Work Text:
“Is this one of your lame attempts at being healthy?”
Eita didn’t even turn around to the sound of her wife’s voice. She was too busy counting grapes, which sounded and looked ridiculous. Twenty-four, to be precise —a dozen for her and the other for Kenjirou.
“Not really, babe. Just following tradition.”
Shirabu arched an eyebrow, setting her shopping bags on the small kitchen counter of their hotel room. “What on Earth are you talking about?”
Eita was on a world tour with her band, performing all over the continents after so many years of musical trajectory. Currently, they had two shows programmed in Madrid, Spain’s capital, and it coincided with New Year’s Eve. Kenjirou had been in Japan for most of the tour, yet flew to Spain to celebrate the end of the year to Semi’s insistence.
It took her quite a while to convince her, but the tantalizing promise of visiting the Museo del Prado and other spots was too promising to not accept. Plus, Shirabu had heard from Tendou that the country’s gastronomy was one of the finest in the world, if not the most.
Ceasing to count the green fruits, the ash blonde turned to face the other, arms crossed.
“We have to adapt to the local customs, Kenjirou.”
The brunette still had no idea of what it was all about, and her confused grimace let it show.
Semi had always had a curious mind —for better or worse— between the two of them, always open-minded to try new things and meet new experiences. Which is why, in every country her band landed, the ash blonde made the effort to inform herself about the customs and even learn basic phrases to use —either to interact with fans or locals.
And in the heavens above, it drove Kenjirou mad in the best way possible.
The moment she landed and Eita welcomed her with a ‘cariño’ whispered to her ear, the brunette knew she was a lost cause.
Leaning back in her seat, the rockstar said. “I’ve done my research, princess. Spanish people eat twelve grapes on the thirty first of December for good luck, and it seems that some latinamerican people do so too.”
“Twelve grapes?” Shirabu asked, taking off her scarf and coat. “Why not other food easier to swallow at once?”
“I believe the tradition has some historical background, though I’m not sure,” spoke the ash blonde. “And they don’t just stuff them in their mouths like crazy. They eat one for each of the last twelve seconds left of the year, they call it las campanadas."
“That’s basically the same thing, stupid,” Kenjirou smiled, a teasing tone on her voice, “I bet you’ll be choking on them.”
Despite her words, the brunette leaned to lay a kiss on the other’s forehead.
“Will not! You’ll see, I made a reservation in a famous restaurant here for the night. We have to dress up for it.”
“Obviously, I have the dress for it already.”
“May I see?” Semi asked, both hope and lust palpable.
“No.”
After an intense, fervent concert that left the band sweaty and exhausted, Eita didn’t want anything aside from slumping in bed. And cuddling Kenjirou, too, but that was always granted. It didn’t need to be said.
Their fans had been roaring, screaming and crying out loud their songs tirelessly. The stamina from the start had been the same as the end, and not even an encore of five songs had left them satisfied.
Admittedly, Semi adored an enthusiastic crowd, but she had busted her fingers playing the guitar and her voice was close to hoarse. Not damaged, but slightly raspy. If she wasn’t careful enough, her voice would squawk or break.
Needless to say, she would end up with soreness in her muscles if she didn’t stretch well post-concert.
Alas, they had yet to eat dinner. Not in their hotel room as her body screamed for. Instead —and surprisingly requested by the brunette—, Shirabu and her had gone to tapear, a Spanish way of eating in an itinerant way.
Basically, instead of ordering a full dish, they ordered plenty of small dishes to grab a bite.
It was a great choice, the rockstar came to find out. Even better when, going to the counter to ask for the bill, the ash blonde managed to obtain new information to make an use out of thanks to the waiter and another client who chimed in.
“Bunny, buckle up. I have another tradition we have to do.” She said upon arrival at their table, a wide grin on her face.
Kenjirou hummed, making it clear that —willingly or not— she was being heard, despite her looking absentmindedly at the street.
Just like that without a crease in her face, her earrings shining under the night lights, her hair neatly cascading on her shoulders and her lips, tinted crimson red from the cherry chapstick; Kenjirou looked beautiful. Her relaxed demeanor as she watched people wander the streets felt familiar, and the way she fidgeted with her wedding ring was comfortable, soothing to the eye.
Eita almost forgot what she had to say.
“We have to put a ring in our drinks when New Year’s dinner comes.”
One, two, three seconds went by without a response until the brunette looked at her, surprised.
“Okay, no.” Paused Shirabu, jibing her wife. “The grapes I can understand, but you are so going to choke on the ring.”
That earned a squeak, Semi’s face splashed with slight chagrin.
“Please!” The rockstar pleaded, beseeching.
