Work Text:
Yakisoba: 2 Servings
For the Noodles:
Pork, thinly sliced
Cabbage, roughly chopped
Carrot, cut on a diagonal
Shiitake mushrooms, sliced
Bean sprouts, whole
Onion, diced
Green onion, thinly sliced on a diagonal
Neutral oil, for cooking
To Make the Sauce:
Worcestershire sauce
Oyster sauce
Ketchup
Soy sauce
Sugar
Step 1: Create A Memory
It was one of his favorite nights. The moon was shining, the streets were noisy, and Shoyo’s eyes were shining like miniature galaxies. One of Tobio’s greatest joys was looking into Shoyo’s bright, wide eyes. He had grown used to looking at them from afar as Hinata stared down the volleyballs hurtling his way or when he picked up Natsu from school. Tobio watched those eyes closely, waiting for the moment the sparkle sent in. Now, they sparkled just for Tobio.
“Tobio!” Hinata grinned, grabbing his hand. “Look how quickly they’re turning those takoyaki—it’s lightning fast!” It was pretty quick. Tobio loved that everything excited Shoyo. He always seemed to find pure magic in the smallest of moments.
Tobio reached for his wallet. “Let’s share some.”
The takoyaki were steaming and covered in sauce. Shoyo promptly burned his tongue on one, and Tobio couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. “What did you expect, dummy? Can’t see the steam?”
“Totally worth it!” Shoyo grinned, popping another in his mouth and promptly burning his tongue again.
Tobio learned almost immediately that the night market was one of the most dangerous places to take Shoyo. His only thoughts were fixed on which stall to try next. It was endearing to watch him dash across the market, almost like a little kid who had never before seen someone make yakitori. It took all of Tobio’s willpower not to pick up Shoyo and squeeze him, adoration practically overflowing. How could someone like Shoyo exist? Tobio was so lucky.
Eating their way through the market was a competition Tobio was going to lose, not that he was ever going to admit it.
“Where the hell does all that food go?” Tobio balks.
“What do you mean where does it go? In my belly, of course!” Shoyo laughed again, and for a moment, Tobio was too distracted to hear what Shoyo had said.
“Duh. But how can you contain it all? We’ve had more meat than I can count, yams and corn, grilled squid, too much takoyaki, and a whole bunch of sweets. And now you want yakisoba? You’re some kind of weird alien.”
Shoyo had already run off, saying something about how he needed fuel.
Tobio hated to admit it, but the egg on the yakisoba was perfectly cooked, and the sauce-to-noodle ratio was just how he liked it. Just as he was on the verge of bliss, Shoyo scampered back and stole the last piece of pork from his container.
“You asshole!” And yet, Tobio couldn’t actually bring himself to be mad at Shoyo. Not when Shoyo was looking up at him with that dazzling smile of his.
Right then and there, Tobio knew he needed to make Shoyo smile like that, even if it meant conquering his inadequacies in the kitchen.
Step 2: Write a Grocery List
As a kiddo, Tobio absolutely loved the grocery store. Aisles and aisles of colorful packages, delightful treats and snacks, and rows of beautiful produce. It was like a feast for his eyes (and later his stomach) that never got old. A museum full of objects that he could touch but never bring home.
Despite how much he loved trips to the grocery store, always begging to come along, he often got overwhelmed. There were just so many packages to choose from, too many bright colors dazzling him. What if the apple he picked out was mealy? A little too often for his family’s liking, a trip to the grocery would end in hot tears streaming down his cheeks. Little Tobio couldn’t help it. Grocery shopping was too much of a good thing. Some children—Tobio included, of course—would eat too many sweets and get a stomach ache.
Tobio would get overwhelmed at the grocery store.
These days, Tobio’s still dazzled by the wealth of options at the store, but he knows exactly which products taste just right. He beelines for exactly what he wants—if he stops and looks for too long, all the choices bog his brain down like a sponge dropped in water. Miwa calls it the curse of too many options. Who let his big sister be so smart? It’s infuriating.
