, as Fuuta claimed, he could have been sleepwalking the night before and met eyes with his soulmate elsewhere. In which case, how far could he possibly have wandered on school campus, and how long does it take to find a person with two-toned hair on campus? It seems he is unwanted either way, but that is fairly common with the more liberal mindsets these days so –
It’s fine. He’s fine, really. Iruka and Mahiru do not need to look so sad for him.
Mikoto heaves an exasperated smile at their concern. He has good friends if nothing else.
“I’ll be fine, so – let’s talk about all the dirt you’ve found on Ruka-kun instead, Mappi! How’s the lovely cohabitation lifestyle treating you guys? Did you manage to find his stash of porn?” Mikoto chuckles.
“Eh—Ah—!” The way Mahiru lights beet red is answer enough.
Mikoto whistles his compliments.
“You—!” Iruka lunges for him.
Life’s good, even without the ever-loving soulmate he’d hoped to have.
Now, if only that same unlovable soulmate can stop making him worry…
“Hey there, Haru-kun! Sorry to bother you while you’re busy. You ran into my roommate one time while he’s out on his part-time job, didn’t you? Do you remember where that is, again?”
“‘Anteiku’… This must be the one.”
The entrance fits perfectly with the picture from the map.
Mikoto lowers his phone to take in the place.
It’s calm and pleasant, is all he can say, peering in through the glass panels. A dignified establishment in the quiet part of town, which students from their campus frequent… No one should have anything suspicious to say about it, least of all when the café’s signage literally spells ‘The Ward of Peace’.
Fuuta is just strutting past in his uniform – oh, wow – when he catches sight of him.
His jaw and tray drop, flummoxed. Then, it’s back to the same old aggression with this kid. Maybe he does not know Mikoto cannot hear him through the glass, but the amount of fuss he creates draws a whack over the head from the ponytailed waitress standing beside him.
Mikoto buries a chuckle with one hand and waves with the other.
‘May I come in?’ Mikoto angles his head at the door, mouthing the question.
Fuuta glares. It’s cute; He has tears in his eyes.
‘If you do,’ He mouths, raising a thumb to his throat, ‘I’ll beat the living daylights out of you!’ -and cuts across.
To add to the wound, he even brandishes a middle finger in broad daylight (‘Fuck off!’), earning yet another tray to the head.
Cute. Mikoto chuckles.
Ahh, kids nowadays are so scary, he is absolutely shaking in his boots.
Between feral growls and harsh-looking admonishments that escapes his side of the glass, Mikoto whips out a packet of alphabet macaroni from his grocery bag.
‘Dinner tonight?’ He gives double thumbs-up.
Fumes of rage practically erupt from Fuuta’s ears.
Mikoto throws his head back with a laugh and breaks for it when Fuuta charges for the door.
He doesn’t know what has Fuuta in such a fix.
Afterall, Fuuta never cooks enough for two at home.