Chapter Text
If he squints, he can’t discern the chicken and rice from the container it sits in. Smelling doesn’t help either, aromas of pure nothing wafting up from the food and the plastic alike. Digging his chopsticks in, Hiori gathers just enough mass to be considered a bite before putting it in his mouth.
Cold and white numbs his tongue, the rice's dryness absorbing what little saliva there is while his teeth splice through the chicken in stringy, bland chews. The plastic container probably has a similar flavor.
He swallows, and with half of his meal left, begins to click the tupperware lid on.
“Are you done?”
Tucked into an upper-floor corner of their campus’s library, chopsticks poised halfway to his mouth in wait, and somehow making the harsh noon lighting look like three-pm golden hour, Rin sits in front of him like a scene out of a dating sim.
“Didya want some?” Hiori asks, already popping open a lid corner.
“No,” Rin says, and then, eyes narrowing, “you didn’t finish.”
Letting his tone turn teasing, Hiori re-snaps the lid before sliding it into his backpack. “Ya act like yer surprised.”
“We’re going heavy on drills today.”
It’s a simple statement meant to pass on information, but Rin says it like a syllogism; we’re going heavy on drills today, therefore you should eat more, left unsaid but obvious. There’s only the one hidden meaning, no extra words to overthink or analyze, and yet the fact that they’re said at all makes his heart covet them regardless, assigning frivolous meanings like ‘care’ to them.
Silly, Hiori smiles, mentally unwinding the small twist of his heart. I oughta be used to this by now.
“I haven’t passed out on the field yet, I doubt a couple more bites will make a difference.”
Rin turns his eyes down and stuffs the last bite of his lunch into his mouth, chews, and swallows. “Are you full?”
He’s only askin’ cause he’s the captain. Gotta make sure his teammates can send him passes.
“I never really get hungry in the first place,” Hiori shrugs, pulling out his Switch. “I just don’t wanna eat anymore.”
The conversation falls into silence, familiar and comfortable. Hiori powers up his device, navigating to Tetris more out of habit than anything else. Sometimes, Rin will watch; quietly slipping into the seat beside him, giving Hiori just enough extra pressure to spur on his gameplay.
His record has significantly improved since these lunches started.
This is not one of those times. When Hiori steals a glance, then two, in between block changes, Rin remains staring fixedly into his empty bento box.
After a couple levels with a middling score, Hiori catches out of the corner of his eye as Rin lifts up his head, eyes no longer narrowed but imperceptibly widened, and asks, “Was it not good?”
Hiori doesn’t look up, effortlessly continuing to click, rotate, place. “Was what not good?”
“Your lunch.”
His hand flinches over a button, accidentally rotating an L-block sideways and sealing off his tetris path. “My lunch?” Hiori quits to the game menu, but waits to restart as he peers up at Rin. “Not really, but it gets the job done.”
Rin blinks, then nods once to himself.
Where is this comin’ from?
Before he can ask though, Rin stuffs his bento box away, before standing and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“It’s almost one.” Therefore, we need to leave.
Hiori doesn’t bother to check the time for himself, trusting Rin’s word. Following suit, he puts away his Switch, grabs his backpack, and clicks into place at Rin’s side, half an armspan between them.
Once again, his heart beats out of sync, urging him to misconstrue facts like Rin’s class is in an opposite direction, and there’s no reason for him to walk with you, and once again, Hiori crushes the thoughts down.
Together they walk to class, Rin typing on his phone the entire way, and unable to stop his curiosity, Hiori peeks over.
It’s just a simple grocery list.
- - -
He’s already settled into his usual spot, laptop open and notebook out. The chicken and rice remains in his bag, hopefully to be forgotten, when Rin unexpectedly approaches the table.
“Oh hey,” Hiori looks up, half lowering his laptop screen, “Ya know it’s Tuesday, right?”
Rin sets his backpack on the table. “I know.”
“Did yer class get canceled?”
“No,” Rin says, pulling out his lunchbox.
An excited thrills licks up his spine. Checking his phone, the time flashes up at him, twelve-twentyfive. Rin’s class starts at twelve-thirty.
“Arentcha gonna be late then?” Hiori asks, trying to quell his eagerness even as his mind races. Is he skippin’ class to have lunch with-?
A soft thunck steals his attention. Next to him, a glass container has appeared, dark greens pressing up against every available surface, a few reds, yellows, and purples managing to peek through the foliage. When Hiori looks back up, Rin’s already beginning to turn away.
“What’s this?” Hiori asks, and hopes it doesn’t sound disappointed. So he’s not stayin’.
