Work Text:
“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Hasebe says. He is holding his fourth, almost-empty cup of rum in one hand and Souza’s hand in the other.
Souza blinks, because doing anything other than this would mean that he would have to move, and the prospect of doing any action that involved something more than his eyelids opening and closing sounds like an absolute pain. Just in case Hasebe missed it the first time, Souza blinks again, and Hasebe probably misses it the second time too.
After staring at Souza’s hand for another couple of seconds, with what Souza guesses could be either utmost reverence or suppressed nausea, he says, “I'm going to make a cookie.”
Huh. There are many things Souza would have said in response to something like this coming from Hasebe, if he had not consumed an almost equal amount of alcohol as Hasebe had. But since he had, in fact, consumed an almost equal amount of alcohol as Hasebe had, he simply says, "You are going to make a cookie."
"Yes, that is what I said," Hasebe says.
As Souza reaches for a tablespoon to measure how much sugar Hasebe needs for his cookie, he clearly realizes one thing: he is upset.
He, meaning Souza. Souza is upset. Then, Souza is very upset, merely because he realizes that he is upset. He blames Hasebe for all of this— being upset, then being very upset, and subsequently, realizing that he's very upset because he realized that he was upset.
He blinks, slowly.
"Why," Souza says, looking up at Hasebe, "are you making a cookie?"
"Why," Hasebe says, as if why is the absurdest word he's heard all his life, "am I making a cookie?"
Souza does not get paid enough to deal with this. In fact, he does not get paid at all, which is actually not problematic in the least because he does not have a job; and not having a job means he is not entitled to any wages, as society and common sense dictate. But then looking at Hasebe verbally debate whether sporks are the sign (for what, Souza wonders) humanity has been waiting for while also holding an eggbeater in front of him makes Souza really desire instant monetary payment, and he is going to make this known right now. Screw drunk Hasebe and all his senselessly adorable drunken ideas. Souza is going to lay the facts out here, plain and brutal.
"Put Sayo's spork down," Souza says instead.
He is so upset. It's like watching that video of a dog being lifted up into the air by the numerous balloons tied to its body, except that that didn't leave Souza feeling so thoroughly offended as the way Hasebe tilts his head at the slab of butter placed before him does. Really, Souza is so upset.
"Mug," Hasebe is saying when Souza is rating how disturbed he is by Hasebe's off-key humming of the Dora the Explorer theme song on a scale of I'm The Map to Swiper, No Swiping. Souza isn't sure how that scale works, honestly. "I want a mug."
"But you're making a cookie."
"Yes, but in a mug."
Souza blinks. He's doing this an awful lot today. Consciously, that is. He's pretty darn sure he does an awful lot of blinking on a normal day too, just not this consciously. "You. You're making a cookie in a mug."
"It is a ten out of ten recommended, number one cure for sadness or hunger."
"Right," Souza says, frowning. The scale suddenly makes sense to him. "Right."
He finds Hasebe's mug in its usual place next to Hotarumaru's mason jar, and spends only some time wondering why Hasebe didn't take it from there himself. Souza is actually wondering a lot of things about Hasebe as he downs another glass of water, but all of it is quite upsetting. He chooses to observe the way Hasebe sniffs at a tablespoon of sugar to figure out if it's "drugs or sugar because cookies not cocaine, kids" and Souza is equal parts insulted and fond.
In retrospect, making a cookie, albeit in a mug, is not the weirdest thing Hasebe has done while being drunk. There was that one time he had made Tsurumaru and Ichigo clear out all the empty cardboard boxes lying around in their apartment while overseeing their work as he held a disconnected glue gun in his hands. There was also that one time he purchased a giraffe — how did he even manage that — for Yagen because he thought Yagen said he wanted a giraffe, while in reality he had only misheard the words: 'I like graphs'.
Compared to that, Souza understands that whatever is transpiring in his kitchen right now is as tame as it gets, considering Hasebe's inclusion in the equation. This doesn't discourage Souza from wanting to communicate the effects of Nine Leaves on Hasebe's mental state to Kousetsu so he'd make a diary entry about it, Buzzfeed style and all.
When Souza zones in again, Hasebe is staring at Souza's flour container.
"Basic peasant flour," Hasebe whispers at the flour.
"Don't call my flour that," Souza says.
"I'm sorry."
After Hasebe crushes Sayo's leftover Oreos and mixes the bits with the suspiciously yellow batter he had made, he dumps as many chocolate chips as he can fit in one hand into his mug. Hasebe has big hands, and it is when Souza is presented with sights like this that he is honestly glad his family has dental insurance.