Today is different, though. Tobio isn’t taking his usual route through the store, right to his favorite natto package or curry sauce. No, today he is fumbling with a poorly scribbled list and swimming through products he only half knows. As he compares different vegetables, wondering if the one that has the better color or the one that’s bigger is the better selection, he starts to question his choices. Is this a good idea after all? Why did he let Miwa talk him into cooking? What the hell is the difference between a red pepper and a yellow pepper? Does it actually matter? Couldn’t he have at least written himself a better list? Tobio groans and shoves the crumpled list back into his pocket. Miwa would always get the ones with brighter colors, and Miwa is good at this stuff, so he will also be getting the bright ones.
Vegetables are easy enough once Tobio starts searching for the prettiest ones. Suddenly, the phrase “good enough to eat” makes a lot more sense to him. It’s a phrase that probably should have clocked much sooner, but he’d never really considered it before.
As Tobio walks down the rice and noodle aisle, he comes to realize that there are a lot of things he has never considered before. Objectively, he knows there’s a wide variety of noodles to choose from, but this is the first time he has been faced with the choice. Usually, Tobio peels off to grab his favorite staples while Shoyo handles the rest of their shopping.
Tobio squints at the packages, wondering how big of a difference the noodle thickness really makes. He doesn’t know much about cooking, but he does know that he would be miffed if he ordered an udon and got a pile of flimsy little noodles instead. But this isn’t udon—it’s yakisoba. Luckily, Miwa told him that soba noodles were a completely different type of noodle than what he wanted. Made with a different flour or something. Tobio’s finger is just hovering over Miwa’s name on his phone screen, ready to fire off an SOS when a logo catches his eyes. Somehow, the yakisoba noodles had been right in front of him the whole time.
Finally, Tobio is done shopping. It would have been a miracle if it hadn’t started pouring while Tobio was agonizing over his grocery list.
Step 3: Make a Last Minute Substitution
By the time he gets home, Tobio is sopping wet. It was beautiful and sunny two hours ago when he left. What changed? Instead of pretending to understand the intimate details of weather patterns, Tobio swears under his breath and clutches his flimsy brown paper bag of groceries close to his chest. The last thing he needs is for this bag to get so wet that it tears.
Tobio shakes himself off, feeling a lot like the very wet, extremely cranky cat he gave a wide berth as he’d crossed the street on his way home. As he kicks his shoes off, daydreaming about the soft slippers he’s about to slide on, something cherry red catches his eye.
There’s an extra pair of shoes at the door, shoes that certainly do not belong to the two men that live in this apartment. As far as Tobio knows, neither he nor Shoyo own a pair of limited edition Lightning McQueen Crocs. Kenma, however, does. In fact, Kenma owns two pairs. The other pair is in a case at the Kodzuken Game Headquarters (also known as Kenma’s office). Both were gifted by Crocs Japan, a fact Kenma rarely lets people forget.
The sound that leaves Tobio’s throat can only be described as a hiss. Cranky wet cat, indeed. His fingers curl around the damp paper of his grocery bag, accidentally puncturing it.
Shoyo is meant to be out and about. Tobio can’t keep track of all of Shoyo’s social engagements, but he double-checked that this afternoon was blocked out for a trip to the aquarium with Kenma. Tobio was meant to have a quiet afternoon to unpack his groceries and reread the recipe for yakisoba Miwa sent him at least three times before ever touching the stove.
Tobio immediately discovers that he gravely miscalculated.
Trouble, trouble, trouble.
How will Tobio be able to smuggle ingredients for a surprise dinner into the kitchen while they have a guest over? What the hell happened to the aquarium?
“Tobio?” a voice calls down the hall. “That you?”
“Yeah,” he grumbles, untangling himself from his groceries.
He barely has time to set the bag down before Shoyo’s shooting down the hallway and grabbing his shoulders. “Baby, you’re soaking wet!”
“It’s raining.” Tobio attempts to edge the bag behind him. It’s too clumsy of a movement, and he knows it.