“Is this how you usually are on tour? Geez, now I understand why you sleep in separate rooms.”
The ash blonde opted to ignore the jab at her, holding her wife’s hands in hers and rubbing her thumbs in them.
“Just listen, princess. It’s meant to bring prosperity and good luck.”
“You know I’m not superstitious.”
“Do it for the aesthetic then.”
“Ooh, you’re a poser.” Whistled the brunette, eyes widening in mocking surprise. “I wonder if your fans know that.”
“Brat.”
“Poser.”
“I’m not!” Eita drowned a scream, desperation dripping from her voice. “I just want to do memorable things with my wife. Is that wrong?”
While Kenjirou wanted to object that drinking from a cup with a ring in it was not memorable, Eita’s intentions were clear and endearing, far too much to not grant her wish.
She sighed mentally, giving in the stupid tradition.
“Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre when your ring gets stuck in the back of your throat.”
“Aw, come on.” Bemoaned Semi, throwing her hands to her hair. “For what do I have a hot doctor wife if not to assist me?”
Kenjirou chastised. “Not my business.”
With that final word —and with a beautiful, opalescent smile— she grabbed her purse and stood from her seat, exiting the bar with Eita trailing behind as the heel taps of her kitten hills resounded softly on the floor.
Shirabu was lounging about.
Eita had a band interview with some brand she couldn’t recall and their hotel room hadn’t looked so empty, so humdrum. For the umpteenth time, she rolled in bed, munching on her boredom.
She could stay there, drown in the sheets and perish from hunger. Right, the brunette hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. Her stomach growled in protest.
Maybe Kenjirou could go for a walk, wander the streets and go on an adventure. Getting lost on the Christmasy streets of Madrid while searching for somewhere to have breakfast sounded appetising enough, and it looked preferable in comparison to rotting in bed.
After all, she had flown to another country. Better make the most out of it.
So, she stood up, put on some make up and a cute outfit —boots with warmers showing underneath them, transparent black stockings, wool shorts and a peacoat to be the cherry on top. The top part of the outfit didn’t matter as the brunette was going to be met with cold out in the streets.
Before stomping out of the room, Shirabu stopped her tracks. Perhaps the outfit needed a baker boy cap.
Finally wandering the streets, Kenjirou came to realise how much she missed the additional warmth that conveyed walking alongside Eita, arms tangled and shoulders constantly bumping. The winter felt much colder and dismal without the ash blonde at her side.
Though hunger didn’t distinguish between cold and hot, and neither did her empty stomach, which howled for food. For it she chose to sit in a famous churrería with hot chocolate and comfortable heating.
The ideal place to relax and let time pass, had it not been for a familiar voice speaking in the background. Looking sideways, the brunette found a TV playing her wife’s band in the interview. Apparently, it was her turn to be asked questions.
Kenjirou squinted her eyes, pulling down her sunglasses. Sharpening her hearing, she could make out what her wife was talking about.
“…Ah, yes. I’m loving this tour, the fans, everything’s so great I can’t even truly express it.”
Then, the reporter led her on. “A little bird told us you like learning customs from the countries you visit. Tell us, which has been for Spain?”
For that, the ash blonde laughed along with her bandmates, taking a bit of time to answer.
“I’m very invested in the whole New Year’s thing. The grapes, the ring in the cup, I’m hooked. Definitely going to do those things.”
Pointedly, her eyes landed on the camera before returning to look at the reporter. Her bandmates poked fun at her.
The reporter took her chance. “Oh, well, did you know that there’s also another one? Bachelors usually eat the twelve grapes under a table so they can get a partner in the coming year.”
Kenjirou had a feeling where this was going. Didn’t the news that Eita had confirmed she was married flew to the other side of the globe? It had been on everyone’s lips for more than a week.
Her eye twitched in annoyance.
“Really?” Asked Semi, as gullible as ever to what was going to come. She even seemed genuinely interested in it.
“Yes! So, we’re wondering, as you’ll already be doing the others, will you do it? Looking for a soulmate to share your heart with?”
The brunette breathed in and out, like those stupid yoga teachers Taichi liked to watch. Her hold on the steaming cup tightened. She knew it was fan service. Really, she knew. The aim was to make at least one part of the interview viral so the brand could make a profit, taking advantage of Eita’s popularity and allure.
It didn’t bother her.
It was not going to get on her nerves that the brand arbitrarily forgot the small detail that the ash blonde was, indeed, happily married. All for some thousands of views on YouTube and a trending topic on Twitter. A risible attempt.
The breathing technique didn’t work, as Kenjirou almost made a mess of her peacoat with the hot chocolate she was sipping on.
It did bother her.