Rin glances back, one, isn’t-it-obvious eyebrow raised.
Despite himself, Hiori can’t help but laugh. “Yer such a smartass,” he teases. “Yeah, I know it’s a salad, but why are ya givin’ it to me?”
“It’s lunch,” Rin turns around, and Hiori must mishear the softness that creeps into his tone when he says, “for you.”
Nothing. He feels nothing. The words compute in his mind, slowly processing, processing, but then it hits him like a flick to the head, and he feels everything.
“-night to grab the container.” He catches the last bit of Rin’s sentence, and then Rin’s walking away. Hiori wants to call out, ask him something, anything, but his mouth falls open and Rin is already gone.
It’s just him.
Hesitatingly, Hiori unclicks the lid, and only registers the fork as it slides off the top and clatters to the table. Deep, rich spinach springs out at him, accompanied by diced red peppers and tomatoes. A hard-boiled egg is sliced along the top, crumbles of pale, yellow yolk tumbling down amongst the leaves. Picking up the fork, he delicately shifts through the salad and unearths scraggly, purple-lined kale.
His body shifts out of alignment in three distinct parts, cleaved at his neck and sternum.
Anxiety sours his mind, roiling with questions: Why is Rin doin’ this? Has my playin’ gotten worse? Does he think my diet needs a change? Am I goin’ to get benched? Does Rin think-
Sugar spikes though his heart, causing it to convulse in jittery, queasy, thumps, because Rin made lunch. Went out of his way to deliver it. All for him.
Most upsettingly, his stomach remains placid. Not full. Not hungry. He picks up the fork and stabs through the center, the veggies breaking with a wet crunch, juice spluttering up from the pierced veins. The earthy bitterness ebbs over his taste buds without even trying it. It’s a full, healthy meal.
Hiori absolutely does not want to eat it.
His body slowly slots back into itself, every sensation bleeding into another, until it all mixes and becomes a numb sludge.
He takes out the fork. Grabs the lid. Clicks it back on. Pulls out his phone.
To Isagi Yoichi 12:34pm
(Picture of salad)
Do u want this?
From Isagi Yoichi 12:40
Sure! I’m in class right now but I’ll have it for dinner.
Thanks Hiori!
- - -
Even with headphones on, Rin and Isagi’s shouts carry muffledly past the supposedly ‘soundproof’ foam.
Rin? A flash of bright, giddy adrenaline stings along his veins. Peeling off his headphones, Hiori heads for his bedroom door, fighting to keep his smile neutral. Our movie night isn’t until Saturday. What’s he doin’ here?
“What is your problem!?” Isagi calls.
“The fact I have to deal with you at all!” Rin answers.
Covering his mouth, Hiori stifles a laugh as he slips closer. The yelling leads him outside the kitchen, and taking one last breath to cool his nerves, he peeks around the entrance.
Rin and Isagi stand facing each other, Isagi’s back to the entry way and Rin towering over him, face frosted with anger. His eyes are slitted, pushing his lower lashes slightly closer together and pinching up his cheeks.
Gosh, he’s so cute when he’s angry. Rin crosses his arms, biceps shifting under the tight athletic shirt. Turning his nose up, he puckers his upper lip into a snarl, just enough to show teeth.
…and hot.
“That isn’t yours.” Rin says, gravely and mean and damn I’d let him bite me.
“Yes it is! Hiori gave it to me!”
“No he fucking didn’t!”
Before the argument can escalate, Hiori walks around the corner. “What is it that I did, or did not do?”
Isagi turns around. Rin’s eyes go wide, face falling slack, before stealing into his normal, cool demeanor.
“Hiori,” retracing his scowl, Rin points, “Isagi stole your salad.”
Oh no.
Shifting his gaze down, Hiori spots the container clutched in Isagi’s hands; vibrant green and half empty.
Shit.
“I-” Hiori starts, but Isagi cuts him off, whipping back towards Rin.
“No I didn’t!”
“Liar!
Hiori walks between Rin and Isagi.
“He’s not lyin’.” Hiori says, gently placing his hand on Rin’s arm. “I gave it to him.”
Rin doesn't look down, but his body eases; muscles releasing and eyebrows unfurrowing by a crease. For a second, half a second, but then Isagi makes a hesitant, very poorly timed crunch. Immediately, Rin tenses again, directing a scathing look at Isagi.
“You’re fucking sick. You shouldn’t pressure people into giving up their food.”
Isagi’s mouth falls open, a blip of spinach hanging out “What!?”