Shoyo zeroes in immediately. “Whatcha got there?”
“We were out of vegetables, so I picked up a few.” Luckily, Tobio planned for this. He’d made sure the beautiful, frilly head of napa cabbage was at the top of the bag and he hid the noodles toward the bottom.
“You hate the produce section.” Shoyo cups Tobio’s cheeks and balances on his tiptoes to peck his lips. “Thank you for braving the veggies, sweetie.”
Tobio melts into his arms, frustrations momentarily forgotten. “Another,” he mumbles, squeezing Shoyo close.
Shoyo giggles. “Tobio, you’re so wet! Go dry off and come join me and Kenma! We’re having a Mario Kart Tournament, but it’ll be more fun with you.”
Right, Kenma. Tobio likes Kenma perfectly well. In fact, he really likes Kenma. He’s a good friend to Shoyo and doesn’t push Tobio to talk when he doesn’t want to. But right now, Tobio resents Kenma and his stupid Crocs and video games.
“Uh–”
Shoyo pouts, pulling on Tobio’s arm. “I promise I won’t bombard you with blue shells and banana peels this time. Pleaaaase?”
Hinata’s doe eyes are impossible to resist, so Tobio deflects instead. “Weren’t you supposed to go to the aquarium?”
“Well, yeah, we were. But then Kenma remembered that the concept of the ocean freaks him out, so we decided to hang out here instead.”
Tobio cocks his head. “The concept of the ocean…?”
“You know, like how big and endless it is? Yeah, that freaks him out.” Hinata holds his arms out as if to illustrate how vast the ocean is.
Tobio has never thought about the ocean like that before, and honestly, he would never like to think about it again. If he doesn’t think too hard about it, he won’t have to be concerned by the fact that Japan is a tiny island in the middle of a lot of salt water.
“Right. Of course.” Tobio realizes that he thinks the ocean is pretty, but he doesn’t particularly like being wet. Maybe the concept of the ocean freaks him out, as well.
“So you’ll join us, right?!” Shoyo shakes him again, grinning ear to ear.
Tobio nods a little, dazed. “Yeah. Just give me a moment to dry off.”
As Shoyo bounces back down the hall, Tobio takes a moment to sneak the groceries into their fridge. Safe and sound in their very crinkled, damp bag. Tobio had been hoping to practice his cooking before Shoyo came home, but that’s going to be a wash. For now, Shoyo believes he went grocery shopping. His little surprise remains a secret.
Once Tobio’s finally warm and dry, snug in his favorite sweatpants and a spare MSBY hoodie, he feels much less like their grouchy neighborhood cat. He shuffles to the den, where there’s a spot on the couch and a remote waiting for him. Kenma has a look of fierce determination that Tobio only sees when he’s dead set on winning. Tobio shudders; there are going to be so many blue shells in his future.
“Hope they don’t have to close Rainbow Road once we’re done with you.” Kenma smirks.
Tobio flops down, immediately picking up the remote. “Rainbow Road doesn’t know what’s coming.”
As always, he picks Donkey Kong.
“You’re going to spend more time falling off Rainbow Road!” Shoyo teases, positively grinning.
“Just you wait! It will be different this time!” Tobio shakes the remote, a wave of competitiveness overriding his rational brain.
It is not different. It’s never different. Tobio flies off Rainbow Road every few minutes, slides on every banana peel, and manages to come in dead last.
“Another round!” he demands. “The Mushroom Cup this time. I kick ass on that one.”
Tobio does marginally better on the other Mario Kart tracks. Sweet Sweet Canyon is his favorite. He finds the pastels pleasing to the eye. He’s a decent enough player—on easy mode—but is absolutely no match for the likes of Shoyo and Kenma. Even so, he gets lost in the game. In fact, he even bags a few wins. There’s nothing like a friendly competition to distract him.
Yakisoba wasn’t that hard to make when he had practiced with Miwa. He can be flexible and shift the plan a little. It’ll be fine.
