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justminawrites · 1 year ago

Text

tell me, why does home taste like you?

AO3

Summary: Souma finds himself wondering what to do after Central decides to shut Polar Star down for good. A one-shot that takes place the night before the shokugeki with Eizan, in season 3.

“I can’t stand it!”

“Yuuki?”

“I don’t want the dorm to close! I want to stay here.. and cook with everyone, just like we used to!”

Yukihira Souma stared out the window of his room in uncharacteristic silence as he pondered the events of the past two days.

A new director, Nakiri Azami, had taken over and imposed a mandatory shutdown of all the clubs and research societies not directly approved by the also new student-run organisation, Central, that had replaced the Elite Ten. That included the Polar Star Dormitory, since it was technically housing students on school grounds. Naturally Tōtsuki students had contested this the way they had contested everything– through numerous declarations of shokugekis, though that might be extremely short-lived if what they’d seen on TV today was any indication.

Biased votes were one thing, but simply refusing to eat the opposing contestant’s food? That was a low blow, even for this pompous, gourmet-worshipping establishment.

Souma let out a frustrated sigh and struck his fist against the window pane with a thump; only ten days left to vacate the place.. no, there had to be something he could do. Surely Isshiki-senpai would have some idea, he was two seats higher on the Elite 10 than Eizan was; not to mention he was more attached to the dorm than any of them, but they hadn’t seen Isshiki Satoshi around at all lately– maybe Central had their claws in him too.

Souma rose and decided to head down to the kitchen; cooking always helped him take his mind off things in the past, maybe inspiration would strike him while he was at it. Turning the key, he slipped out of room 303 and down the staircase, careful not to wake anyone while he was at it- sleep would be a luxury they couldn’t afford soon- but when the entrance to the kitchen loomed in front of him his feet turned the corner and took him out to the lobby instead. Fumio-san had always imposed a 1:00 a.m. curfew for as long as he’d been here, often to deter young delinquent chefs like him from sneaking out to get groceries at the dead of night, but today the front door was unlocked without a care. This dorm business must be getting to her too.

Souma walked out into the cold night air and prayed it wouldn’t rain.

The sky was cloudier today, no doubt a result of the bad weather they’d been having all week, but a sliver of white moon shone brightly in the sky, surrounded by a smattering of tiny stars. He would miss this view. Souma held out his arm like he was trying to catch the faint light in his palm and hold it with him forever.

The memory came to him then, swift and unforgiving.

“Hey.. Pops?”

“What is it, Souma?”

“What did this dorm mean to you anyway?”

Jōichirō had smiled in the way he always did when he didn’t intend on answering Souma’s question.

“It was fun.. A place where we could all freely experience each other’s cooking.”

Souma looked up to find himself wandering Isshiki’s garden, he’d ended up tracing the usual path they took every other morning, navigating his way between the leafy crop and the fenced tomatoes. He crouched down beside the cabbages and stared deeply into the dirt, like he’d find some kind of answer from the worms crawling around.

This was stupid, he thought peevishly as the worm crawled up his shoe; honestly, this whole school was stupid. What kind of dumb, holier-than-thou elitist thought that removing extracurriculars would bring the school closer to better cooking– no correct cooking? The right way of doing things. He reminded Souma of his daughter to the T, but it was actually the other way around now, wasn’t it.

Souma frowned as he flicked the worm off. Erina had internalised her father’s teachings so deeply that she’d probably built her personality around rejecting anything Azami didn’t approve of– but he wasn’t ready to unpack all that. Especially not the previous director, Nakiri Senzaemon, showing up at the dorm in order to beg for his help.

“Pops would know what to do,” he said quietly to no one in particular; it was true. His six-foot-three, ever-aggravating, cooking prodigy of a father always had the solution to any problem, no matter what life threw at him. If only he was around to actually give him the advice he needed.

Souma flicked open his phone screen and pressed the redial button; the phone rang once, twice, and then–

“Hello-”

“Pops?”

“-you’ve reached Yukihira.. if it’s urgent please leave a message. Not you though, Gin.”

Voicemail, as usual. He sighed and made his way to the workshop next.