A flicker of annoyance pangs from his gut, ringing across his ribs. “Rin.” He doesn't mean for his tone to be stern, but it works. Rin turns to him, eyes wide with shock. “Listen to me wontcha?” Hiori softens his voice, dread pooling in his stomach, curling into heavy, cold, ringlets. “Isagi didn’t ask for the salad, I offered it to him.”
In the split second before Rin reacts, Hiori is sent back to his childhood dining table. Half a plate of food set before him. And that’s all it is. Food. Unseasoned, nondescript, food. His parents stare at him, waiting. Disappointment, concern, frustration all layered on to their faces, but Hiori only continues to stare at his unfinished plate. His body tenses, bracing. Waiting for that same look to appear on Rin’s face.
But then Rin slightly lowers his head. His eyes droop. Anger dissipates from his face, and in a voice softer than Hiori’s ever heard from him, asks, “Why?”
And it’s curiosity Hiori hears.
What in the world?
Hiori stands, mouth slightly agape, unable to speak.
“I think… I think I’m just going to go.” Isagi slowly sets the container on the back counter, eyes bouncing between the two of them, before booking it out of the kitchen.
Silence. A moment passes, then two. Rin doesn’t look away, and neither does Hiori. It’s not until the click of Isagi’s door that Rin speaks up.
“Why did you give it to Isagi?”
It’s that same tone again. Rin’s monotone mixed with a questioning quirk, and it shouldn’t be. He gave him the salad for a reason, most likely soccer related one, and Hiori blatantly didn’t eat it. Why isn’t Rin upset with him? He should be angry, disappointed, frustrated, and he’s not. The dissonance sets him on edge; makes his skin feel like it’s pilling up into beads all over his body.
He tells the truth, more just to see, to get a reaction, than anything else. “Cause I wasn’t gonna eat it.”
Rin blinks, then glances over to the salad, examining it like it’s what’s wrong. “Why?”
Wrong wrong wrong. His veins scuttle underneath his skin, his organs undulate, heart beating out of time, and Hiori doesn’t understand.
“Look Rin, I’m appreciative and everythin’ but-” he sucks a sharp breath, “what is this actually about? We’ve been friends for almost a year now and you’ve never once made me lunch before.” Rin takes a step back, his cheeks going pale pink before the flush reddens up his ears. Rin doesn’t try to answer. Hiori, trying to keep his voice level, continues. “Is it something to do with my playin’? Because if that’s the case just tell me. Yer the captain, tell me what to improve and I’ll do it. Ya don’t need to try and sneakily switch up my diet-
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Rin’s eyes are hardened, narrowed, and it soaks into Hiori’s insides, slowing their upheaval with the weight of Rin’s gaze. Finally, Rin’s reacting in a way that’s normal. Good, now he can just tell me what I’m doin’ wrong and this whole thing can be forgotten.
“You’re playing is fine.”
But… Hiori thinks to himself. C’mon Rin just say it-
“This has nothing to do with soccer.”
Hot, fuzzing liquid spills through him, short-circuiting every bodily function, his mind going haywire.
It’s not about soccer? How can it not be? Rin’s the captain, he loves soccer, it has to be about soccer. Why else would he do this? Did he say my playing was fine? Rin never gives compliments. What the hell, what the fuck, did he do this because he cares? He cares?- he cares carescarescarescares-
Error: 404 system unresponsive. Cause: potential care shown unrelated to soccer, administered by: Rin Itoshi. System reboot required, starting now.
Processing…
Processing…
Processing…Reboot complete. Brain now online, one thought saved in backup: what the fuck?
“It… it doesn’t?” Hiori asks, the question trailing into a single, weak laugh. “Then why didya go oughta yer way to make me lunch?”
“Because you don’t like yours,” Rin says. Simple, like it’s a common fact. “You eat the same thing every day, and you never finish it. If you had something you liked, you’d finish it.”
“Rin,” The words fall out, shell-shocked and embarrassingly breathy. “I don’t like eatin’ in general.”
“Why?” Rin tilts his head, and it kickstarts Hiori’s heart into working again.
Taking a deep breath, Hiori looks away. “Growin’ up, eatin’ was always a chore. My parents always had me on some sorta diet, always some variation of protein, rice, greens, rinse and repeat. It was just something else that inevitably led back to soccer.”
Hiori gestures to the room, smiling a little to himself. “And now I’m here, oughta their house, but I just can’t get myself to care about food, ya know? Nothing sounds good. Hell, I don’t even know what I like or don’t like. It’s easier to just eat my chicken and rice and be done with it.”
