Archive of Our Own ^beta

The blue box standing upright atop the countertop was, in Meruem's considered opinion, the most baffling thing he'd seen since his introduction to the complexities of human life. 

The Chairman's latest "cultural activity" as part of their peace treaty terms came not in the form of a formal invitation, but in this cardboard package delivered by courier along with other foodstuffs in a paper bag. 

"A box?" Komugi offered a perplexed headtilt. She accepted it in outstretched hands, running her fingers across the cardboard, then gave it a curious shake. "It rattles."

"What manner of sustenance is this?" Meruem said. 

"You mean food? Ah..." She tipped it upside down and listened to its contents sliding back and forth. "I dunno, we never really ate food in boxes back home." 

Truthfully Meruem hoped Komugi might shed some light on the perplexing assignment that was simply named 'Kraft Dinner' in a bold, yellow font on the box, but apparently she was just as clueless as he was. 

Just the mere advent of food being more than his previous diet of humans was a concept he was still learning to accept. He'd been provided with food before, of course. Meals had arrived as part of their supplies, neatly prepared and ready to eat.

But this was different. This was a task, and Meruem had never been one to turn down a challenge.

"Judging by its name, I suspect the intent is for us to craft the meal from start to finish." Though the misspelling of the word 'craft' didn't escape his notice. 

"I guess we should open it and find out what it's supposed to be?"

"The picture on the front shows what looks to be some sort of tubular food on a fork. It promises to be '30% cheesier.'"

"Um…" She shrugged. "Sorry, we didn't really eat that either."

Meruem took the box from Komugi's hands. A single clean swipe of his tail opened the cardboard at the seam. How unnecessary, all these layers of packaging. Just more human waste. "It appears to be some form of dehydrated pasta and dairy product. Isaac Netero claims this is a staple of the region, and that we must learn how to prepare it for ourselves to understand its people." 

He read the instructions on the side of the box. "This will require additional ingredients as well as several pieces of cookware. It seems a simple enough process. We have to combine the ingredients, bring the water to a boil, and then stir the pasta until it is cooked through."

She fidgeted atop her stool. And not the sort of squirming that typically accompanied the impatience preceding the start of a Gungi match. "Are... are you sure you want me helping? What if I ruin it?"

Meruem paused, and Komugi shrank further in on herself. He hadn't intended to make her feel inadequate. "You will not ruin it, Komugi. Neither of us are familiar with this, so it will be new to us both."

"Okay," she said with a small smile.

They gathered the ingredients, Komugi holding out her hand while Meruem deposited each item in her palm for her to touch. It came naturally to him now, knowing she needed to touch things to identify them, and the gesture brought a glow to her cheeks that he quite enjoyed, so it was worth the effort.

Meruem set the pot of water on the stove. The assigned penthouse where they stayed boasted a spacious kitchen with gleaming white marble and polished steel. A stark contrast to Komugi's rural upbringing, though not quite as opulent as the Royal Palace from before humans and Chimera Ants finalized the terms of their treaty. The first week after they settled in, she'd been so terrified to touch anything for fear of breaking it. But it wasn't Komugi who had broken the first thing; it was Pitou. Frustrated with the coffee machine's complicated settings and stubborn refusal to obey, they had taken it apart to understand how it worked, and learned an important lesson in electricity in the process.

Typically, if the use of the kitchen was required, it was done by his guards. Cooking food instead of eating it raw appealed to Shaiapouf in particular (one of the few human customs that did appeal to him, in fact) but the rest of his guard had little interest in such things. And perhaps, were Meruem still King, living atop the Chimera Ant hierarchy, he would have gladly let his Royal Guard attend to such things. But those days were long behind him.

By the countertop Komugi sat perched atop a stool, her cane leaning against the counter. She was dressed in a simple pink blouse and skirt. She had a small collection of outfits now, all given by the Association. Today's assignment came with aprons. Komugi wore hers. Meruem did not. It seemed foolish to wear something meant to protect clothes when he was not wearing any in the first place. 

"I'm usually not trusted to help boil water," Komugi said. "One time I tried to make porridge, and it spilled everywhere and caught fire." She laughed, but it was tinged with embarrassment.

"I will not let that happen," Meruem said with confidence. Komugi didn't reply, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. She kept her hands neatly folded in her lap, head tilted slightly toward the sound of his movements like she was trying to picture what he was doing. 

As the gas burner clicked on with a hiss, her fingers twitched in her lap. "What now?"

Meruem stirred the water. "I am watching it boil."