Souza is tempted to ask Hasebe who he's trying to murder by baking something like this, but he's also feeling way too lightheaded to do much other than to slowly go along with Hasebe's whims. He is so grossly whipped.
"I will microwave this now," Hasebe tells Souza as he waves the mug around while gesturing to it. This is a stupid thing to do but he continues doing it even after Souza frowns at him. He's never letting Hasebe consume alcohol again.
They finally set the timer on the microwave for 50 seconds instead of 5 hours after a good six tries. Souza momentarily wishes that his brothers could come home now to see this nonsense happening in their kitchen, but then he cancels that entire train of thought simply because no. They also don't need anymore visual knowledge of the impediments in Souza's life after what they saw on New Year's.
Hasebe is still humming the song Dora and her friends sing at the end of every episode — well, trying to anyway — and Souza is truly upset. See, it's one thing if Hasebe is the same kind of pain in the ass that he usually is, but when he's drunk he turns into such a different kind of pain in the ass. A kind that upsets Souza so much, he doesn't even tell Hasebe to stop being a pain in the ass.
The microwave beeps and Hasebe cackles. Souza wants to kick him out before he does something to throw Souza off balance again, but Hasebe stabs the contents of the mug with some weird, incredible finesse whose origin Souza isn't sure of, and Souza is thrown off balance again.
"You're welcome," Hasebe says after that, presenting the mug to Souza as if he couldn't have taken the thing out of the microwave himself.
Souza feels much more sober than he did ten minutes ago, and feeling much more sober also means that he's that much more capable of hitting Hasebe's attractive face with a non-stick frypan. All right, maybe he isn't as sober as he thinks he is, but that is not the point. The point is that Hasebe is looking at Souza with so much hope that Souza almost reaches out to pet his head. That is...no. And wasn't Hasebe making this thing for himself?
But it actually looks good. The cookie, that is. It's not like Souza had any doubts about that, considering Hasebe co-owns the fancy bakery near Sayo's school. The cookie, predictably, tastes good too. Really, really good. God, he's so fucking upset.
"How is it?" Hasebe asks.
Souza frowns, and lies, “I’ve had better.”
“Oh.”
Hasebe subsequently has, what he calls, the breakdown of his life. This makes Souza regret his words, but, well, at least Hasebe won't remember this in the morning.
—————
Souza understands that he shouldn't get as upset as he does when confronted with the issue of a drunk Hasebe, but he also understands that Hasebe should not be allowed to be that much of an endearing nerd when he's drunk. Souza is so genuinely whipped.
"And you told him to stop crying into your basic peasant flour?" Kousetsu asks, smiling indecipherably. This usually doesn't bother Souza, but it's just tiring him out right now.
"Please stop calling it that. I take two buses to get to the supermarket that sells that flour," Souza says.
Sayo interrupts their conversation to ask Souza if he could help him out with his Math homework. Sayo keeps fidgeting on their way to his room without saying anything, and Souza lets him take his time.
"Did...Hasebe-san come over?" Sayo mumbles after a while, scratching the top-right corner of his textbook.
"Yes, he did," Souza says, nudging Sayo's fingers with his own until he stops.
Sayo's face falls. "I wanted to see him."
This is another thing that Souza shouldn't be upset about, but he still is. Sayo's attachment to Hasebe started from that time he gave them that stupid strawberry lemonade donut he made when they were in high school and he'd picked up a cookbook from the Awataguchi garage sale, and it only got worse with every fancy-named cupcake and cheesecake he'd eventually made. The power dessert has over children is frightening, because not only did Sayo fix a permanent spot for himself on Hasebe's lap whenever he’s around, but has also decided to grow up in Hasebe's footsteps and work in his bakery.
Souza isn't particularly upset about this, but he really doesn't like being treated like the second best adult in the room whenever Hasebe's around. He needs to grow up.
"Next time, okay?" Souza says, opening up the textbook to the chapter they're currently on in Sayo's class.
"Okay," Sayo says, suppressing a smile while Souza doesn't.
—————
Saturday evenings at Yagen's place are Souza's favourite simply because Yagen and Fudou are the most embarrassing men on this planet and because watching Hasebe uncomfortably navigate himself around people to reach Souza is one of his hobbies at this point.
"So a weird thing happened," Hasebe says, shrugging his rucksack off and slumping in the seat next to Souza. "It's really weird, all right."
"All right." Souza has already had enough wine to not find most things weird, but he doesn't say that.
Hasebe looks away, makes eye contact with Ookurikara — who has most definitely sneaked the Kunihiros’ cat into Yagen’s No-Pets-Allowed apartment — and looks at Souza again. "It's really weird."