Though it was technically rented, everyone in the dorm had affectionately dubbed it Shun’s Workshop, since every time Shun disappeared, which was often, there was about a ninety percent chance you’d find him here.

Souma ran his fingers along the grooves and etchings of the handmade table and inhaled the faint smell of smoke. Eizan would probably tear this place down too, the bastard. This, the garden, Ryōko’s lab, Yuuki’s farm pens; and he’d do it without a second thought.

He could see his senior’s smug face in front of him, clear as day. What’s the matter Yukihira.. finally accepted defeat?

Souma pressed his hands against his face and tried his best not to scream. This school may be stupid and skewed but his friends didn’t deserve this. They were all talented chefs who’d worked hard to get to where they were, and if there was one thing good about this backwards institution, it was that they could all come back home and rant about it together.

He blinked away tears.

Home.

How long had it been since he’d called anywhere home?

They used to live in the suburbs near his school, but after his mother died, Souma and his dad had moved into the apartment above Yukihira’s instead. The closest he could come to it was probably the diner itself, he’d spent nearly all his long nights in its kitchens, often sleeping over when his father was away on business trips. Kiyo-san used to come by to babysit occasionally, much to his chagrin, and his middle school friends had loved to watch him cook free food but hardly anyone had seen him out of its four walls.

The Polar Star Dormitory was a strong contender too, if he was being honest. Even though the place was huge, with fifty bedrooms and an endless square footage of land that encompassed even a lake, he’d never really felt alone here.

There was always someone in the kitchens, or the garden. Isshiki-senpai would pop out from the built in Ceiling Area (how did he get up there in the first place?) or whisper suspiciously into the speaking tubes that ran through the whole building; Yuuki’s wild game would escape her room at least once a week and turn the place into NatGeo; and they would receive fire hazard notices on a regular basis because of Shun’s ‘creative directions’.

The noise and laughter was often infectious and Souma had begun to rely on it to get him through the week. They’d barely made it through their gruelling Stagiaires and the Moon Banquet Festival in the last few months, but the dorm had always been here, steady and constant as its matron, ready to welcome them back with open arms and a warm meal.

Souma checked his phone and swore under his breath. A matron who’d most likely locked him out by now. No matter how much Megumi vouched for it, he had no intention of spending the night in the barn.

Souma turned and ran back to the main door, relieved to find it still open, quietly shook off his shoes and padded his way up the polished stairwell.

He was about to go into his room when a small creak caught his attention. The door to the room next to his was slightly ajar - Was Tadokoro awake? - hinges fallen victim to the breeze he’d let into the house when he’d come in.

Souma hesitated before gently nudging it open to find moonlight spilling through the windows and illuminating a room identical to his, save for a figure curled on the bed, her dark blue tresses like ink on the white sheets and eyes that were very clearly shut tight.

He knew he should close the door, knew he should leave her to rest instead of bothering her with his dumb feelings, but his feet remained rooted to the spot. He waited a few seconds and then–

“Tadokoro,” he whispered softly, not moving from the doorway, “Are you asleep?”

“Mmm?” The girl replied, turning the other way and jostling the blanket in the process.

Of course she’s asleep, you idiot, he berated himself, Just like you should be if you’re going to wake up tomorrow and figure out what to do.

“Soum.. Hah.. Souma-kun?” Megumi said, yawning. She’d turned back around and cracked open one eye blearily to find the redheaded boy looking at her guiltily, unable to move from his place at the door.

“Are ya.. alright?”

“Uhm.. yeah. All good here. Sorry I disturbed you. I was just checking to make sure, y’know.. stuff.” He finished lamely, looking anywhere but her eyes.

Megumi blinked a few times, sensing the lie, and then pulled the covers off one corner of the bed to make room for him.

“S’okay..” She patted the empty space beside her like an invitation.

“What’s wrong?”

Souma reluctantly shuffled in but sat at foot of the bed frame instead.

If her mother were here, Megumi knew she’d be on the receiving end of the worst scolding of her life and she’d deserve it too. A boy in her room in the dead of night, it was so far from proper that she might as well be digging herself an early grave, but she was barely awake and her senses had dulled everything into a dream-like quality.

