Chapter Text
Akira was had watched one too many of Ryuji’s microwave crimes. Yusuke could cook, when he wanted to, but he mostly wanted to eat his weight in snacks and experiment with dishes that 99.9% didn’t belong on the same plate. Akira couldn't live like this anymore. So, cooking lessons. Mandatory. Leader's orders.
Ryuji’s first mistake was asking “How hard can it be?”
“You almost set a fire boiling rice last week” Akira deadpanned
“That was one time!” Ryuji shot back.
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Perhaps,” Yusuke cut them off, “we should begin with an concept. Every dish begins with emotion.”
“Emotion doesn’t make dinner, dude.” Ryuji snorted, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s go! What’s the mission, joker?”
Akira opened the fridge and held up a carton of eggs. “We’re starting simple. Omelets.” he paused, eyeing them both “Or scrambled eggs, depending on how this goes"
Yusuke, hummed thoughtfully. “Failure and beauty are but two sides of the same coin.”
“Bro,” Ryuji said, “if you start quoting shit again I’m gonna throw this egg at you.”
“Then its arc through the air will be an expression of violence transcending form,” Yusuke smiled.
"Man you are saying this stuff on purpose, no one talks like that."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not-"
“Can you two not-” Akira cut in before things escalated to egg warfare. “We’re making omelets. Simple. Basic. Let's start with the veggies.”
Ryuji grabbed the cutting board with way too much confidence. “Easy. I can totally chop stuff.”
A few minutes later- thud, thud, THUD. Akira turned. The cutting board looked like a murder scene. Half the peppers were diced into dust, the rest were still basically whole.
“...You know they’re supposed to be roughly the same size, right?”
Ryuji looked up “They are... Roughly!” Akira sighed. At least Yusuke's looked good even if he was mumbling about how they should have bought a wider color variety instead of just green peppers. Akira decided to ignore him.
"Onions next." he sighed. That at least seemed to be going better. Ryuji was dicing it into semi-descent cubes.
“Dude,” Akira said slowly, hovering over him, “are you crying?”
“No!” Ryuji blinked furiously, sniffling. “It’s the stupid onion! My eyes are-ow, god, it burns!” Akira tried not to laugh as he wiped his own eyes on his sleeve. “Man, I ain’t losing to a vegetable!” Ryuji said, grabbing another knife like that was going to help, Across the counter, Yusuke was perfectly unbothered. He’d already minced his way through half an onion with delicate moves. Each slice was uniform, glinting under the kitchen light.
"That's...kinda impressive actually." Akira admitted,
"Dude you know how to cook!? Then why do you make mystery slop all the time!?" Ryuji groaned
“Cooking is just another form of art” Yusuke replied serenely, tapping his knife against the board. “Balance, proportion, rhythm-it all applies.” Then, just as Akira thought there might be hope for once, Yusuke leaned back and frowned at his perfect pile of onion. “Although…” He tilted his head. “Ryuji might be on to something.It would be more aesthetically striking if asymmetrical.”
Before Akira could stop him, Yusuke started hacking the pieces into uneven chaos.
“Why are you like this?” Akira groaned
Ryuji squinted through his tears. “Man, your onions look worse than mine now.”
“Beauty is subjective,” Yusuke said, unbothered.
“Yeah, well, yours are objectively ugly.”
Meanwhile, Akira had already turned back to the stove, resigned. “If one of you bleeds, I’m not taking you to the ER again.”
Ryuji blinked through watery eyes, still sniffling. “Wait-you’re crying too.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are!” Ryuji grinned through the tears. “Ha! Onion got you too!”
Akira, glassy-eyed and pretending it was totally fine, sighed. “…It’s called empathy.”
“Yeah, empathy my ass,” Ryuji wheezed, wiping at his face. “You’re cryin’ with me, bro.”
Yusuke, completely dry-eyed, looked at them both like they were amateurs. “Perhaps you lack resolve.”
“Perhaps you lack tear ducts,” Akira muttered, turning the burner on. Meanwhile, Yusuke had started cracking his eggs into a bowl and was whisking them like he was summoning spirits.
“It’s an omelet, not an exorcism,” Akira said, reaching for the pan.
“Every meal is a ritual,” Yusuke hummed
“Yeah,” Ryuji said, rubbing his eyes, “a ritual to summon food poisoning.”
Things went downhill exactly five minutes later.
The butter hissed too hot, Ryuji panicked, and half his peppers went flying. Akira tried to take over and ended up catching a rogue piece of onion midair with the spatula. Yusuke was talking about “color harmony” while sprinkling paprika and chilli oil like he was blessing the pan.
“STOP ADDING THINGS!” Akira barked.
“I felt piece needed warmth!”
“It’s going to need a fire extinguisher if you keep that up!”
When the eggs hit the pan, all three of them froze. It sizzled. It bubbled. It looked… not right.
“…Is it supposed to do that?” Ryuji asked.
“No,” Akira said through gritted teeth.
They watched in collective horror as the omelet dissolved into something between scrambled eggs and something that actually needed an exorcism. Yusuke, of course, nodded approvingly.
“Flip it,” Akira instructed, resigned.
Ryuji flipped it. The pan coughed. Something hissed.
“WHY DID IT EXPLODE,” Ryuji shouted, dodging a blob of egg. Akira rubbed his eyes, forgetting he didn't wash them after helping with the onions and immidietly ducked under the sink, actually crying. Yusuke attacked the thing with the spatula until it was scrambled into manageable pieces.
By the time the smoke cleared, all three stood in front of the counter, eyeing their plates like they might grow legs and flee.
They sat down at the table anyway. Ryuji drowned his in ketchup.
The first bite was cautious. The second was less so.
“...Huh,” Ryuji said. “Not that bad.”
“It’s passable,” Akira admitted.
“It tastes of our collective struggle,” Yusuke nodded, chewing at the same time.
“Yeah,” Ryuji said, grinning. “Struggle with a hint of paprika.”
For a moment, the apartment was quiet except for the sound of forks clinking and rain against the window. The air still smelled faintly of smoke, the counters were a disaster, the sink already full.
Akira leaned back with a sigh. “Next time, we try something easier.”
Ryuji brightened. “Like pancakes!”
Yusuke’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, I have been craving sweet like-”
"No." Akira didn’t even let him finish. “And you’re both cleaning.”
Ryuji groaned, Yusuke accepted their fate and Akira smiled into his coffee.
The eggs were terrible. The kitchen was wrecked. But somehow, it still tasted like home.