Souza can see that, because Hasebe isn't the kind of guy who beats around the bush this much. He better not have listened to Yoshiyuki and tried to make that Jabba the Hutt cake he wanted, because if that is what Hasebe pulls out of his rucksack, Souza is going to dump the wine left in his glass on Hasebe's head and ask Yagen for a matchbox.
What Hasebe takes out of his bag is an average-sized box that clearly belongs to his bakery, and it's (thankfully) not spacious enough to accommodate a Jabba the Hutt cake, and Souza drinks his wine instead of wasting it on Hasebe.
"So, uh," Hasebe begins, then pushes the box towards Souza, notices Tsurumaru — who is in the process of soldering his C O O L glasses to convert them into B O O B glasses — and looks at Souza again. "This."
Souza takes it and raises an eyebrow at Hasebe. "You've been giving me food since...forever. Why is it weird?"
"I made these because I was stressed."
"Stress-baking? Not unusual."
"No, I wasn't stressed." He pauses. "I was angry?"
"Angry?"
Souza blinks. He really doesn't like doing much other than blinking when he's drunk, and Hasebe is pink.
"I was—" he groans, then glances at Sohayanotsurugi who seems to be recording Oodenta singing the Pikachu song, and looks at Souza. "I was angry at you."
"At me?" Souza says, frowning.
"Yes, at you. I don't know why, but I just felt annoyed about you and I, uh, decided to make these."
Souza is a very upset man. It is unacceptable for Hasebe to throw Souza so off balance like this when he's entirely sober and get away with it. It's like that video of a small puppy trying to howl but sounding like a tiny, whimpering cloud that can't even walk straight, except it wasn't nearly as outrageous as the way Hasebe is looking at Souza right now.
"I think it started after Wednesday when I came over to your place?"
"Oh."
"In the morning I felt like I had to show you my capability." He's looking around at the various kinds of messes their friends are getting themselves into inside the same four walls, and Souza only blinks at him. "Which is kinda stupid? You already know my capability."
"I see."
"But. But I feel like you told me that you've had better cookies than mine and that—"
Mitsutada interrupts him, saying, "That made him so mad he kept baking until he used up all our sugar while singing screamo." And whispering so only Souza can hear, he adds, “He looked terrifying.”
Souza blinks. First of all, a bakery does not run out of sugar. It is more probable for the apocalypse to occur than for a bakery to run out of sugar. Especially Hasebe's bakery. And secondly, Hasebe never sings screamo. Souza can call Hasebe guilty of singing theme songs of kids' cartoons and terrible commercials that get stuck in your head, but he has never sung screamo in all the years Souza's known him. Hasebe wouldn’t even know what screamo meant if Juzumaru's apartment wasn't above the bakery.
"But I know you didn't say that," Hasebe is saying when Souza focuses on his words. "I mean, you wouldn't, right?"
This utter dork. He actually forgot that Souza did, in fact, tell him that he had had better than that stupid mug cookie he'd made at Souza's place. All right, so Souza only said that because he felt that telling Hasebe his amazing cookie was good would mean that Souza had somehow lost and that would not do. Souza is very whipped and he doesn’t like it. Upset doesn't even begin to describe how affronted he is right now.
Tsurumaru has somehow succeeded in turning his glasses to spell B O O K and is convincing Kashuu that he can turn the K — which was initially an L — into a B, Yamanbagiri and Ookurikara have given up trying to be discreet about the cat and are openly lavishing it with affection despite the No-Pets-Allowed policy, Yasusada isn’t crying about his Advanced Java final for the first time, and yet, Souza cannot find a word for the level of upset he is feeling.
He shoves the box in his bag and pointedly ignores Hasebe until Yagen proposes to Fudou for the seventh time that year, this time with a bouquet of chicken nuggets. The moment Fudou bursts into tears and dabs along with Yagen, Souza turns to Hasebe and snorts at the sheer disbelief and disgust on his face.
He isn’t sure when Hasebe began drinking, but he’s flushed and is zoning out like he usually does when he’s had enough to believe that there’s an actual cult worshipping Ishikirimaru’s voice somewhere, and Souza blinks.
He might or might not regret this later, but Hasebe is terribly, horribly sweet and also a giant pain in the ass, and Souza leans in and kisses his cheek when everyone’s too busy recording Yagen and Fudou for their respective Snapchat and Instagram stories, then watches as Hasebe has, predictably, a breakdown.
Well. Seriously, it's not like he’ll remember this in the morning anyway.
—————
It is 7:30 in the morning, and Hasebe maybe remembers the kiss from last night. It’s only a slight suspicion, and one completely based on Mitsutada’s drunken slurring, but it’s a suspicion nonetheless.