"Watching?" She sounded surprised. "It will take a long time if you watch the whole thing. My mother used to say that. Then she’d ask me to sit by the pot and do nothing so it'd boil faster!" 

"I don't understand. What would your presence have to do with it?"

Komugi's cheeks colored. "It's a joke," she said. "Well, sorta. More like a funny saying. Like, a 'watched pot never boils' kind of thing. And, um, since I can't really watch the pot..."

"An attempt at humor at your expense," he said, his tone flat, and though Komugi couldn't see, the look on his face was no less dark.

"Well, it's not like it was meant to be mean. I'm used to it."

Meruem suspected full well that her family intended that statement to absolutely be taken as something more humorless than a joke. Perhaps he was being overprotective. It's not like they were here to mock her. But somehow the lifelong barbs she'd endured still found their target, and he didn't like it. 

The burner's flame licked the pot's underside as Meruem stared into the bubbling water, waiting for the moment it reached a boil. Komugi squirmed, her fingers tangling together, twisting and twining, her smile sheepish. He'd seen that expression enough to know she was eager to please, to help, to be useful. It was an urge he recognized. So he reached over and took her hand, guiding her off the stool to the stove. She followed, hesitant and silent.

"Komugi." He drew out her name in that steady, smooth cadence of his, and her brows lifted, expectant. "Hold out your hand. You may not be able to see the water, but you can feel its heat. There is a place for observation and understanding in all tasks."

Her cheeks flushed. "O-oh, of course!"

He guided her to the stove, gently taking her by the wrist and bringing her hand over the water. "Do you feel that? The rising steam and the warmth?"

She inched closer, her tongue darting out to wet her lips before she nodded. "Yes, it's hot!"

"Careful." He didn't need to say it. She knew the dangers of hot water, but the instinct was there nonetheless. He released his grip. "Let us resume."

The cardboard box crinkled in Meruem's hand as he pinched his fingers and withdrew a small sachet, dangling it in the air. He tilted it toward Komugi, who leaned forward to give it an inquisitive sniff.

"It smells…I dunno, I can't really smell much, but it doesn't smell like cheese."

"Nor does it look like it," he agreed. "But the box promises it is now 30 percent cheesier than the previous version."

"Huh. Well, um, I guess the last one must have been even less like actual cheese if they had to make it 30 percent more like cheese. Or... sorry, I'm not very good at arithmetic. Or cheese." 

In spite of all his genius, Meruem had to agree with her. For now, it would have to be accepted that this was, indeed, cheese. Cheesier cheese.

He set aside the packet, then examined the dehydrated pasta from the box. The macaroni were shaped like little tubes. He couldn't recall ever eating anything like it before.

"The noodles are not like the ones in our soups," he said. "But I assume they will cook similarly." He placed a single noodle into the center of her palm, watching Komugi run her thumb along its length. She hummed thoughtfully before returning it to the box.

"Ours didn't have noodles like that. But sometimes we'd have rice instead, though, and I liked that a lot." Her stomach gave a quiet gurgle. She giggled. "Sorry! Guess I'm getting hungry."

Meruem was, too. He hadn't eaten since...

'Eating' meant something new now. It didn't mean what it had before. He earned his meals, learned his meals. Still, Meruem could go a considerable stretch without any sustenance at all. And for his part, he had grown to appreciate the ritual of their shared meals and the way Komugi's face lit up when he described the dishes before her. Her smile was its own kind of sustenance.

The hunger he felt these days was different. Not the ravenous urge that had once been a constant companion, but a mild rumble of anticipation. He found that preferable. Human food was far from satisfying, but it was palatable, and it was more than enough if it meant he could have this. Komugi's company, the chance to spend his days with her in peace, without the threat of violence looming over them. And if the price of that was occasionally suffering the whims of the Chairman, then he would pay it. Even if that meant learning how to craft dinner from a box of processed pasta.

"The water has reached a boil. It's time to add the noodles."

"And then stir, right?"

"Yes." He pressed the box of noodles into her hands. "Would you like to add them to the water?"

Her smile was instant. "Can I?"

"I would not ask if I did not mean it." His tail curled behind her back and gently nudged her forward.

"O-okay! I'm doing it!" Komugi announced to the kitchen at large as she dumped the contents of the package into the pot. A shower of dry noodles mostly found their destination, though a few bounced off the edge and disappeared somewhere underneath the stove, lost until the next time Pitou got bored and decided to take the appliances apart again.

"It's in!"

"Good." He put a long-handled spoon into her fingers. "Now stir."

