Chapter Text
If someone told Shoei Barou that he would find the Mikage Corporation's heir standing at his dorm door on his only resting day that week, he'd tell the little clown to fuck off. His life was already too complicated for that bad-omen type of joke.
Still, here he was, staring at the purple menace, all composed and confident, looking for God knew what.
Now, Reo Mikage was a perfect neutral on Shoei's scale of annoying people, but only due to extreme characteristics cancelling each other out: soccer-wise, he was a serious and dedicated player and never used his status to bitch his way into getting unfair advantages. On the sea of insufferable players on Blue Lock, he was also not too bad personality-wise, a little loud and cocky at max perhaps?
The negative part, though, that one had a name, surname, and eyes far too big for a human being. Nagi, aka, pain-in-the-ass-man, aka Mikage's whatever the weird-ass relationship they had was. Back when they were on what stupid gossip called their “divorce”, Mikage was bearable in his moody self, but they were back together, and, according to a certain Princess who had the displeasure of being their roommate, worse than ever.
And of course, the universe liked to piss him off and sent a recently “remarried” Mikage to his doorstep.
“Barou, hello! I hope I'm not interrupting your well-deserved rest!” Says Mikage, smiling like a businessman trying to fool a sucker into signing a bad deal.
“You are. Make it quick. I have no idea where your sloth is, if that’s why you’re here.”
“This is not about Nagi, don't worry!” That he doubted. Whatever version this guy was currently, it was always tied to his pet.
(Same way on the other side, Shoei learned that the hard way. Waking up regularly to that loser clinging to his pillow and calling for Reooo on his sleep was nightmare material).
“Well, being completely honest, it is a little about Nagi!”
“Spit it out, I don't have all day.” The quicker they ended this song and dance, the quicker Shoei could slam the door on his face and go back to the precious moments of silence before his roommates came back.
“So, me and Nagi recently solved a disagreement, you know?” Even if he didn't watch the Bastard Munchen x Manshine City match as preparation, the shortie bangs-kid on his team made everyone listen to his explanation about “NagiReo climbing the shipping stats like crazy in the BLTV forums” or whatever. “And in my opinion, celebrating milestones is a must!”
“You do realize you lost that match, right?”
“It's not about that, you gotta focus on the positive! In summary, I wanted to do something special, spoil Nagi a little for his good work and all. But there aren't many opportunities for that on Blue Lock, right?”
“It’s a training camp, not a dating show.” The mention of dating seems to throw Mikage off for a second, he notices, whatever it means.
“Anyway! So I got authorization from Ego-san to use the kitchen and a special delivery containing the best, freshest ingredients possible. Do you understand where I’m getting?”
“That you bribed the four-eyes using your privilege as the sponsor's brat just to make that creature more rotten than he already is? Clear as day. What the fuck does this have to do with me?”
If Mikage got offended by his words (which was kind of the point), he's determined to not let it show.
“The other guys said you're good in the kitchen. I'm skilled myself, but I was planning on making a lemon cake, and baking is a bit too advanced. So how about you help me out?”
Huh, maybe this guy wasn't as smart as he expected. Could spending too much time with that sloth cause one's brain cells to die? Thankfully they were not on the same team anymore, but the Princess should start worrying.
“I know what you’re thinking; you have no reason to help me out, and there’s nothing I could offer to buy your cooperation.” Correct, then why are you still smiling? “But think about it: for people like us, apart from the soccer aspect, this place is a bit boring, don’t you think? When there’s no training or a match, the options for keeping your body and mind entertained are really limited. So, wouldn’t cooking a little be a good distraction? I just want to bake my cake, you can use everything there as you please on the available time slot, and I won’t be in your way too much.”
Now, as much as he hates to admit it, Mikage has a point: while the silence is quite nice, there are only so many times you can organize a room until it becomes borderline obsessive. Plus, his damn Master took “relaxation hours” very seriously, and Shoei would never hear the end of it if he was caught training on his day off. Add that to the fact that cooking reminded him of his sisters and…
Ugh.
“If he appears there, I’m leaving immediately.” It’s his final compromise, which doesn’t appear to bother Mikage too much, the guy already humming his way towards the cafeteria and trusting him to follow.
“Nagi’s busy with training this afternoon, don’t worry! You guys are really funny, you know? He never gets that aggressive with anyone else. I wonder why he reacts like this…”
Yeah, 100% empty-headed. Even the biggest idiot in the entirety of Blue Lock (which ironically would be pain-in-the-ass himself) knew that the moron’s whole vendetta against him started because Shoei called him a slave (which was not completely accurate, but still valid) and, in his words, “hurt Reo”. Which he didn’t, not according to basic soccer rules, if that creature at least knew how to read.
“You don’t understand it, you dumbass King,” Nagi insisted on one occasion he was rehashing the situation for the hundredth time, “Reo is delicate, you have to be careful. Not that a forever single loser like you would know what it means to be a gentleman.”
Between his belief regarding his relationship status and his view of a 1.85 cm lunatic with anger issues as some dainty, innocent thing, Shoei was sure that if Blue Lock was a serious institution, Nagi wouldn’t pass a basic psychological evaluation. And based on how the lunatic in question seemed completely oblivious to everything, maybe soulmates were truly a thing.
“Why do you think Nagi dislikes you that much, huh?”
“Don’t give a fuck. You wanna learn or what? Don’t make me regret going along with your stupid idea, puppet master. And you better pay attention.”
“Let’s do this, Chef Barou!”
Credit where it is due, at least Mikage did a good job prepping everything: when they arrive at the kitchen, countertops are clean, ingredients perfectly organized, utensils arranged in a way that makes sense, fruits and vegetables pre-washed… Everything that actually belongs to the Blue Lock cafeteria has been stored away, and a box of fancy fruits with a “thank you” note has been left on the side, presumably for the kitchen personnel…
“No, really, how the fuck someone like you end up babysitting that creature?”
Instead of biting back, Mikage laughs, tying up his hair and washing his hands.
“I like my creature just the way he is, thank you very much. Even if I’m not the best at showing that sometimes. That’s why I want to bake something, you know? If words aren’t working quite the way you intend, one has to be creative!”
Shoei would almost admire the determination, if he didn’t know anything about the characters involved in that soap opera.
“How about you stop drooling over your ugly boyfriend and get the damn recipe you want help with?”
“Aren’t gay jokes a little bit juvenile for someone like you?” Reo raises an eyebrow, throwing him his phone. The screen shows a rather standard recipe for lemon cake, with the addition of what appears to be a jam-based drizzle.
“The only gay joke is the one you keep calling a treasure.” Deciding to ignore whatever relationship-fueled drama brought them here, Shoei grabs an apron and a scale, deciding to enjoy a peaceful cooking break. “Start by preheating the oven and greasing the cake tin with some butter.”
“Yes, chef! I was wondering though, which one do you think will look better?” Mikage asks, holding his two options for him to pick, one more questionable than the other. It hits him in that moment, that maybe Mikage’s obsession with that guy is a mere reflection of a broader pattern of terrible taste.
One is shaped like a heart, the other like a cactus.
“... The cactus is too complex, it’s going to cook unevenly if the oven is even barely inclined.”
“Heart-shaped it is, then! This way I even get to write a message on top, that would be nice, huh… We can brainstorm about it once the cake is in the oven.”
“We”.
“Brainstorm”.
This was a fucking terrible idea.