Step 4: Stick to the Plan
Tobio committed to making yakisoba and he will be following through. This little bump isn’t going to stop him. After all, Kenma will have to leave at some point and if Tobio’s lucky, Shoyo will accompany him part of the way home. Or, if he’s incredibly lucky, Shoyo will faceplant on the couch and nap for hours. Despite being the socialest of butterflies, Shoyo doesn’t have an endless supply of energy. Just like normal people, he needs time to recharge. One of Tobio’s favorite Shoyo’s is the one that collapses as soon as people leave. Napping Shoyo absolutely adorable, but what truly charms him is the predictability. Like clockwork, Shoyo will crash within ten minutes. It’s one of the few predictable things about Shoyo. Tobio loves that his little tangerine is so unpredictable. It’s what makes him Shoyo. But Tobio is a creature of routine, and knowing that he can expect certain things from Shoyo, such as a nap after guests leave, is a comfort.
“That was lots of fun!” Shoyo grins, tossing his remote aside and stretching. Every single vertebra in Shoyo’s back cracks. Tobio cringes a little. How long had they been hunched over their remotes before he got home?
“Sorry about the blue shells.” Based on the smirk on Kenma’s face, Tobio knows that he isn’t the least bit sorry. “Better luck next time.”
Getting absolutely creamed in Mario Kart is a blow to Tobio’s ego, but it won’t impact his cooking abilities. It just sets him back a few hours.
Sure enough, Shoyo knocked out minutes after their door shut behind Kenma. Tobio presses a kiss on the top of his head and wraps a blanket around them. Hopefully, the couch’s throw pillows won’t end up with too much drool on them.
Finally, Tobio putters to the kitchen. Rarely does Tobio cook a meal from scratch. If he is not warming up leftovers, he’s cutting corners that barely pass for cooking. He believes himself to be most skilled with a rice cooker. It is a well-known truth that in his heart of hearts, Tobio is a rice guy. He could happily eat that stuff for every meal. In all honesty, he usually does. You just pop the stuff in the rice cooker, take a shower, and come back to a perfectly cooked pile of fluffy perfection. Recently, Tobio learned that he could add vegetables or other nice things to the uncooked rice and have his rice cooker do almost all of the work. He is unstoppable with a rice cooker. If only yakisoba could be made in a rice cooker. Instead, he will conquer the wok and stove.
Making yakisoba isn’t that hard, Tobio reminds himself. Miwa had walked him through it. Chopping some vegetables and tossing them with pork and noodles is pretty simple. You’ve done this before. You can do it again, Tobio tells himself.
Wrong. False. Incorrect.
Nobody told Tobio that the moment he left Miwa’s, he would forget everything she taught him. Suddenly, Tobio is struggling to evenly cut the carrots and forgetting that if he looks away from the boiling noodles, his pot will inevitably bubble over. Now that Miwa isn’t here to guide him, yakisoba is very hard to make, actually. He cannot understand why, but the knife is heavy in his hand, and his motions are awkward and clunky. Tobio has certainly cut the vegetables, but they are jagged and uneven.
The pressure must be getting to him. He must be so focused on creating perfection that he’s cracking. Was he really this rattled by the unexpected change in plans? Tobio certainly loves sticking to a plan, it is why he thrives on routine and consistency, but the plan is still in motion. Tobio cleans up the vegetable scraps, reminding himself that uneven vegetables can still taste good even if they aren’t pretty. To Tobio’s credit, cabbage isn’t meant to look pretty. The stuff shrinks to microscopic levels and has a nice crunch. Nothing about cabbage is pretty once it’s been chopped up.
He decides the meat will be a second chance.
It was bold of Tobio to assume his pork would turn out any neater. It certainly did not. In fact, Tobio has no idea how he managed to cut it so unevenly. He scowls at the pile of meat in front of him. What used to be a lovely slab of pork belly is now a collection of strips that look like they could have been made by a ten-year-old, rather than a fully grown adult. This is why Tobio plays volleyball professionally rather than pursuing a tortured culinary career.