She grasped the spoon, a look of concentration overtaking her features as she carefully dipped the wooden tip into the pot, feeling along the bottom and sides. The noodles swam in a lazy circle, and she grinned. "I'm stirring!"

"Yes, you are."

"I’ve never done this before," she admitted, her tone tinged with wonder. "At home, cooking was… well, it wasn’t my job."

Meruem frowned. "Your job was Gungi," he said bluntly. "And you are unparalleled in that regard. This—" he gestured to the pot, though she couldn’t see it, "—is nothing compared to your talent."

"I guess," she mumbled. "I just…never figured I could really do anything else besides playing."

"And now you are."

Her cheeks flushed at the praise, and she ducked her head, fiddling with the hem of her apron. "Still, I’m glad I get to try it now. With you."

There was something in the way she said you that made Meruem’s chest tighten, a warm sensation that was still new to him. He had come to understand many emotions in his time with Komugi, but this one was the most unexpected. Affection, gratitude, admiration…Most he knew the names of by now and could recognize, though others were still a mystery. All wrapped up in this strange, constricted feeling in his chest whenever she was near. 

"There are a few more ingredients required after the pasta has completed cooking. Butter and milk. The amount is specified." Meruem reached for the milk carton and butter, setting each down on the counter as Komugi continued to stir.

"Butter?" She perked up at that. "We have butter?"

"Yes, it is necessary for the final steps."

"I didn’t think we’d get to use something fancy like this!"

"Fancy? I am told it is a common staple."

The wooden spoon scraped the bottom of the pot. "Common or not, I never got to eat stuff like this back home. It was a treat!"

"You will have all the butter you desire." There was no hesitation in his words. He would make sure of it, even if it required indulging the Chairman in another one of his assignments. Komugi giggled again.

The pasta expanded as it boiled, bobbing in the cloudy water. Meruem watched Komugi’s careful stirring, brows knit pulled together with the utmost concentration as she dutifully scraped the spoon along the bottom of the pot to prevent sticking. She was treating this with the same dedication as a Gungi match. 

"It says to stir occasionally," he mused, glancing at the directions again. "But you haven’t stopped."

She froze mid-stir. "Oh. Is that bad?"

"No. Though it may not be necessary to do it constantly."

"But… what if it burns?"

Meruem tilted his head. "The water is boiling. It is unlikely."

Komugi’s shoulders slumped just slightly, but she didn’t stop stirring. "I just don’t want to mess it up."

"You won't."

The set of her jaw suggested she wasn't quite convinced, and her fingers were white-knuckled on the handle of the spoon. Meruem didn't understand the need for her vigilance. The noodles weren't going to attack. They weren't dangerous. But she seemed to take her task very seriously.

"You can let go," he said. "If that's what you wish."

"No. I have to do it right," she muttered. "I'm not gonna mess this up. It's important."

His gaze flicked back to the second apron intended for him. Pristine, crisp white cotton, still folded in a tidy square atop the counter where he left it after opening the package from the Hunter Association. The mess wouldn't matter. His chitin could be rinsed clean easily, and boiling water posed no threat. But Komugi couldn't see that. To her, this was just another rule of cooking, another step in the process that should be followed.

She wouldn't know if he didn't wear it.

But then, why did it suddenly feel important?

With a low sigh he snatched it up and looped it over his head. The fabric hung awkwardly at first before he adjusted it, tying the strings behind his back with precision. (He had watched Komugi do it earlier, copying her method, albeit with far less floundering). It was ridiculous. A useless garment. But...

She would expect me to wear it.

Komugi tilted her head slightly at the rustling sound. "Hm? Did you need something?"

"No." He returned to the stove. The apron felt foreign against his exoskeleton, but he said nothing about it. In truth, Meruem half-expected one of his next "assignments" to involve pants, based on the sly quips that Netero was prone to dropping when he visited.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the gentle bubbling of the pot and the occasional scrape of the spoon. Then: 

"Meruem?"

"Hm?"

"I really like cooking with you."

The blunt sincerity of it caught him off guard. His tail flicked. Once. 

"This is the first time you’ve cooked," he said, equally blunt.

Komugi’s grip on the spoon faltered. "O-oh. Yeah. Well, besides the whole… porridge fire incident."

He reached past her to adjust the heat, his arm brushing against her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, but she did lean into it, just slightly. Deliberately? The thought tangled further in his mind.

"I can feel the noodles bumping against the spoon a lot more now," she remarked brightly. "I bet they're all squishy now."

"We will test it when the time is done."

"But what if I don’t know if it’s done?"