Dim light flickered through the window and highlighted the panes of Souma’s face, the steady curve of his nose, his sharp jaw and the slightly puckered scar on his left eyebrow. Except those eyebrows were now furrowed in a mixture of concern and frustration.

She waited for him to say something but he simply stared at the mattress in front of him intently, like he was burning a hole through it with his eyes. Megumi reached out an arm to pet his hair, but his hand caught it first and unconsciously threaded his fingers through hers as he looked up at her.

“Tadokoro,” he began, looking at their intertwined hands like they were the most normal thing in the world, “I’m scared.”

Megumi opened her eyes a little more. It had been hard to see before, but the red rimmed eyes and the faint spots of wetness on his tracksuit spelled out that he’d been crying.

“S’okay,” she soothed again, trying not to think too much about why the strongest person she knew at this school was holding her hand like he was about to break.

“We all get scared sometimes, Souma-kun. You don’t hafta be strong all the time.”

He closed his eyes like he was absorbing her words, like he was letting them sink into his skin.

“I mean look at me,” she smiled sleepily, her accent running rampant, “Ah’m always scared, panickin’ like a cricket in fishin’ season. But Ah’m still here, aint I?”

Souma snorted, slipping his hand out of hers just as quickly, and clutched his stomach to keep himself from laughing.

“Ah’m.. still.. cricket..” He choked out, unable to form the words as he nearly toppled back. Megumi stopped smiling when she saw his reaction.

“Souma-kun, don’t tease!” She mumbled into her pillow mortified as he snickered again.

“Tadokoro! What do you take me for? I would never,” he vowed as he proceeded to do just that.

“Ah’m as serious as can be– serious as a ‘ard ‘addack.”

“Oh, you’re terrible.” Megumi moped, hiding her face under the covers. The laughter faded and she peeked one eye out to see Souma staring right past her.

It was nothing new, she’d seen him zone out plenty of times, but it seemed different this time. Sadder somehow. He was probably driving himself crazy trying to figure out how to postpone their early eviction, a very Souma-like thing to do, but even she knew that it was too much to hope for a breakthrough. Eizan-senpai had rigged the shokugeki as he would no doubt do again and again, if there was anyone left to challenge him that is. The performance today may have broken most, if not all their spirits.

“Souma-kun?” His eyes slid to her face on cue but they were still a million miles away.

“Don’t worry about the dorm okay.. we’ll figure something out.”

“Mhm.” He nodded vacantly, still lost in thought.

She wished she could bring him back with words alone, but that had never worked with Souma. Apart from challenging him to a shokugeki on the spot, she doubted many things could get through the bubble of pressure he’d locked himself in. Poor, selfless Souma-kun, she thought. It must be hard to constantly be protecting.

Megumi didn’t know when she’d begun noticing the changes but once she had she couldn’t stop.

Souma’s hair grown longer over the summer, the unruliness almost endearing now, and his face had gotten leaner. The shadows under his eyes were darker than she’d remembered, he was barely getting any sleep before, and she’d caught a glimpse of a few more burn marks on his hand than last time. No doubt from the stone oven they’d used at the Moon Banquet Festival. He’d been so insistent about not using gloves too– its gotta to feel authentic, Tadokoro.

She looked up to see that Souma had gone back to glaring at the floor now, brows scrunched together like he could simply will a solution into existence.

Without thinking, Megumi reached out her arm again and this time, gently traced the scar on his eyebrow with her thumb. To her surprise, he leaned into the touch, the fog in his eyes clearing as her warm hand cupped his cheek, and lazily drew over the edges of the wound. The dreamy quality of the night returned and she could feel herself emboldened by its ambience.

“Souma-kun?”

“Mm?” He intoned, his eyes drooping. She paused for a second.

“Your scar is cool.”

“Hm?” He was awake again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she scolded, withdrawing her hand in absolute shame. She could’ve said anything in that moment but she went with ‘your scar is cool’? Kami-sama– why, why am I like this?

Souma gave her a strange look and then cracked a grin.

“Isn’t it? It’s actually an incredible story.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I got it fighting off a customer actually. He was trying to leave without paying.”

Megumi gave him a disbelieving look and he pretended to sulk.

“You don’t believe me.” he huffed, offended.