Nothing is going according to plan today. It wasn’t supposed to rain, Shoyo wasn’t supposed to be at home, and cooking wasn’t supposed to be a disaster.
Tobio did not stop to consider that he might chop everything poorly. Nor did he take into account that being a poor cook could throw a wrench in the plan. He was so brashly confident that he didn’t bother to buy extra ingredients in case he’d need to start over. Tobio had fretted quite a lot, but he trusted that Miwa’s cooking lessons would solve the minor issue of having absolutely no cooking experience.
Usually, Tobio would call Miwa. But with Shoyo asleep on their couch, Tobio isn’t going to risk waking him. Knocking around the kitchen is loud enough already.
TO: Kageyama Miwa
Help
It’s not working
Everything is ugly and uneven
FROM: Kageyama Miwa
Tobio, it’s all right. Just cook it like we practiced.
It doesn’t need to look good. It just needs to taste good.
You can do this!
Right. Presentation is the second priority to taste. Crisis averted.
Even if Tobio aces the sauce (which he will, all he has to do is pour things into a bowl) it will resemble dark goo. No presentation points, regardless. Whisking the sauce proves therapeutic, and Tobio stirs a little longer than necessary, taking out his frustrations on the concoction of sauces he’s carefully measured out.
There’s still a chance to salvage this. Tobio is finally ready to cook.
Patiently, patiently—Tobio waits for his wok to heat. Miwa explained that it has to be so hot that it smokes a little before adding the oil, so he waits. One minute, two minutes, how do cooks have this patience? Finally, he sees those little wisps rising from the pan and hits it with oil, swirling it so that the oil coats as much of the surface as possible. Just like Miwa showed him. First thing in the pan is the pork belly so it has enough time to cook. Then, he’ll toss in those veggies and cook until they’re still a little crisp, but not raw. Only a few minutes of cooking from start to finish. That’s the beauty of yakisoba.
The pork belly is beautifully golden. Why must Miwa always be right? Now that they’re cooking, the uneven strips are indeed forgettable. Tobio adds in his aromatics. The smell of onion and scallions immediately permeates the kitchen. It’s a heavenly smell that Tobio barely has time to appreciate. A pungent, acrid scent has replaced the sweet aroma wafting from his wok. His pork belly is no longer golden, instead, they resemble shredded tires. The aromatics aren’t much better off, either.
“Damn it!” Tobio realizes that in his zeal to get to the part where he actually cooked, he never bothered to turn down the heat. Cooking is a strong word to describe what he’s just done to his already mangled ingredients.
“Tobio?” A sleepy voice catches his attention. A half-awake Shoyo is standing behind him, rubbing his eyes. A patch of his bangs is standing straight up, likely where Shoyo’s face had been pressed against a pillow. “Is everything okay here? The apartment smells smoky, and you look like someone just insulted your perfect sets.”
Nothing is okay here. Tobio has failed, and now he’s woken Shoyo up. “Does it look okay?” He’s a cornered animal—lashing out is all he knows how to do.
Shoyo’s eyes widen. “N-not really,” he admits sheepishly.
Tobio snaps, “Then why ask? Obviously, I can’t even cook without ruining everything around me!”
“Tobio, I was asking about you. I don’t care if dinner is burned as long as you’re okay.”
“Just go back to sleep. I’ll clean everything up, and we can order in later.”
Shoyo crosses his arms and purses his lips. “You’re not okay.”
“Forget it, Shoyo!” Tobio turns back to his charred pan, ready to dump the blackened remains into the trash.
“No.” Shoyo is stubborn, as always. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Bedhead Shoyo standing in the middle of their kitchen with that adamant look in his eyes would almost be comical if Tobio wasn’t so agitated.
“You’ve already seen enough of my shameful attempt at making you dinner, just let me clean it up in peace.” Tobio scrapes the last of what could have been a delicious dinner into the trash, looking anywhere but Shoyo’s direction.
Shoyo drops his arms. “You were cooking for me? Tobio, that’s so sweet of you.”
Tobio scowls. “There’s nothing sweet about burning your dinner!”
