#i have so much to do for paris' face specifically. I gotta downgrade them

[sealrock]

a good chunk of crimes are back, you know what that means

sillay time

[wishingforatypewriter]

Between Us (Chapter 9)

Summary: On the eve of his first restaurant’s opening, Souma receives some sagely advice from his father. (Full story here)

On the day of the opening, Souma woke up at half past five with Megumi’s hair tickling his face. He took a moment to watch her, study the serene rise and fall of her chest, and kissed the patch of skin just below her earlobe. 

She smiled and shifted in her sleep, released a soft sigh of contentment, and Souma had to remind himself why he couldn’t just get back into bed with her. 

 When he stepped out of the master suite half an hour later, he saw his father sitting on the couch, flipping channels lazily. 

Souma waited a full thirty seconds before reacting; he had to make sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. 

 “Pops?”

“Yo, Souma,” Jouichirou greeted. “You know, you guys have got to get a better cable package. Where are all the sports—”

“Look, the rent is so high in this neighborhood, and Megumi prefers the movie channels so...” He began to explain his T.V. plight, much in the same way he had to whenever Kurokiba came over, when a glaring detail returned to the forefront of his mind. “Wait a minute. What are you even doing here?” 

His father shrugged before settling on a rerun of some football match and putting the remote down. “I told you last week I’d try to come in the morning.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you ever get anywhere when you plan to.” 

Souma recalled him being minutes to days late for every ceremony and graduation he’d had since kindergarten. 

Jouichirou chuckled a bit. “I guess that’s true, but Gin’s been sending me calendar reminders for the past three weeks. He said he wouldn’t stop until I got on the plane.” 

At this, Souma shook his head. “Listen, pops. I’ve gotta head to the restaurant soon, but make yourself comfortable.” 

“Have a smoke with me first,” he said before drawing two cigarettes from his pocket. 

“Out on the fire escape,” Souma told him, resigned to the fact that his father would do things on his own time no matter what he had to say about it. 

“Megumi still asleep?”

“Yeah. She took the day off from work,” Souma explained. “Her family’s flying in early this afternoon.”

Jouichirou whistled. “I remember cooking for in-laws,” he said, lighting his cigarette and his son’s. “Guess you really can’t fuck this one up.”

“Trust me, I know. Nakiri’s told me enough times already.” With no effort at all, his mind conjured the impassive look she maintained each time he put his all on a plate for her. 

“You and Erina still close?” Jouichirou asked, wearing an expression his son couldn’t quite place.

Souma smirked a little, thinking of all the ignored phone calls and changed mailing addresses. “No one really gets to be close to Nakiri, except Arato and Alice. But we talk every now and then, when she feels like it.”

The perplexing expression returned to Jouichirou’s face for the briefest of moments, but it was gone before Souma thought to ask what it meant. “Your mother would be proud,” he said after a long pause. “She always joked about moving to Paris — only to annoy your grandfather, but still.”

Souma nodded, recalling the jovial arguments in fits and starts. He found himself half-drowned in thoughts of the diner —Yukihira special menus and crude compliments from the regulars — when his father spoke again. 

“You know there’s no coming back from this,” he said. “After tonight, no matter what you do, the name Yukihira will always be famous.”

“Is it really that bad?” 

Jouichirou took a long drag from his cigarette before responding; he let his eyes draw closed. “I think you know already, I never wanted to send you to Totsuki. Never would have done it if the old man hadn’t been so persistent. But what’s done is done. Best you can do now is —”

“Don’t fuck up?” 

“Now you’re getting it,” he replied, slapping his son on the shoulder. “Don’t fuck up, and try to remember what’s important to you. That’s what’ll keep you from losing your mind. Oh, and Souma.”

“Yeah?”

“I think you were supposed to be at the restaurant fifteen minutes ago.” 

“Oh shit!” And with that, he put out his cigarette, sprinted to the front door, and hoped his father wouldn’t burn the place down.

Arato Hisako was convinced that the universe had no sympathy for her. That was the only explanation for why only a matter of weeks after she’d put Akira out of her mind and started getting serious with someone new, she saw his stupid, smug face on the cover of Business Insider.

He looked so cool and arrogant in the photograph, standing by a window in his Dubai skyscraper, that part of Hisako felt inclined to throw the entire magazine out the window.  

“But when did he even—”

“Ignore it,” Erina advised as they rode through the streets of Paris in a stretch limo, on their way to buy outfits for the pre-open. “You decided you’re done with him, so be done.” 

“You’re right.” Hisako heaved a gargantuan sigh, knowing for certain that he would be there for the launch of Maison de Yukihira tonight, and that it would take everything within her to keep from slapping him into infinity. 

As they moved from boutique to boutique, Hisako noticed something peculiar about her friend’s behavior. Although she’d always had impeccable style, Erina scarcely had either the time or the patience to indulge in all-day shopping sprees. In fact, she often sent a professional shopper out with her measurements and outsourced the task of buying clothes entirely. 

But now she glided through the racks with laser focus, moving in and out of dressing rooms without even the slightest huff of irritation. 

“Are you looking for something specific, Erina-sama?” she asked after she walked out of their seventh store empty-handed. For her part, Hisako had long since decided on a navy blue scoop neck dress. 

“No. It’s just you know how those food magazines photograph me every chance they get. I figured I should try to make an impression this time instead of getting caught unawares.”