“I didn’t say that, Souma-kun.”

“He had a knife, Tadokoro. A knife.”

“A tiny knife?” She asked, suppressing a smile.

“Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you.” He grumbled halfheartedly, turning his back to her.

She watched him, absent-mindedly counting the freckles on back of his neck; one, two, fifteen in total, and resisted the urge to connect them into tiny constellations. A few seconds of comfortable silence passed, and then..

“Tadokoro?” He said, still not looking at her.

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you stick around?”

“Souma-kun?”

“At the Moon Banquet Festival.”

“O-Oh,” she felt her anxiety kick in, trickling into her chest like in a steady stream, “I’m sorry if I held you back Souma-kun, I was just.. just trying to help.. I..“

“What! No that’s not what I– Tadokoro. Tadokoro.”

Megumi made a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a sob and tried to bury her head back under the blanket so he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. Souma wouldn’t let her off so easily and tried his level best to pull her back out. After two full minutes of pulling, he admitted defeat and turned back around.

“I meant–” he began, giving the blanket a sideways glance, “–when everything was going wrong, why’d you stay? I didn’t even put your name on the application form y’know. You wouldn’t have gotten expelled, if you left.”

She said nothing.

Just when Souma thought she’d fallen asleep, the weight on the bed shifted and Megumi sat down on the floor beside him, setting the blanket over both of their shoulders as she did so. Her eyes were clear and bright, no sign of exhaustion in them.

“Don’t be silly Souma-kun,” she said matter-of-factly, “I woulda gotten expelled months ago, if it weren’t for you.”

“This isn’t like–“

“–at camp.” She nodded as she drew her knees to her chest and hugged them.

“That was about justice, Tadokoro. You didn’t deserve to be failed over a mistake he’d made.”

“There is no justice in Tōtsuki, Souma-kun.” Megumi looked at him strangely, as though he should’ve figured this out by now. He opened his mouth to correct her but no words came out. She was right. This was a school where students could simply be expelled over a subpar dish and the teachers wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

“And besides,” she continued, looking away, “It wasn’t like that at all. You coulda given up on me too, but you didn’t.”

“If I had been better, we could’ve beaten him,” Souma admitted sheepishly, crossing his arms, “It wasn’t supposed to be your battle to fight.”

Megumi laughed, much to his embarrassment, and subtly scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I wish I’d seen Shinomiya-senpai’s face when you walked into his restaurant,” she said finally, a small smile on her face, “For the Stagiaire.”

Now it was Souma’s turn to laugh as he remembered his mentor’s disgruntled expression.

“Oh man, I thought he was going to strangle me on the spot,” he recounted excitedly, “Hey, remember that time he fired someone at camp for wearing scented shampoo?”

“Souma-kun, you didn’t.” Megumi looked like she was switching between impressed and horrified at his blatant disregard for his own well-being. He flashed her a wicked grin.

“And the best part was–“

“–Souma-kun!” She interrupted, scandalised.

“The best part was-“ Souma repeated, like what he’d done wasn’t pure madness, “- he didn’t even notice, Tadokoro. I’m starting to think that camp was just an excuse for them to have us do free labour so they wouldn’t have to feed all those people.”

“Honestly, I didn’t mind it that much,” she confessed, looking down at her hands, “It made me feel good to know that people were enjoying my food.”

“For free,” he chided, but didn’t try to correct her, “I get where you’re coming from though. Giving out samples was the only part of the Moon Banquet Festival that was actually fun.”

“It reminded me of the time I spent with the old man, back home, before he kept pulling his disappearing act.”

“Oh. Were you alone a lot?”

Souma turned to find Megumi looking at him with something like concern in her eyes and backtracked immediately.

“Uh.. yeah, but not really though. It was all good.. it toughened me up y’know? Now I’m tough as a rock..” He could feel his ears burning and hoped she wouldn’t notice. The last thing he wanted was Tadokoro pitying him when he was supposed to be the one getting them out of this hopeless situation.

“You’re very tough, Souma-kun,” she promised, placing her hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “You challenged the Eight Seat of the Elite Ten to a shokugeki.”