"I hate myself," Souza whispers the moment he shuts the door behind him. Then, after satisfactorily squishing his Gudetama plushie with his face, he says it again, just loud enough that the Kunihiros' cat screeches from somewhere in his closet. Souza's self-loathing dissipates long enough for him to wonder how did that cat even get to his room before him when it was at Yagen’s place just fifteen minutes ago.
He slips back into hating himself, groans, and then, at no one in particular, he yells, “I HATE MYSELF.”
There is silence, then some shuffling outside his room until a piece of paper slides in from under his door.
What in tarnation, Souza thinks, swallowing back a wave of nausea as he drags himself towards it and picks it up.
I HATE MYSELF TOO
He really wants to hug Sayo at the moment, but he also doesn’t trust himself to not throw up if he moves around anymore than this. He grabs a pen from a discarded pile of stationery closeby, dumps it back when it doesn’t work, and grabs another one.
But I love you
He slides the paper back, and chuckles when it’s slipped back in almost immediately.
NII-SAN I LOVE YOU TOO PLEASE DON’T HATE YOURSelf
Souza will buy an entire tub of ice-cream for Sayo when his headache subsides. For now, since everyone except the guy himself knows this already, he flips the note over and writes:
I really like Hasebe
OK
Ten minutes later, when there’s no more space on the sheet because of how descriptively Souza has explained his recent quandary with respect to Hasebe, he rests his head against the doorjamb and falls asleep.
When he wakes up, it is 1 PM, he is tucked into his bed, and there is a jerk with hair parted in the middle who looks like he has a five feet long stick shoved up his ass sitting beside him, glaring at his phone. Souza kicks him.
“Yes, you’re welcome,” Hasebe says, setting his phone aside and handing Souza a glass of water. “Sayo thought you died.”
Souza groans, sitting up. Of course Sayo would call his favourite person to take care of his favourite brother. Not that Kousetsu isn’t his favourite brother either, but that’s off the point. His head hurts, there are weird noises coming from some part of his digestive system, and Hasebe is touching his hand after he takes the empty glass back.
“You should lie down. Aren’t your hangovers the worst when you have wine?”
Souza is suddenly very upset.
“Yes. Why are you holding my hand?” Souza asks, not making any effort to take his hand away. Hasebe does this a lot when he’s drunk, but he seems quite fine right now. The loser doesn’t even get hangovers. Souza isn’t sure which ring of hell Hasebe has come from but it must be a fun place.
Hasebe seems to consider this question without making any effort to take his hand away either.
“I want to...confirm something,” Hasebe finally says. Then, after all kinds of pain show on his face, he closes his eyes, sighs, and breathes, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s make a cookie.”
“A cookie,” Souza deadpans.
“In— In a mug.”
Souza is a hundred and ten percent sure that no word in this entire world can explain the amount of upset he is experiencing at this very moment.
“Listen,” Souza says. Hasebe just told him to do two things — one requiring him to stay in bed, and the other requiring him to walk to the kitchen. “If you call my flour any offensive names, I’m suing you for defamation.”
Hasebe knits his brows, confused, but doesn’t say anything.
He lets Souza lean against him for a bit as he loses his balance. It isn’t fair that Hasebe isn’t hungover and suffering like their entire circle of friends right now, and it also isn’t fair that he’s such an absolutely perfect guy at the same time.
When they’re in the kitchen, Hasebe is looking at a spork as if it’s an ancient relic of sorts, and for the second time in a week, Souza finds himself saying the words, “Put Sayo’s spork down.”
Surprisingly, Hasebe obeys. It’s surprising because compliance is a trait that Hasebe displays only when inebriated or stressed, and Hasebe, when sober and asked to do something, would always have something snarky to say before even entertaining the thought of listening.
Souza rocks himself in the chair that Hasebe dragged into the kitchen for him, and watches as Hasebe takes his usual mug from the usual place without asking for it this time. So he is sober. Souza isn’t sure what this piece of information should make him feel, so he continues staring at Hasebe wordlessly.
"I don’t know why I know this, but this is a ten out of ten recommended, number one cure for sadness or hunger, all right?”
"All right," Souza says. Where is that Dora the Explorer themed disturbance rating scale of his when he needs it, and why is Hasebe doing this right now. Why is he staring at Souza’s flour container right now, that is.
See, Souza has known Hasebe for approximately forever, so he knows that Hasebe is a horrible drunk who is capable of forgetting his own name if given the right amount of alcohol (and yet, doesn’t get hangovers). This is a fact that has been proved true time and again through his Amazon purchase history and the voice notes on Hizamaru’s phone the day after he gets shitfaced. It’s impossible for Hasebe to remember whatever had transpired between Souza and him the other day, and Souza fails to see just what Hasebe is trying to accomplish here, especially by staring at his flour container.