“You’ve never gone out of your way to cook for me before.” Shoyo pulls the wok from Tobio’s hands and sets it on the counter. “Thank you for trying, Tobio.”
“I just wanted to make you smile the way you did at that festival a few weeks ago.” Tobio leans his elbows on the counter and hides his face in his hands, still refusing to look at Shoyo. “You just looked so, so happy. It was beautiful. I wanted to do that for you, too.”
“Do you have any idea how happy that alone makes me?” Shoyo leans next to him, resting his head against Tobio’s shoulder. “You don’t really enjoy cooking but you still tried to anyway just for me? That’s peak romance, Tobio. You always know how to make me feel so loved.”
“But I messed it up, I couldn’t even make you some stupid noodles.” Tobio peeks between his fingers. “I didn’t actually make anything for you.”
Shoyo reaches for Tobio’s hand, pressing those long fingers to his lips. “Why don’t we make it together? We’re the freak duo for a reason, you know.”
Tobio blushes. “There isn’t any pork belly left, I burned it all.”
“So then we use something else!” Shoyo digs through the fridge. “We have some ribeye in here… Also some chicken, that could be nice. There’s tofu, too. What do you want?”
“Uh…” Tobio didn’t stop to think about using other proteins to remake the dish. Shoyo must be in possession of their shared brain cell today. “Whatever you want.”
“Let’s do the ribeye! I’ve been excited to get into it.”
Tobio nods a little. “Ribeye, yeah.”
Step 5: Find a Partner in Crime
As soon as Shoyo takes charge of cooking, Tobio feels at ease. The knife is no longer heavy in his hands as he carefully dices his onion, but he still asks Shoyo to cut the beef. There’s no reason they should risk Tobio ruining another lovely cut of meat today, especially when Shoyo is so damn capable. So instead, Tobio methodically slices the scallions. This time, everything is thin and uniform.
Tobio has had a breakthrough—cooking is a partner’s sport. There is absolutely no joy in cooking on his own, but the minute he can share the kitchen with another, Tobio glows. Slowly improving his technique while Miwa gently poked fun at him was a thousand times more fun than agonizing over the stove all alone. With Shoyo, Tobio feels as though they can tackle anything. His ray of sun is right, they are the freak duo for a reason. Together, they’re unstoppable.
Shoyo is absolutely killer on the wok. He hums softly, tossing the meat and vegetables over the high heat. Their kitchen smells divine. Tobio can’t help himself. He leans in, wrapping his arms around Shoyo’s waist and burying his nose into his hair.
“Tobio!” Shoyo giggles, squirming. “Be careful!”
Tobio presses a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re a dream, you know.”
“Can you grab the sauce?” Shoyo’s gaze never leaves the stove, but Tobio is positive a soft blush is creeping up his cheeks.
The sauce—the one thing Tobio is positive that he aced all on his own. Tobio is relieved that he scorched everything before it was time to throw the sauce in. He brushes his lips over Shoyo’s jaw one final time before passing Shoyo his prized sauce.
“You are so distracting,” Shoyo huffs. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to get anything done with you clinging like that.”
“I’m helping.” Obviously.
Shoyo rolls his eyes. “Kissing isn’t helping.”
“It’s moral support.” Tobio grins, stealing another kiss on the cheek.
Shoyo glowers, entirely unconvinced.
Tobio stretches his arms out. “I can also reach everything on the high shelves for you.”
“And instead of using that reach, you’ve attached yourself to me. Why don’t you go get some bowls?”
“The bowls on the lowest shelf?” Tobio can’t help but tease.
Shoyo shoves him, biting back a laugh. “Yes! Because I’m still cooking!”
“Yeah, yeah, sounds like something a short person would say.” Tobio places two bowls on the counter. The turquoise ones with delicate gold leaves decorating the rim, Shoyo’s favorites.
“That’s exactly what a tall person with no creativity left would say!” Shoyo fires back.
Tobio gathers Shoyo in his arms. “Well, what do you say to this?” He leans in, smooching Shoyo right on the lips.
