Work Text:
Scaramouche has made a huge mistake.
It’s a well-known fact that the food on campus is nearly inedible. The student union building is full of fast food kiosks and broken vending machines, the Starbucks is always out of everything, and the dining hall has an obsession with serving mystery meat that kind of looks like brains.
Because of this, Scaramouche has become a frequent customer of the little supermarket right off campus. He’s even got the VIP coupon card to prove it. He’s pretty sure he’s the only reason the market is still in business, honestly.
He’s been visiting the market a lot more recently. Back when it was just him in his dorm room, he could make a loaf of brioche last a week, a jar of Nutella last almost a month, and when he did splurge and decide to buy something resembling a healthy food (usually a bag of those really huge carrots), he was able to make it last until it turned green and rotted in his little mini fridge.
But now his fridge is packed with shit, thanks to his dearest roommate and soon-to-be-murder victim, Kazuha. Instead of his little demure loaf of bread, bottle of iced tea, and mutant carrots, now the shelves are packed with energy drinks, rutabagas (what the fuck is wrong with you, Kazuha?!), stinky tacos from the Mexican place off campus, and pineapple salsa. Let it be known that Kazuha doesn’t have the most discerning palate. The fridge was small enough as it was, and now the door barely shuts. It’s driving Scaramouche crazy.
Kazuha is also known for eating other people’s food. It doesn’t matter if you write “MINE” on it in huge permanent marker letters, he’ll still eat it. Everything that isn’t nailed down goes down the hatch, and Scaramouche is pretty sure even if he did nail it down, Kazuha would eat around the nails. He has no idea how the idiot can burn that many calories thumping around the ice like a greased penguin. It’s amazing. Worthy of study. Maybe he could hire Dottore to do a medical study on the miracle that is Kazuha’s digestive and calorie-burning abilities.
Anyway, Kazuha has eaten all of Scaramouche’s bread, and he’s pissed. What does he have to do to keep his food away from other people? Lock it in a safe and swallow the key?
If he wasn’t so fucking hungry, maybe he could come up a reasonable solution. Like kicking Kazuha out of his room. But as it is, he’s brain-dead and starving, so of course the first thing he does is go out and buy a loaf of bread, some eggs, maple syrup, and a small carton of milk.
Yes, he’s gone batshit. Who gives a fuck.
* * *
When he returns to the dorm, he beelines to the kitchen and kicks Childe out. Then he pulls out a big pan, a few bowls, and the measuring supplies. It takes him less than three minutes to whip up the egg mixture, and then he dips each piece of bread into the batter, inhaling the smell of orange extract. The bread sizzles as he drops them into the pan, one at a time, and stands back, listening to his own stomach sing a full-length opera about how empty it is.
The door creaks open behind him. “Fuck off,” he says without turning.
“Jackass,” Dottore mutters, leaving.
Scaramouche is just placing the first piece of french toast on a plate when he feels a warm breath on the back of his neck. “What the fuck!” he says, tilting the plate and accidentally dropping his food.
Kazuha grins at him and picks the toast up off the floor, popping it into his mouth. “Scrumptious,” he says, mouth full.
Scaramouche watches yet another thing of his meet its end in Kazuha’s black hole of a stomach and restrains himself from reaching out and wrapping his hand around the moron’s neck.
“Get the fuck out,” Scaramouche says, deadly quiet. He points the spatula at the door. “NOW.”
“But I’m hungry,” Kazuha whines. He’s dressed in his hockey jersey, a fuzzy beanie, and red fingerless gloves, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s going to die in t-minus five seconds.
“Ooh, smells good,” someone else says, and the day goes from bad to worse. Mona saddles into the kitchen and leans over the stove, poking at the french toast with a sparkly orange nail. “Can I have some?”
“NO!” Scaramouche fumbles for a second spatula, feeling threatened from both sides. God, what the fuck did I do to deserve this?!!
She pulls it out of the pan anyway, ignoring the fact that it’s hot, and takes a bite, closing her eyes and letting out a depraved moan. Scaramouche flushes and holds the spatulas tighter.
“God, this is sooo good, Mouche-face,” she says, licking her fingers in a way that also somehow seems lewd. He can feel Kazuha’s gaze on the two of them, probably wondering what the fuck is going on.
Basically food porn, Scaramouche thinks, giving in to his urges and smacking Mona with the spatula. “You. Get out.” He spins to face his roommate. “And you. Get out.”
“That’s no way to talk to your girlfriend,” Mona says, taking advantage of Scaramouche’s gaping expression to put her fingers in his mouth. They taste like orange and sugar, and it pisses him off. He bites down and flails out with his kitchen weapons. “Gah! Why can’t I make some fucking food IN PEACE!!!”
“Girlfriend?” Kazuha asks, ducking a flying spatula.
“Yeah,” Mona tells him. She crosses her arms and smirks. “Got a problem with that?”
The look the two of them are sharing is enough to kill. For the life of him, Scaramouche can’t tell what’s going on. Is Kazuha jealous of him for getting with Mona? Is Mona jealous that he shares a room with Kazuha?
“We aren’t friends, right?” Kazuha asks.
“Nope.” Mona purses her lips. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“Good. I’m telling you now that I plan on being your competition.”
Scaramouche has no words. “Wha…?”
WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?!!!!
“Good. A challenge.” The smirk on Mona’s face is concerning.
The two shake hands. Scaramouche reaches up and manually closes his hanging jaw. He’s never been more confused in his life.
Mona saddles up to him and slides her cold hands under his shirt. “Mouche-face, honey,” she coos right in his ear. “That toast looks mighty good.”
Scaramouche sees red. He grabs a piece of french toast, not even caring if it’s cooked or not, and hurls it out into the hallway. “Kazuha. Catch!”
The minute his moronic roommate thunders out of the kitchen, Scaramouche kicks the door shut and rounds on Mona. “What the fuck was that?”
“Competition,” she says, like that explains everything.
“Yeah, I got that part. Over what?”
Mona grabs a piece of brioche and takes a bite, licking her lips. “You, honey.”
“Me–Whaa—You’ve got to be kidding—Why the fuck would you and Kazuha be competing over me?”
“Cause you’re hot, babe, and you’re mine, but he doesn’t like that, and therefore, we must be competitors in the game to win the love of the one and only Mouche-face.” Mona kisses him on the cheek, boops his nose, and beelines out the door before Scaramouche can shove her in an oven.
Scaramouche’s jaw falls back down again, like a cartoon skeleton.
* * *
Something’s burning on the stove.
When he finally closes his mouth, he sees that the only remaining piece of french toast is charred black. He pulls the pan off the heat and stares at it.
And then he raises a shaking hand and points at the innocent french toast.
“This,” he says slowly, “is all your fucking fault.”