"Basic peasant flour.”
“Get out."
"Sorry."
Souza drifts off around the time Hasebe finds the chocolate chips bag, and wakes up to Hasebe humming something that he’s positive is from Dora the Explorer because it’s pretty much a given at this point. His head still hurts. He falls asleep again.
When he wakes up this time, he’s met with Hasebe sitting right in front of him, smiling at him while resting his chin in his hands. He knows it’s the alcohol that’s making him see stars and sparkles scattered around Hasebe’s frame, and he decides that he’s never letting himself consume wine again.
He looks down at the mug that Hasebe has placed before him and the thing looks and smells as amazing as it did last time. Souza isn’t sure what Hasebe dumped in there when he was asleep, but he’s still grateful that he’s orthodontically insured.
Hasebe shoots him a smile every time he scoops up a spoonful of the thing and Souza is as upset as he is every time Hasebe is in his vicinity. He likes him too much and it’s getting hard to not let it show. This simple realization changes his level of upset from normal upset to super upset.
After a while, Hasebe asks, "What do you think?"
He looks charming and hopeful and Souza is offended. It’s similar to that video of that dog which kept wagging its tail and trotting before its owner to where they would place its food bowl and— basically, Souza can’t not equate Hasebe to puppies anymore. The resemblance is too strong and Souza is highly affronted.
“I’ve had better,” he lies.
Hasebe stares at him.
Souza hopes his self-preservation instincts have kicked in by now, because he is certain that he’ll need them very soon.
“Right,” Hasebe begins, and Souza genuinely cannot gauge his expression. “And what would you do if our stupid friends were being horrifyingly stupid and I was next to you?”
Souza’s self-preservation instincts haven’t kicked in. He needs them right now, and they haven’t kicked in. He sighs as Hasebe narrows his eyes at him.
Well, Souza thinks, whatever.
So: “This,” he says, cups Hasebe's face in his hands, and kisses his cheek.
He can see almost immediately the sheer amount of distress Hasebe is feeling. Honestly, if Souza’s genetics were even slightly different than what they are, he'd be a flushing, sweating, visibly freaked out mess right now. But since his genetics are what his genetics are, he is a stoic, calm, internally freaked out mess right now.
Really, of all the ways Souza had thought he'd confess, this is the stupidest and, in a way, sweetest manner with which he could lay it down before Hasebe. Somehow, Souza doesn't regret it. He’s mature enough to understand that what happens, happens. Plus, this is Hasebe. Souza can’t worry.
“So— you—” Hasebe stutters. “I didn't harass you yesterday?”
“No, what?” Souza frowns. So much for anticipated responses to declarations of love.
Hasebe looks at Horikawa’s unreturned spatula from the summer of 2007, then back at Souza. He mumbles, “I will never trust Sengo again.” Then, “Souza.” It's like the figurative stick shoved up his ass just grew a foot longer. “I’ve always tried to make myself less obvious than this, but I think I haven't been doing a good job.”
“Um,” Souza replies, because he is both hungover and in love with a beautifully complicated and complicatedly beautiful person.
“What I’m trying to say is—” Hasebe clears his throat when his voice cracks. Souza. Is. Upset. “I’ve always liked you, but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it? But then you did that last night and all. So that.”
“That.”
“But yes, after some input about my drunken behaviour from a bunch of friends—”
“Mitsutada and Sengo.”
“—I have come to the conclusion that I’ve been as obvious as the fact that your flour is—”
“Do not shittalk my flour, Hasebe.”
“Fine, sorry, please go out with me.”
Souza decides that he must consult Kasen about the matter of finding a word that accurately explains just how outraged and upset Hasebe’s general essence makes him feel, but that can be done later when he isn’t nursing the headache of the century and being confessed to by his lifelong crush.
It’s really not that life-changing, but Souza’s heartbeat has sped up a bit and the knowledge of what transpired between them just now leaves him feeling mildly giddy. It could also be the aftereffects of last night, but Souza is a closet romantic, so.
He hums, pretends like he’s contemplating what Hasebe just said as if he hadn’t agreed to it even before Hasebe had completed the sentence, and says, “But I might have kissed you as a friend, yes? What do you mean we should go out? Aren’t you just assuming—”
Souza throws his head back as he laughs at Hasebe’s distraught groan that cuts him off.
“Shut up, I’ll make you a Jabba the Hutt cake,” Hasebe says.
“Okay, we’re breaking up,” Souza says, and Hasebe presses his lips against his, smiling.