Hisako sensed bullshit — and she saw that her best friend was touching the back of her neck the way she always did when she had a certain diner chef on the brain. But she wouldn’t give her any grief about it. Hisako knew better than anyone the agony derived from affections that cropped up where they didn’t belong. 

When Erina found the right dress, an onyx column gown with a daring slit running up the left side, Hisako smiled and found her gold earrings and bangles to match. 

That evening Alice met them at their hotel, dressed in the type of chic white jumpsuit that was becoming typical of her. She took one look at her cousin, from her matte burgundy lipstick to the 100 mm red bottoms adorning her feet and exchanged a knowing look with Hisako. 

“So we’re out to break hearts tonight?” Alice asked, chuckling as she helped herself to the vodka in the minibar. 

“Just the usual one, courtesy of the god tongue,” Erina replied, deadpan, and Hisako felt a creeping suspicion that she had been referring to her own. 

-----

To say that it had been a good year for Yoshino Yuki would be a gross understatement. Almost overnight she had gone from cruise ship cook to Tasty producer with talks about her own Food Network special in the works. 

For the first time in her life, she’d flown to Paris in a business class cube and she had no intention of ever downgrading again.

She had spent the last few months feeling like the girl-next-door made good. But once she stepped out of her cab and saw the culinary juggernauts waiting to enter Yukihira's debut restaurant, she was reminded once again of the abyss that stood between her and the true elite.

She had been standing by the coat check, caught between the impulse to network and the desire to search for a familiar face when she locked eyes with Marui Zenji, who was handing off his blazer to the attendant. 

“Oh, Yoshino-san!” he said, smiling at her. “I thought it’d be ages before I found someone I knew.”

Yuki returned the smile, noting that he had grown a little since Fumio-san’s 85th. Was that even possible? She had maintained the same shrimpy stature since their last year of junior high school. “It’s been awhile, Marui. Congratulations on finishing your degree, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He looked down, adjusting those absurdly round spectacles of his. 

 “What will you do now?” Yuki asked. 

“I’m actually starting a postgraduate program,” he explained.

Yuki rolled her eyes a bit. “Honestly, Marui. At this rate you’ll be in your fifties before you open a restaurant.”

He chuckled a bit. “You sound like my parents.” 

They drifted away from the coat check then, glancing about the clusters of gourmands sipping cocktails and chatting before the start of the dinner service. Yuki’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when she spotted Elaine Shiraz and a handful of editors from True Taste magazine. 

“Yukihira’s really done well for himself, huh?” she said, more to herself than to Zenji. She still had such a long way to go. 

“He’s not the only one,” he told her.

“I guess you’re right. Somewhere in this dining room, Shoji is probably shooting his shot with Arato-san.” 

This earned a full-bellied laugh from Marui, the likes of which usually only came out after his third drink. “Undeniably true,” he replied. “But not what I was referring to.” 

“Then what—”

“I always knew you were meant to be on television.”

For a moment, Yuki was taken aback. Of everyone she’d ever known, this man had to be the least aware of pop culture. So how could it be that he was following her career down its media-saturated path? 

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, as that was the only way she’d ever known how to deal with the absurdly high regard he held her in. “We should go find a table for four. You know Shun and Ryoko won’t be here until the food’s nearly out.”

Marui’s eyes darkened with regret. “Actually, Yoshino-san, I’m here with someone tonight.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she said, trying to clear the surprise from her expression.

“But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if the five of us—”

“No, that kind of thing drives front of the house staff crazy,” Yuki said, a shiver running down her spine as she recalled her dark hostessing days. “Don’t keep her waiting. It was good seeing you, though.”

“Keep in touch,” he told her. “My number’s the same.”

Yuki didn’t bother telling him that her number had changed three times in as many years. She had no intention of calling anyway. 

 ----

It was rare for Megumi to spend much time thinking about her appearance, but because this was his night she had curled the ends of her hair and put on the short red dress with the halter neckline. After getting her mother and grandfather — who had flown all the way to Europe for the first time — comfortable at their table, she started making her rounds, thanking all their friends from Totsuki and New York for coming. 

“Ohhh, Megumi-chan, why so gorgeous?” the newly minted Shinomiya Hinako squealed once she spotted her.

“Thank you, Inui-senpai,” Megumi managed to say before the older woman pulled her into a hug so tight she started to see stars. 

“Yukihira’s a fool if he doesn’t propose to you tonight.”

“He’s already a fool for thinking he can compete in this venue, green upstart that he is,” Shinomiya interjected.

“If I recall, you were even younger than Yukihira-kun is now when you opened Shino’s, and even less experienced,” Hinako pointed out. She turned to Megumi with a conspiratorial grin. “He’s just upset because he lost his best cook.”

“Ignore, my wife. She’s delusional,” Shinomiya said, pushing his sleek glasses up on his nose. “But when are we going to see your opening, bumpkin?” 

The question brought an unexpected flush to Megumi’s cheeks. “Oh...well I’ve been—”

“Too distracted by dick to focus on your craft?” he asked, rubbing his right temple. “I thought I taught you better than this.” 

“Oh, leave her alone. She’s in love, like us.” 

Shinomiya Kojirou shook his head. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

Megumi laughed a bit before wishing them well and moving on to the next set of familiar faces. She would continue on in this way, trying to let her old mentor’s comments slide off her like water on ducks’ wings, until the dinner service began.