#read the comic that's supposed to be a continuation of the dark da..n thing but it's up in the air on whether it's canon or not)

[oioend]

tired cronos be upon ye

[justaramblingromantic]

fail better

Characters/Pairing: Kobayashi Rindou and Tsukasa Eishi/EiRin

Type: Canon-divergent AU, Post-series, Peerless-verse, Freestyle

Word Count: 2277

A/N #01: Ever read something so stupid that at the end of it all, you can almost literally feel the double negative ‘dislike’ interaction sign from The Sims forming right over your head? That was exactly my feeling after I read the nonsense that was chapter 296. Actually, my feeling was so strong it singlehandedly fueled my motivation to write this piece in one sitting, haha. What the effing heck, Tsukuda. 

A/N #02: Title derived by Samuel Beckett’s quote: “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

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Hours after the conclusion of his round of the tournament, he was back in the still quiet of his hotel room, staring down at the empty text screen of his phone, wondering what to write to properly convey his conflicted feelings at the moment. He found himself stuck for the longest time, because the other person who had all but wrung a promise out of him for consistent updates of his progress would not appreciate it in the least if he was insincere or dishonest with her and, most importantly, himself.

And she would know intrinsically too, much to his chagrin.

He did not have to struggle futilely for the whole night, because as if aware of his mounting difficulties…or perhaps just plain exasperated with his indecisive dithering, the smart device in his hand vibrated impatiently with an incoming call, and the name that popped up on his Caller ID was both a comforting and sobering sight at the same time.

He picked up, of course. After a brief, hesitating pause. Mentally steeling himself, because it was…difficult not to be swept away by that surge of self-critical disappointment all over again.  

“…Hello.”

“Yo.”

In hindsight, he did not know what he was even feeling so anxious about. Just hearing that one word, just hearing that familiar voice filtered through the speaker from the other end, already possessed the miraculous effect of easing the stiff tension that had grown unbidden between his shoulders, bearing down on him like a heavy weight that entire day. He sighed her name.

“Rindou.”

There was some crinkling to be heard in ambient surroundings, as if she was snacking on something while on the phone with him at the same time. That casual familiarity soothed his nerves, because it was just like her to be so relaxed and comfortable around him. Before the conversation could lull and grow tense and awkward, she nonchalantly continued.

“I heard you got your ass handed to you today, Tsukasa~” his impish best friend all but singsonged.

Instead of feeling sorry and regretful over his loss, the woman actually sounded indecently gleeful instead. Even if he wanted to, it was hard to remain down in the doldrums when she was like this. He grew exasperated, remembering that sometimes she was the kind who liked to poke at people’s bruises, just to hear them yell.

“…You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” he deadpanned.

“Why should I?” she retorted between munches. “D’ya know how many texts I got this afternoon alone reporting your defeat to that Saiha dude? I practically received multiple blow-by-blow accounts, and they sent videos too; at least five different viewing angles of you getting your ass handed to you-”

Now, he was just plain mortified, never mind feeling sorry for himself.  

“What. Who texted you?” he demanded to know, flustered that she had to learn about it from other people instead of straight from him. His cheeks warmed in pique. “Why are people texting you anyway to tell you those things.”

“Yeah, I wonder why,” she replied in a tone that implied she didn’t even have to wonder at all. Their closeness wasn’t exactly a big secret to those who knew them in Tootsuki.

“Where are you now, anyway?” she changed the subject blithely. “Moping about in your room?”

“I’m not moping,” he spluttered in denial. Sure, he was feeling a bit morose and out of sorts, but that was because there was nothing to do since he no longer had to prepare for the next stage of the competition! Furthermore and strangely enough, his defeat today had not felt as crushingly overwhelming as that time in the aftermath of the Regiment Shokugeki. And more importantly- “Next time, wait patiently for my texts instead of listening to the gossips of other people.”

“Then text me quicker next time-”

A knock on the door had him distracted, and he got up to answer it, phone still cradled to his ear.