He huffed through his nose, amused despite himself. "Then I will tell you."

She nodded, biting her lip as she continued stirring. A strand of hair had come loose from her pigtail, and without thinking, Meruem reached out to tuck it behind her ear. His fingers grazed the shell of it, the skin fragile and warm, and Komugi froze, spoon hovering midair.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then a noodle plopped out of the pot onto the stove with a wet splat.

Komugi shrieked. "Oh no! I messed it up!"

"It’s one noodle."

"But it’s outside the pot! I heard it!" She flailed the spoon in distress, sending droplets of starchy water flying. "How did it even do that?!"

"It is not important."

Komugi groaned. "I knew I'd ruin it." She wilted in place. The spoon drooped listlessly in her hand.

Meruem retrieved the escaped noodle from the burner and flicked it back into the pot. "It's not ruined."

"But I—"

The time is complete. And you have not ruined anything," he repeated. 

A faint flush crept up her neck. "I just wanted it to be perfect."

Seeing her reaction made his chest constrict again. "Enough stirring," Meruem decided abruptly. "The noodles are cooked." The directions said to test one for firmness, so he plucked a single macaroni from the pot (the exact same offender that had previously attempted to flee - there was no escape for it ),  and crushed it between his fingers. 

"Oh! Should I...?"

"Drain the water." He nudged a colander toward her side of the counter before realizing his mistake. "No, wait—"

Too late. Komugi had already lunged forward with the enthusiasm of someone who had never handled boiling pasta before. Meruem’s tail lashed out just as Komugi reached blindly for the pot handles, yanking her back by the waist so fast her feet left the ground for a split second. The colander clattered to the floor as she gasped, flailing.

"Hot," he said flatly, holding her suspended midair, heart pounding in a rhythm he barely recognized. When had that started? Since when did his body react like this? Like a human. Like prey.

"S-sorry! I forgot about the...the hot part." Komugi offered weakly.

"You forgot."

"I was excited!"

Meruem's tone was drier than the powdered cheese packet. "To get burned?"

"Well, no, but...you were watching, so..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing darker. "I can...I can get down now, right?"

"No." He set her on the counter instead, well away from the stove, tail still curled possessively around her waist. "Stay."

"B-but the pasta…"

Meruem dumped the entire pot into the sink with one hand. Water hissed against the stainless steel as he shook the colander under the faucet, noodles tumbling in with perfect precision. He didn’t spill a single one.

Komugi sulked from atop the countertop. It was unlike her, the way she pouted. But she was also sulking from the exact kind of accident that could have resulted in her getting seriously hurt, and he refused to be charmed.

"Next time, you will not need to rush."

"Next time?" Komugi perked up slightly.

"Yes." It didn't occur to him that perhaps she wouldn't want to do this again, that perhaps her enthusiasm would wane. But it was a foregone conclusion. And frankly, he found himself not minding the activity, provided she wasn't attempting to boil her hands along with the water.

He poured in the milk, then placed the wrapped square of butter in her hands. "Open it."

She did, with less enthusiasm than her previous attempt at multitasking, but she didn’t protest. Her fingers were careful as they unwrapped the foil, and she handed the butter to him, her expression still a mix of contrition and eagerness.

"You know...Uh..." Komugi fidgeted, knees knocking together. "It’s not like I need hands to play Gungi!"

Meruem paused mid-stir, the butter melting into golden swirls under his spoon. A beat passed. Then, very slowly:

"…That was a joke."

She giggled nervously. "Yeah. Sorry, I guess that was kinda dumb. I just thought, you know, since... I mean...my left arm—"

"—will be staying in its socket. Where it belongs." Without breaking eye contact (pointless, as it was with Komugi), he stabbed the spoon into the pot and slid it toward her. "Stir."

"Eh? But—"

"It is not done yet. Stir."

She obeyed, quiet now. As he reached for the packet of dried cheese, Komugi fidgeted, and he knew there was more to come. He'd learned to recognize that expression on her face, the one where she wanted to speak up but was hesitant to do so. 

"What is it?"

"...Are you mad at me?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"No." He adjusted her grip on the handle. "But you must learn to be more careful."

"I know." A sigh. He could feel her deflate from underneath the coil of his tail. 

"You are not wholly at fault. I should have warned you beforehand. That is my oversight. Not yours."

Komugi opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Pursed her lips. "…You’re really attentive."

"I am always attentive."

"N-no, I mean...attentive to me. And what I'm doing." Her cheeks flooded with color again. "Are you nervous?"

