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( Gen. In which Takao hates training with a passion. )
“You know what this is called,” said Takao, “slavery, that’s what.”
“It’s training,” said Miyaji, loftily, from the entrance of the gym. “Because your stamina is so impressive I have no words at all.”
“Just wait until my social studies teacher hears about this,” said Takao. “I should write a letter to the UN, see how that turns out, and none of you will get into college, ha ha.”
“Actually,” said Kimura, already thinking of the scouts that had been hanging around Ootsubo lately, and also of Takanobu-sensei the first year soc sci teacher that hated Takao’s guts after the school festival fiasco, “I think we’re pretty safe.”
“Exploitation,” Takao wheezed out, even as he began to pedal. “Child abuse.”
“No talking back, freshman,” Ootsubo boomed. Then, to Midorima, he said, “I hope you’re happy now, you bastard.”
Midorima rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sniffed. “Couldn’t you have found a quieter freshman?”
Ootsubo pushed him into the rickshaw and prayed both of them would fall off a bridge.
( Gen. In which Kagami is the only sane man. )
“You know what that’s like,” says Kagami, heatedly, “that’s like wanting to do your mother, that’s what.”
“Actually,” says Himuro, thinking of DVDs crammed into the small crack between the base of Kagami’s dresser and the carpeted floor, “that sounds a little —”
“Oh my god,” says Kagami, kicking the stack under the bed, “don’t even start.”
( Takao/Himuro. In which Himuro invades Takao's personal space, aka Pitch Perfect AU. )
“Oh god, is this an American thing,” said Takao, from behind the shower curtain. “Do you regularly assault people while they take baths just to get them to sing dirty songs for you. Do you.”
“I’m not moving until you sing it for me,” said Himuro, with a smile that made Takao want to curl up into the corner of the shower stall and hide his nether regions because oh my god, no one had a right to look that pretty, okay, not even that damn Kise from the other club.
“I can’t sing when your crotch is staring me in the face,” Takao despaired.
“Well,” said Himuro, lightly, “I can stay here all night.”
( Gen. In which Midorima's social skills are discussed. )
Midorima has 2.5 friends in freshman year. The 0.5 doesn’t count if he excludes faculty, which is just about as sad as high school gets, or so Takao says. Whatever. Half of the things out of Takao’s mouth, Midorima prefers not to listen to, otherwise Takao would just keep talking at him instead.
Maybe this is why he doesn’t have more friends. His mother laments this everyday and makes him go to mixers and social events. Unfortunately for her, the art of tea ceremony is lost to the youth today.
“Is it one of those days again,” says Akashi, with some sympathy, as he greets him by the doorway.
“Yes,” Midorima grits out, and leaves Akashi to his mother’s fawning.
*
“I’m not saying drinking tea is bad,” says Takao, apropos of nothing minutes after practice.
“Takao,” says Midorima, meaningfully.
“All I’m saying is that if you drink tea with a hat up your ass, then you’re doing everything wrong,” says Takao.
Midorima, safely ensconced in the sanctity of the shower stall, studiously gives no fuck at all about Takao’s opinions, however valid they may be. Instead he lathers shampoo in his hand and threads his fingers against his scalp. He shuts his eyes.
The blessed silence is ruined by Takao’s incessant knocking moments later. “What,” Midorima growls out, and it probably isn’t a good idea to open the door with shampoo in his hair and his eyesight effectively blind.
“Scoot over,” says Takao, plowing his way past Midorima, “all the showers are taken.”
“What are you doing,” says Midorima, scandalized. “No, get out, Takao!”
“Five minutes,” Takao whines. He’s already going through Midorima’s things in search of the fruity body wash Midorima’s mother likes to pack. “Promise, and then I’ll get my ass out of here.”
“Please stop talking,” says Midorima, facing the shower instead of looking at Takao.
It takes Takao longer than five minutes to take a shower. Midorima knows this because Takao sings embarrassing songs while bathing, and they’ve gone through four disastrous renditions of pop songs in the Oricon charts, the kind Kise liked to listen to back in middle school. It makes Midorima want to stab his ears forever, the things Kise and Takao like, and he wonders why it’s always the annoying people that flock to him, when he prefers it the least.
“Oh my god, shut up before I kick you so hard you’ll never get children,” Miyaji calls from the next stall, when Takao begins to sing a cheesy AKB48 song that Miyaji adores.
“I hope all of you remember this when I become a Johnny’s boy,” says Takao, cheerful even through the groans.
“Don’t worry,” says Miyaji. “You’ll never make it past auditions.”
“Hey now,” says Takao, “my charismatic self and my good looks will help me pull through.”
“Whatever,” says Miyaji, “they’ll choose Midorima over you anyday.”
“They already did,” wails Takao, grabbing onto Midorima’s arm, his skin wet, his fingers clutching tightly like he’ll never let go. “This guy got scouted and he didn’t even care.”
“I don’t think my mother will like it,” says Midorima.
“Your mother, while lovely and amiable, is desperate,” says Takao, “and desperate women will push you to the path of bulimia and synchronized lady dancing whether you like it or not.”
