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The water of the kitchen faucet felt nice and cool on his hands. It was somewhat grounding to Yoshiki as he washed his hands pre-cooking.
He thought of Hikaru laying on the couch sickly with a cold. It wasn't serious, but Yoshiki had felt compelled to get up and make soup in the middle of a blazing hot summer anyway.
The apartment felt like an oven now that they had turned off the fans because Hikaru had gotten sick and stiff from sleeping with them turned on.
Yoshiki was sweating. His shirt was wet and sticking to his back, his hair had clumped into strands, and his neck was slick. The heat and humidity here by the sea were unbearable. Usually, he would feel disgusted. Right now, he found he didn't mind. There was nothing he could do anyway. He was not going to turn on the fans while Hikaru was still sick.
He took the potatoes that he had bought earlier from the counter and began carefully peeling them.
Something about this felt strangely domestic. A feeling that buzzed in his stomach like an old, humming light, as he cooked, knowing it was for Hikaru.
For the first time in long, did it feel like the crushing anxiety coming from every aspect of his life was loosening its iron grip on his neck. It felt like he could let go of all those problems and just for a moment be a kid.
A sixteen year old who was cooking for the guy he was in love with.
Not a sixteen year old who ran away from home with his pseudo best friend because he couldn't take any of it anymore.
Right now, it was just him and Hikaru and nothing in between.
Yoshiki chopped up the potatoes and cooked them in a pot of a light broth while he moved on to carrots, zucchini and broccoli.
It was stupid, really, how at ease he felt doing the weirdest things with Hikaru.
Running into the sea as if it's a race and only getting to shrug off shoes, socks, and backpacks before they reached the water.
Hikaru pulling him out of his slump of self-doubt and guilt that he spent in the dry bathtub by turning on the water and stepping in with him.
They hadn't talked that much, but it felt like neither of them needed to.
It felt so freeing. Everything felt so freeing.
The soup was done quickly.
He scooped it into two bowls and headed into the living room where Hikaru was sweating on the couch.
"Oh, you're done already?" He asked, and his friend nodded. "Yeah, it's what my mom always made. I don't know if you'll remember the taste, but the original Hikaru used to eat it often." Yoshiki explained as he set the bowls on the coffee table and winced. He immediately felt a bit guilty.
Mentioning his former best friend always felt like drawing a line between him and Hikaru. He'd have to unlearn mentioning him so casually.
Hikaru didn't seem to mind. Although Yoshiki knew he did.
"If it's your moms recipe, then I bet it'll be delicious! Your mom is such a good cook." He grinned and slid down from the couch onto the floor next to Yoshiki.
He eyed the soup for a moment, hesitating, before he turned to look at his friend with a mischievous smile.
"I'm sick Yoshi, feed me." He demanded with a pointed sniffle.
He looked at him and laughed quietly. "You're such a baby sometimes. You can't feed yourself?" He asked but already moved to grab his spoon.
"Why would I have to do it when I have you?" Hikaru retorted, and Yoshiki pinned his eyes on the soup to avoid looking at his friends blushed face. He held a hand under the spoon to catch any spills as he led it to Hikarus mouth.
"Mmh! It's good! But hawt." He quickly swallowed and laughed. "You need to blow on it so it's not as hot. Are you trying to burn my mouth?" He joked.
Yoshiki thought that it'd be a shame if the soft curve of Hikarus lips got burned.
He smiled, amused. "Okay, okay, sorry, I'll blow on it so you won't cry."
By the time he had finished feeding Hikaru, His own soup had already gotten cold, but considering the climate in the apartment, maybe that was better.