“-I thought you got so depressed you decided to commit seppuku with that long-assed nail file of yours. Hola~!”

He opened the door…and there she was, standing at the entrance, her digitally modulated reply abruptly becoming clear and distinct in real time. She was bright eyed and smirking at him,  just so irrepressibly buoyant it was as if she was a ray of sunshine herself.

Eishi blinked owlishly in surprise. “You are…here.” He quickly snapped out of his brief stupor. “Wait. What are you doing here?”

She brushed past him to get into his room. “Ta-da~ I came to offer my bosom for you to cry on, of course!”

He shut the door and turned to her, a funny look crossing his face, still half in disbelief…because she was supposed to be in Barcelona right now.

She looked like she had just stepped off a flight, and she had come bearing consolation gifts, too. “Look what I bought on the way here!” She swiveled to him and raised the plastic bags that she was holding. “Fried chicken and cheap beer are the best things to fix a broken heart!”

“My heart is not broken,” he retorted, nonplussed by her shining enthusiasm to bring light to his dark and tortured soul. “And will you put those drinks away; we’re still underaged.”

“Boo; you’re so straitlaced! What’s a bit of underaged drinking gonna do? We’d be twenty in a year or so, anyway! Live a little!”

And then she promptly proceeded to make a mess in his otherwise previously tidy accommodation. Her sneakers were kicked haphazardly aside, she dumped her bag unceremoniously on the floor in the middle of the room, and with whirlwind efficacy, she soon had the food and drinks laid out on the dressing table. Popping a crispy piece of chicken, deep fried to golden brown perfection, into her mouth, she pulled out a chilled can of beer from the six pack, bought right off a nearby conbini, cracked it open, brought it right to her lips and drank deep. She exhaled gustily with happiness, eyes squeezed shut with contentment, a look of comical satisfaction flitting across her rosy face.  

“Hell yeah, this is the best~!”

The redhead popped open another can of beer, and she pushed it to him. “Don’t just stand there! Come join me, dummy.”

Eishi was reluctant at first, but as she handed him the choicest bits of chicken on a paper plate and then started to dig into her own share with zeal, he realized belatedly that he was hungry, too. How she miraculously knew that he hadn’t had dinner yet was a mystery; he had been preoccupied and had somehow forgotten all about eating in the process. He took refreshing sips of ice-cold beer in between succulent bites of crisp, precisely battered chicken; she was right, there was a certain epicurean pleasure to be had from this combination. His mind was already automatically deconstructing the dish, gauging the type of ingredients and their exact quantity, speculating on the various steps of preparation, how hot the temperature of the frying oil had to be-

She snorted at his distracted demeanor as they dawdled over the meal. “You’re such a nerd, I swear.”  

He snapped out of his thoughts to stare at her. She snickered.

“Feel better now?”

He continued to stare.

“Wanna walk me through how your bout went?” Her golden eyes gleamed. “Or maybe I should tell you how I think it went as related to me by my secret sources?”

“No, thank you-”

He obligingly spilled, not wanting to hear of the embarrassing accounts as witnessed by whoever had spied on him for her. Besides, she was someone who actually appreciated the finer nuances of his cooking style and methodology, even when others would have been bored to tears by all that incredibly dry, technical talk. She paid rapt attention, her eyes trained unwaveringly on him as he spoke about the dish he came up with, and objectively as well of the one that had eventually defeated him.

Rindou was intrigued.

“Huh. Sounds like you had quite a bit of fun out there.”

International competitions like The Blue were really on another level altogether. She also wondered how they were able to dredge up so much crazy every year just to stuff into one event.  

“I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘fun,’” Eishi muttered under his breath.

There was an annoying soreness just lying under the skin and muscles of his chest, growing more and more aggravating as time passed after that battle with Saiba Asahi, and downright impossible to ignore however he tried. It was a gripping feeling that he had not experienced in quite a long time. It felt like a muted rage, a festering, humiliating wound in his heart that had been dealt by the hand of his opponent.