Shoyo melts into the kiss, tumbling into Tobio’s arms. Tobio tangles his fingers in the stray ends of Shoyo’s wild hair, caressing the nape of his neck with his thumb.
Kissing Shoyo is often one of two experiences, so passionate it’s nearly electric or tender and gentle as the morning dew. This is one of the soft kisses, sweeter than the spun sugar Tobio adored in his childhood. These are his favorite kisses.
For all the vigor packed in his bones, Shoyo always knows the perfect moments to slow down. As with every kiss, Tobio wants this one to last forever—just Shoyo and him in their mess of a kitchen. The moment Shoyo pulls away, Tobio’s lips fall into a pout.
“Don’t want the noodles to get cold.” Shoyo winks, leaning on his tiptoes to kiss Tobio’s nose.
“Right.” Tobio had completely forgotten about those noodles. Shoyo has that effect on him, the rest of the world fades away when he comes into focus.
Step 6: Share a Meal
Shoyo hums, sprinkling a copious amount of anori seaweed flakes and pickled ginger over his portion of noodles. Tobio wrinkles his nose at the sight. He prefers his condiments in moderation, but as always Shoyo has to elevate everything.
Tobio stares down his bowl of noodles. They certainly look like the yakisoba he buys at street festivals, but is that really saying much given that it’s literally a pile of noodles tossed with vegetables and meat? Two pieces of cabbage are angled just so that they look like little eyes staring up at him. After all this effort his food mocks him?
“You take the first bite,” Shoyo insists, poking him with the butt of his chopstick.
Tobio shakes his head. “I wanted to make it for you.”
“I want you to try what we made together.” Hinata’s insistent as ever, but there’s affection in his voice.
There is no arguing with Shoyo, so Tobio touches his palms together and bows his head. “Itadakimasu.” Then, he digs in.
Tobio is ascending.
This yakisoba is easily the best thing that he’s ever made. He loves the chew of the noodles and the crunch of the vegetables. The sauce’s umami flavor profile is perfectly balanced. A sense of pride washes over Tobio. He would have expected it to be a familiar feeling, similar to landing a service ace, but it’s entirely new. Food is often fuel for him. He likes it plenty, but it often becomes a means to an end. Nutrients convert directly into energy for volleyball (and the rest of life, but that’s usually less important). Tobio knows how to feed himself efficiently, but this is the first time Tobio has cooked himself a meal for the sake of it. Really, he wasn’t even cooking it for himself.
“You should see yourself right now.” Shoyo has propped his face on his hands, staring up at Tobio. “I wish I could bottle that smile and keep it for gloomy days.”
“Have you been watching me eat?” Tobio sighs to himself. Shoyo can be so weird.
“Well, I wanted to see your face when you first tried it, and then you looked so… Blissful.”
Tobio feels his face flush. “Did I?”
“Is that what you saw in me? That night at that festival?” Shoyo’s cheeks are a little pink, too.
Tobio nods. “Kind of. You were just so radiant that whole night. I had never seen anyone get so excited over simple street foods. We grew up eating that stuff, but you were still so delighted to try it all. I couldn’t help myself, I wanted to see that smile again.”
Shoyo fiddles with his chopsticks. “It wasn’t all the food, you know. Sharing it with you is what made it special. Yakisoba is delicious, but yakisoba with my favorite person in the world will always be the best ever.” He points to Tobio’s empty bowl. “It’s why that’s so good, isn’t it? This isn’t just yakisoba, Tobio. It’s the first meal we’ve ever cooked together.”
Had they really never cooked together before? Of course, they hadn’t. Tobio never thought much about cooking before these past few weeks.
He grabs Shoyo’s hands. “Let’s do this more often. Please. That was the best meal I’ve ever had, and I loved making it with you.”
Shoyo squeezes Tobio’s hands, peppering them with little kisses. “It will be the first of many.”
Tobio’s heart does a somersault in his chest. After all these years, Shoyo never fails to make his heart skip a beat.
“The first of many,” Tobio promises.