Semi had made it clear she was not single, and hadn’t been for a long period of time. She paraded her wedding ring everywhere she went, telling it apart from the alternative ones she usually bore. Why were the media so persistent in blatantly ignoring it?
“Haha.” Laughed the ash blonde in the interview, interrupting Shirabu’s train of thought. “Nope, definitely not. I’ll leave that to the rest, I have enough with the grapes and the ring.”
That made both the reporter and the rest of the band guffaw.
“Now, you have already announced a new album! Care to give us a slight spoiler, one song’s snippet?”
The brunette ceased to listen, another member of the band answering the question.
Kenjirou’s hot chocolate had never tasted so bitter.
To calm herself, she repeated the mantra she had learnt thanks to Star Wars: anger leads to hate. Hate leads to the dark side.
And in the dark side, I grab the reporter by her four strands of hair and I burst her.
“You know, wearing higher heels won’t make you taller than me, cariño.”
Kenjirou didn’t snap at the remark, opting to continue applying mascara carefully. When she finished, she moved to putting on lipstick.
They were finishing getting ready for the New Year’s, grapes already packed. Inwardly, the younger woman snorted at the sole thought —carrying grapes on New Year’s, how foolish did it sound?
She already had her dress and shoes on, while Semi had yet to style her hair in the usual way she wore it.
“You are also wearing high heels.” The brunette retorted, adjusting her satin dress once finishing with her make up.
“Of course, I’m the tallest of the two.”
Shirabu didn’t answer arguing that it didn't make sense. Instead, she crossed her arms and faced her wife.
“You haven’t done your hair.”
“I like it shaggy.” Shrugged Eita, smoothing out her dress.
“You’re not giving the nineties' look you’re looking for.”
As usual, the ash blonde snickered, unaffected.
“I’m a rockstar, I always give off that vibe.”
“Rockstar doesn’t equal pothead.” Kenjirou quipped just as swiftly, checking her reflection on the mirror and adjusting her fringe.
“Jesus.”
Shirabu grabbed her purse and checked the time —a quarter to ten. “We’re going to be late for the reservation.”
“It’s next year already in Sendai,” ignored Semi, putting on her earrings. “Tutsomu has already congratulated us in the group chat.”
“Don’t change the topic and hurry up, Eita.”
“Bossy.” Whistled the ash blonde.
“Someone has to wear the pants in this marriage.”
“Are you-?!” Kenjirou walked out of the room, leaving the words in Semi’s mouth. “Hey, wait for me!”
Giggling, the brunette felt her waist being held mischievously once Eita reached her pace. Slender and ring-adorned hands tickled her sensitive spots, making her squirm. It took quite a while for her to get out of her wife’s hold, the remains of laughter still present.
She always looked better that way, soft around the edges.
“Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Depends.” Shirabu feigned level-headedness. “Are you going to eat the grapes under a table?”
Eita paused her movements, minor shock present on the way her eyebrows raised. Just as swiftly, the perplexed expression softened into a teasing one —though her eyes squandered fondness and compassion.
“You saw the interview?”
The ash blonde’s hands found their way —as natural as ever, an action performed over a million times— to circle Kenjirou’s waist, satin folding under warm touch.
Shirabu merely hummed in response, melting under the touch. She wrapped her arms around the other’s neck, petting the ruthless mop of hair.
“I wish they would stop with getting you a partner or whatever they always try.” The brunette spoke, looking Semi in the eye.
Eita, for her part, didn’t comment on the kissable pout that her lips protruded into.
“I know, princess.”
Eita’s lips ghosted over her wife’s, a silent request for closing the gap between them. In desperate parsimony, Kenjirou sealed their lips with slow, measured movements enough to make a woman go mad.
She didn’t even try, it was natural for Shirabu to make Semi yearn for more. Smooth movements, laid-back submission in the kiss, a soft sigh escaping her lips; her prior trouble didn’t transfer into the battle happening between their tongues.
The ash blonde felt her wife’s hands card her hair in modest reverence, pulling whenever she pulled an amorous stunt —a bite to her bottom lip, one hand reaching to grab the younger’s ass and knead it in practised motions.
“We have to go to the reservation.” Kenjirou sighed, pulling away from the kiss with difficulty.
“Come on,” whispered Eita, placing soft kisses along the other’s neck. It was distracting, the trained, enraptured timbre of her voice winning over Shirabu’s needy hearing. “We can be quick.”
“You’re never quick.”
“Didn’t hear you complaining before.”
“You’re going to mess my hair up.” The brunette groaned as Eita used both her hands to grab her ass. “Let go, we have a reservation waiting for us.”