"Continue following the instructions," he said instead, ignoring her question.

"R-right! Um...what's next?"

"We add the cheese."

Meruem tore open the cheese packet with his teeth. A completely unnecessary gesture, but Komugi couldn’t see it, and the act of dramatically shredding the foil pleased him on some primal level. He emptied the contents into the pot, orange dust raining down.

Komugi’s nose twitched. "That smells… um, strong," she admitted.

"Thirty percent cheesier," he deadpanned, watching the powder dissolve into the steaming noodles with vague suspicion. It smelled artificial. Not unpleasant, but decidedly not cheese as he understood it. 

Meruem watched her work the spoon through until the mixture looked smooth, then she rapped it against the rim of the pot and asked, "Does it look ready?"

"Yes."

Komugi immediately straightened, jabbing the spoon in his general direction so hard that a stray macaroni went flying. "Okay! Now...now put me down!"

He blinked. "…Excuse me?"

Her voice was firm. Uncharacteristically so. "Put me down. Right now."

For a split second, he considered refusing. Not out of disobedience, but sheer surprise. Komugi never gave commands. She asked, she suggested, she hesitated. But this? This was borderline imperious. Unexpected in a way that rattled him more than an unprecedented play across the Gungi board.

A slow curl of something warm coiled in the pit of his stomach. Amusement? Curiosity? He didn't know, and in that moment, it didn't matter.

"Of course," he said, and set her gently on her feet. His tail lingered around her waist, then withdrew.

And then he sat.

Komugi exhaled shakily, then hopped off the counter with surprising grace for someone who had nearly face-planted into boiling water five minutes ago. Her fingers fluttered over the counter until they found the stack of bowls, and she picked one with meticulous care. She traced its rim to gauge depth before ladling in a generous portion.

"You’re… proficient at this," he observed.

"I practiced," she admitted, grinning as she tapped the spoon against the bowl's edge. "When you were gone last week, I asked the staff to show me how to serve stuff properly. ‘Cause…" She squared her shoulders. "I wanted to do it right for you."

Ah. Suddenly it all made sense. The precision, the insistence, the nervousness. She was trying to impress him.

"I see."

Komugi nervously shuffled over to the table, counting each step under her breath until her waist hit the edge. A bowl rested in each hand, rendering her unable to use her cane. It was clear she practiced this part too. She slid one in front of him, then set her own down. "I hope it's good," she said.

He stared at his bowl of bright yellow pasta. It was exactly as the picture had advertised. An unassuming mound of tubular noodles coated in a layer of unnaturally orange cheese sauce. Nothing about it looked particularly appetizing. 

The first bite was… not what he expected. The cheese had an odd tang to it, artificial in a way that lingered on the tongue, but not unpleasant. The pasta was soft and chewy. He took another bite.

But Komugi hadn't budged. She stood by the table's edge, hands clasped and practically vibrating with breathless anticipation. "Is...is it good?" 

He swallowed. "You served it perfectly."

She rewarded him with a fresh flush of color rising to her cheeks. "T-that's not what I asked!"

"It is sufficient," he amended, then watched, fascinated, as she planted her hands on her hips in a gesture so un-Komugi-like he nearly choked on his next bite.

"Meruem." She stamped her foot. "Tell me properly."

His pulse jumped. 

Meruem deliberately placed the spoon down. "It is…"

She held her breath.

"…thirty percent cheesier."

Komugi's face crumpled. "That's not a real answer!"

He couldn't help it. A little smirk played across his lips. He'd give as many non-answers as he liked if it meant hearing that tone again.

"M-Meruem!" Komugi huffed, crossing her arms. "Wait… are you teasing me?"

Without waiting for his answer, Komugi snatched the fork from his hand with startling boldness. "Fine! I'll try it then!"

His entire body stiffened as she brought the contaminated utensil to her mouth. His fork, which had just been in his mouth. But before he could process this development, she had already taken a bite.

"Mmph." She chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Hm."

"Hm?"

"I think it needs more cheese."

"More cheese?" How could that be? The packet was supposed to contain the exact amount required. That's why it was a packet, pre-portioned and measured. It was supposed to be correct.

She grinned. Cheese sauce stained her cheek, and a couple of noodles were stuck to her apron. "Thirty percent more, in fact."

He stared at the empty foil packet on the counter. The Chairman's words echoed in his mind,

"Think of it as a cultural activity. Something you can learn together. It will be an experience, don't you think?"

Komugi was waiting expectantly, her fingers tapping against the tabletop.

"We can make another box."