“He claimed my knife in light of my loss,” he finally admitted his shame.

It was now or never, and he refused to lie. Not to her. Never, to her.

For one moment, the air around her stilled.

And then her eyes glowed bright with fury.

For all that some people always said of his selfishness and arrogance, even he had never stooped so low as to steal the precious knives of another chef, their livelihood, the very source of their pride. Everything that he had, he had painstakingly squeezed out of his own talents, refusing to rely or even lean on the abilities of others, because there was simply no honor or pride to be had for that kind of tainted victory. But such distasteful practice was not entirely unheard of, nor was it illegal or wrong. Life in the kitchen could be cutthroat and fast paced where all sorts of characters lurked; those who could not take the heat simply had no place there, regardless of how good or skilled they were.

Then again, Tsukasa had never been the kind to break easily.

“What an unpleasant punk,” Rindou uttered flatly, stiffly.

He said nothing to that, but somehow, he felt lighter, because here she was, absolutely furious on his behalf.

“Which blade did he take?”

He knew she was going to laugh. “…The one…you nicknamed ‘the long-assed nail file,’” he responded slowly, after a reluctant pause.

He was absolutely right; she snort-giggled into her beer. That heavy tension in the atmosphere promptly dissolved, and miraculously along with it, his paralyzing sense of disgrace. “Pffft. Of all the- That one?? Eh, I s’pose there’s really no accounting for taste, is there?”

Eishi sent her a disgruntled look, visibly put out by her reaction. “Enough, you. I actually liked that blade.”  

She relaxed at his mild censure. He was calmer now, less tense, less brittle. In turn, that pleased her, too. She took another sip of her beer, already on her second can.

“So make an even better one, then. In the first place, you haven’t even fully developed that technique yet with how recently you came up with it,” she pointed out.

He drank to that, too. “I intend to.” There was a firmness in his quiet reply, an unshakable resolve that hardened his usually distant, lavender gaze, as he retreated to a place within himself that would not allow him to give up until he had achieved what he sought to.

She eyed him silently over the rim of her drink. That look of relentless, dogged determination was something that she hadn’t seen on him for a long time.

“…You really are having fun with this,” she observed once more with insistence, her lips twitching up in a delighted smile.

“It’s not fun,” he promptly corrected her. “It’s…frustrating.”

“But at least it’s not boring anymore, right?” She nudged him knowingly. He sighed and looked down at her plainly amused expression. She wasn’t going to give up until he admitted it, was she? He really did not know how she did it; there was not one word of consolation offered over his defeat, but still she made him feel so much better, all the same.

“…No. It’s not boring anymore,” he acknowledged. He was simmering, seething quietly beneath that deceptively calm, tranquil façade of his. “I actually feel…quite displeased,” he admitted, frowning slightly and looking quite out of sorts with himself.

She snorted, once again, at the understatement. He was really terrible at expressing anger. She reached up and petted his head for trying his best, all the same. “There, there. Let it all out. You want Rindou onee-chan to give you a hug too? Not to blow my own trumpet, but my hugs are seriously the best.”

He stared at her shamelessly bragging. Or maybe not, since he knew from experience that her hugs were seriously the best indeed, as advertised.

“Okay,” he agreed readily to her half joking offer. Perhaps it was the beer that relaxed his inhibitions, for he briefly studied her where she was sitting beside him, and then, without hesitation, he reached out, grabbed her around her middle, and half tugged, half lifted her onto his lap. She paused in surprise at his spontaneity, but before anything else could be said, he folded his arms around her and gently nested her against himself. He pressed his face into crimson fragrance of her hair and inhaled, sighing at her warmth and softness.

“…I’m glad you came,” he told her truthfully. It made him feel sleepy too, tension dissipating, and weariness rushing to the forefront in the face of this simple, reassuring contentment that was Rindou.  

Her gaze softened. Her arms curled lazily around him in return, and she snuggled up to her best friend.

“Mm. You worked hard today, Tsukasa. Well done-”

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