“He’s kinda halfway there with the, you know,” says Kimura.
“The press will eat him alive,” says Miyaji, gleefully. Any opportunity to dissect Midorima’s future (or lack of it), Miyaji grabbed and never let him live down, ever. 2.5 friends indeed. “No amount of musical skill will ever save Midorima from being labeled a douchebag of the highest order, and no one will want to be in his band ever.”
“And then he’ll have to go into the porn industry to save his career,” says Takao, through tears of laughter. Bastards. “Oh. Shin-chan.”
Midorima pushes him out of the shower stall and prays harder than ever for graduation to come soon.
( Kagami/Momoi. In which Kagami has a repeat customer, aka Bakery/Cafe AU that never pushed through. )
There were approximately three things Kagami hated about his job: the tax forms, the permanent coat of flour over his clothes, and the female clients.
The last part was the worst.
"Your favorite customer is here," was the first thing out of Himuro's mouth when Kagami emerged from the break room in his uniform. Kagami looked at the clock, the atrocious Hello Kitty one that Alex brought over as a present, the same one that Kagami always complained about and threatened to throw out and yet couldn't because Himuro perpetually guilt tripped him out of it ("But Alex came all the way from LA --" "You mean from Shibuya." "-- to give it to you, she'll be so heartbroken if you throw it in the trash, and you don't want that, do you, Taiga?"). Then he looked at his own watch, and groaned.
"It's only six thirty," said Kagami. "Doesn't she have a life?"
Himuro shook his head at him, and busied himself with refilling the straw dispenser and arranging the pre-made truffles into the daintiest plate from the kitchen. "You should be more happy about this," said Himuro. "A lot of guys our age would kill to be in the presence of a beautiful young lady such as Momoi-san --"
"What lady."
"-- that professes to love you for all time," Himuro finished, smoothly.
Kagami stared at him.
"Alright," said Himuro, "so maybe she only wants you for your food. But can you blame her, Taiga?"
"No," said Kagami, rolling up his sleeves. "I blame Kise for everything."
The front door opened, and Kagami pointedly did not jump. Not at all. He also did not knock over the balance book from the counter. Himuro sighed, and waved at the newcomer.
"Hey boss," said Takao, the part-timer, "are you hiding from that hot chick again?"
Kagami gave him an unimpressed look as Takao removed his scarf. "I will be in the kitchen for the entire day," he announced. "And if any of you bastards let anyone, and I mean anyone in the sanctity of my space, prepare to have my fist meet your face."
"Just us?" Takao clarified, with a shit-eating grin. Himuro rewarded him with a non-alcoholic lemon coconut truffle from the pile.
"You have tables to set up," said Kagami, and went back to the kitchen to bake.
Himuro and Takao stared at the kitchen door, until Kagami slinked back a few minutes later.
"For god's sake, someone let her in before she freezes to death," Kagami complained, and set a cup of coffee and a heated raspberry tart down on the counter. He batted Himuro's hands away. "Those aren't for you."
"No wonder she's hooked," said Takao, through a mouthful of chocolate. "He feeds her everyday."
"She's only here for the free food," Kagami yelled.
"Isn't that the problem," said Himuro, sagely.
It wasn't that Kagami particularly detested the attention. He'd been gratified, at first, when Momoi had first shown up at the cafe to express her undying admiration for his baked goods even in the face of Kagami's confusion.
"Well, that was graphic," said Himuro, after Momoi explicitly detailed the effect of each ingredient from the black forest cake on her tastebuds -- the morello cherries! The kirsch! The caraque! Kise-kun, hold me! "Was she a lit major?"
"Um," said Kagami. "I dunno. I only met her five minutes ago. Ask Kise."
"You should try the pie," said Kise, ignoring them. He held out a forkful to her, the surface golden brown and formed with ridges, from the oven, with the meringue white and soft like marshmallows. Momoi discreetly wiped her mouth with a napkin Takao presented with exaggerated flourish. Himuro was pretty sure she was salivating. Maybe.
"Oh," Momoi groaned out, a protracted noise that makes all of them bar Kise shuffle awkwardly and wonder if any attractive young woman should make indecent noises like that in public. "Oh my god. Oh my god, this is perfect."
"Uh," said Kagami, "thanks, I guess?"
"When I get married," said Momoi, eyeing Kagami through her lashes, "I want Kagamin to make everything."
"I don't actually make wedding cakes," Kagami felt the need to inform her.
"Yeah, he makes pralines too," said Kise, like that makes everything even better. "And coconut souffles!"
"Ew," said Momoi, crinkling her nose. She speared her fork through Kise's slice of pie, and fought Kise for the crust. "I hate coconut."
"Not after Kagamicchi's," Kise insisted.
"Does this mean I'm going back to the kitchen again," said Kagami.
"Yes," said Momoi, mournfully scraping syrup off her empty plate.
"Yes," said Himuro, only too happy to divest money off anyone's wallet.
Kagami sighed and went to work.