“That’s not true,” Rin's mouth twitches up a little. “You didn’t like the salad.”
A startled huff of laughter kicks out of Hiori.
“It’s not specifically your salad. A salad takes forever to eat and never fills ya up. I don’t wanna spend more time eatin’ then I hafta.”
“Okay. So I won’t make you a salad again.”
This time Hiori actually laughs, full and only a little self-depricating. “Ya say it like yer gonna make me a fancy ribeye steak instead.”
Rin shrugs. “If that’s what you want.”
This… this wasn’t a one time thing? Hiori stares at Rin, trying to tamp down rogue suspicions and fluttery feelings. “Whaddya mean?”
“I only made you a salad because I like it, so I thought you might. But I’ll make whatever you want.”
“Rin…” Hiori says incredulously. “Why?”
“You do a lot-
“And so do ya-”
“Yeah, but I eat my meals. You don’t,” Rin bites, no real malice behind it. “You need more energy. Especially if you’re going to insist on running off three hours of sleep.” He looks Hiori straight in the eyes. “I don’t mind cooking.”
The words drizzle over his organs in heady, intoxicating, honey, even as Hiori tries to dissuade Rin.
“But- the cost-”
“My brother is a professional athlete. He pays for all the groceries.”
“Cookin’ is so time consuming though, I wouldn’t wantcha-”
“Coach says I need a new hobby for my ‘anger management’.”
“I’m picky. I just told ya, I have no idea what I like-”
“Then we’ll find out.”
We’ll find out.
It’s really not about soccer. Hiori thinks, half delirious as his heart pumps pure sugar through his body. He wants to do this for me.
But he has to make sure, and a part of him just wants to hear it again. Hear that Rin wants to care for him. Hesitantly, almost masochistically, Hiori tries one more argument. “Ya shouldn’t have to worry about me.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Rin turns his head down, his hair perfectly covering his face, preventing Hiori from seeing his reaction. “I’m not worried, I just think you should have meals you actually eat.”
Gosh, this- this is almost worse than Rin making a dig at his soccer skills. This is dangerous. This is an unnecessary risk. This is a I married my favorite wish fulfillment emo npc from a farming sim scenario brought to life, and Hiori should say no. Put his foot down. Insist that Rin doesn’t need to do this. But Hiori has never had someone offer to make him food. To discover with him what he might like. And…fuck. Hiori also just likes Rin. So damn much.
“Fine,” He can’t even stop the lovesick smile that spreads across his face, can only trust Rin isn’t aware enough to notice. “If ya wanna spend yer time makin’ meals for me, then have at it, just don’t be hurt if I end up not likin’ anthin’.”
“I won’t be.” Rin nods his head, eyes burning with the same intensity at the start of a soccer match. “I will make something you like.”
“I look forward to it.”
- - -
Later that night, after Rin has left, and Isagi and Nanase have retired to their rooms, Hiori is up, sleep and fatigue straying far from his mind even as they press into his body. He’s fifteen minutes into a round of Tertis when-
Ping!
He receives an email notification.
Hiori places a few more blocks, trying to get himself in a good position before reluctantly pausing his game.
Now who is up at this hour? Hiori snatches his phone, fumbling to press the notification. This better not be Coach Ego again with one of his crazy trainin’ routines-
A bright, saturated image cuts through his screen’s dark mode, temporarily blinding him. After blinking to adjust his eyes, Hiori is able to make out a cute, chibi character dressed in a pink bandana and orange apron. In front of her is a sandwich, cut in half and pulled apart to show stretched rainbow cheese.
His eyes flick to the top of the message.
From: Nintendo
You have received a gift, Cooking Mama Cookstar! from Rin Itoshi.
Gift Message: Rin Itoshi
Play this and tell me if anything seems interesting. I will not make the rainbow grilled cheese.
He stares at the words. Reading. Then rereading. Silently mouthing them to make sure. Each one slips down his throat, warm and airy, nestling between his lungs, along his limbs, deep in his stomach.
Isagi and Nanase will never let me live this down if they catch me playin’ this on Rin’s dime.
But no one is around to hear the clicks of his Switch. Or the Tetris theme music as it dwoops out to silence. Nor the redemption code’s jingle, or the creak as he leans forward in his bed, and especially not the giddy hum that escapes as the download bar inches further along.
“Oh Rin,” Hiori whispers.
The game loads, Hiori hovering his thumb over the start button-
“Why doya hafta be so good at carin’?”
-and presses play.