Resigned and admitting surrender, the ash blonde nodded and placed a last chaste kiss on Kenjirou’s lips, grabbing her hand and walking towards the exit. They would be going by car, a taxi driver was already waiting for them outside the hotel. The trajectory wasn’t as long as Kenjirou had presupposed, and in just a matter of five minutes they were sitting at their reserved table —miraculously on time.
Dinner was delicious. Seafood, Russian salad, preciously cured Iberian ham, meticulously selected cheeses… and they were only the hors d'oeuvre. The main course followed, and the second. The dessert was unbearably sweet —to Shirabu’s delight— and the drinks didn’t cease to come. Wine, champagne, vermouth… Semi lost track, though she remembered to put the ring in her cup every time.
Time flew as fast as they ate their dinner.
The TV, which had been fairly quiet through the whole dinner, began to play commotion. The Puerta del Sol building was in full display, the clock shining. Many people could be seen in the plaza, all gathered for the final countdown. It almost made Eita want to rush out of the restaurant and eat the grapes there, in the fully packed square.
“¡Las campanadas!” Laughed Eita, vase with the twelve grapes already in hand. “Come on, Kenjirou, get ready!”
“You’re confusing them with the cuartos.” Giggled the lady next to their table, her voice tinted with a thick spanish accent as she intervened in their conversation. She spoke fastly, as if she knew the moment was close to coming. “The number of each campanada will appear on the screen when the moment comes, don’t worry.” Then, the bell from Puerta del Sol descended abruptly. “Wait, now! It’s time! Paco, ¡las uvas!”
They didn’t have much time to prepare. The bell began to sound one at a time, making the numbers on the TV underneath the object get coloured.
One.
This was easy, they could even munch on the grape and swallow hard-pressedly.
Two.
Another grape that easily got eaten, though with a bit of hurry. The restaurant was oddly quiet, even the waiters were eating the twelve grapes.
Three.
Four.
Five.
This time the grape was barely masticated, just being pushed in their mouths. Their attempts at trying to eat it were futile, laughter threatening to erupt. Someone from a table faraway yelled something in Spanish, for which many laughed.
Six.
Eita was running out of space in her mouth to fit all the grapes. Looking at her wife only made it worse, a smile having to be repressed for the sake of focusing on trying to chew.
Seven.
Eight.
Shirabu was going to combust. She probably looked like a bunny with overly stuffed cheeks attempting to fit more food in her system.
Nine.
Ten.
This grape almost got out of the ash blonde’s mouth due to the lack of space.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Finally the defiance came to an end, the customers and staff cheering and hugging each other. They were used to doing this every year, after all.
Before doing so themselves, Eita and Kenjirou looked at each other and bursted out laughing, finishing to eat the grapes. It took a while to control their guffaws, returning the blessings from people in near tables, yet they managed.
“Happy New Years, cariño.” Said Eita, leaning to kiss the brunette.
“Happy New Years, love.” Reciprocated the contact Shirabu, smiling. She remained close to her wife, enjoying the calmness that followed a tirade of laughter.
“Well,” sighed the ash blonde, looking around. “Guess we’ll have to call it a night, no?”
“What?” Laughed a guest behind both women, a loose smile on her face, “the night has just started.”
The staff had led them to a wide room with a dance floor, countless drinks, an open bar and music blasting. Even one of Eita’s songs played once, the dj making a remix with another viral.
After —one? Two? Three?— hours of partying, they decided to call it quits.
Their feet hurt, and it turned out that Eita’s alcohol tolerance wasn’t as great as she paraded. Even Shirabu almost desisted walking on her high heels, though she managed.
In a comfortable silence walking towards their hotel room, Kenjirou stopped her steps and commented out of the blue, voice close to a whisper.
“You’ve been nagging at me for not adapting to the locals, but that’s wrong.”
“Huh?” A wolfish grin spread through Eita’s face, her hands settling to grab her wife’s waist. “How so?”
With one hand on the ash blonde’s nape and the other below her collarbone, Kenjirou whispered.
“I’ve put on red lingerie.”
Her tone, sultry and secretive, promised future excitement if Semi smartened up. She didn’t even need to lay a kiss or stroke her skin.
And with that, the brunette left for their shared hotel room, leaving Eita to stand foolishly in the corridor. She spent an absurd amount of time watching how her hips swayed, ass jiggling.
Semi’s mind, working as fervently as it had ever done, reminisced a detail she had overlooked while researching Spanish traditions.
When one wears red underwear in New Year’s Eve, they want to attract a fruitful, prosperous and plentiful sex life.
The ash blonde hurried to their room, growingly excited.
“Princess, wait, I’m coming—! I want to be the one that takes that dress off you!”