“And a whole lot of good that did us.” He sighed and put his hand over hers. Megumi looked startled by the action, but didn’t pull away.

“Stupid Eizan probably doesn’t even know how to cook.” Souma sulked again, resorting to childish snubs.

“Sure. That’s how Eizan-senpai qualified to be a part of the best ten in a cooking school. Through consulting.” She replied wryly, only half-kidding.

“Yeah you’re right,” he nodded, cupping his chin with his hand, “Still, it feels like he’s got some kind of grudge against this place. You think he didn’t pass Fumio-san’s test or something?”

“Maybe,” Megumi shrugged, pushing away the memory of her initial months of middle school where she herself had fallen victim and slept in the barn, “I do feel bad for Nakiri-san, though.”

“Nakiri?”

He gawked at her like she’d grown two wings and transformed into one of Yuuki’s chickens.

“She won’t have anywhere to hide if the dorm closes,” she explained, much to his bemusement, “She must be feeling terrible about this whole thing.”

“Tadokoro,” Souma turned to her seriously, clasping her arm in his. The one with the scarf, she would’ve noticed, if she weren’t so alarmed. His sudden move took her aback and she found herself pressed against the bed-frame, looking at him with wide eyes as he leaned in closer.

“S-Souma-kun?” He paused, gold eyes flashing.

“Worry about yourself, for once.”

“I’m worried about myself everyday,” she countered, quailing a little under the intensity in his gaze.

“A-And anyway. I can probably find some housing on campus with Yuuki-chan and Ryōko-chan. It might be expensive but if we split the rent I’m sure we can manage.”

“Huh.”

Souma let go of her and crossed his arms again, opting to look at the ceiling instead. He was irritated, that much she could tell. Megumi wasn’t sure what to do at first, in all their time together he’d never really gotten mad at her; so she simply rested her head on her knees and absentmindedly began drawing the ‘person’ kanji (人) on the polished floorboards next to her.

After a few moments she heard him murmur something under his breath.

“You’ve given up too, haven’t you, Tadokoro?”

She stopped mid-way; the words cut deeper than they should have.

He wasn’t wrong. Megumi had spent the whole day helping the Regional Cuisine Research Society pack away their props and recipe books into a school certified lockers; they were forced to donate everything they’d gathered to a local library as soon as possible.

There had been many a breakdown over a paper lantern or a lovingly written essay and whatever little hope she’d hoarded chipped away as the day went by, slowly, steadily; piece by painful piece, until it became clear that there was no way out of this predicament at all. It was either this or guaranteed expulsion, and Megumi didn’t know which one she’d be more ashamed to tell her mother about.

“There’s nothing we can do, Souma-kun.” She said finally, blinking back tears, “Sometimes.. sometimes the world just ain’t right and we just.. we gotta.. get on with it.”

“If that bastard would fight fair, then I know I could take him. We could win.”

His words sounded empty, even to him, like he’d finally run out of confidence and she felt the unspoken question between them grow and swallow her thoughts as the night dragged on– was it still possible to save the dorm?

After an incredibly saturated silence Souma released a puff of breath and adjusted the blanket around their shoulders, pulling her a little closer.

He didn’t want to spend one of his last nights here fighting with his best friend, over something stupid. A delicious warmth enveloped her and Megumi caved into the feeling, resting her head on his chest now, his arm encircling her waist.

“Ryōko-chan said something to me once,” she began, stifling a yawn as the fatigue crept up on her. Souma peeked at her through shuttering eyelids, his own body starting to call it a night.

“She said ‘I didn’t notice it before but Yukihira-kun gets this funny look in his eyes when he’s cooking, like he’s some kind of magician, waiting for you to figure out his trick.’”

“She’s too.. too nice..” He trailed off, trying his best to stay awake.

“Yeah.. but that’s when I realised, Souma-kun.”

“Realised what?”

“Why I liked your cooking so much.”

Souma opened one eye and glanced at her but Megumi had nearly succumbed to sleep, nestled into him like a perfect puzzle piece.

“It’s like.. a little bit of magic.. every.. day..”

It was then that Yukihira Souma made his decision.

Dawn came, quiet and relentless, the first rays of sun washing over room 302 determined to catch the couple in the act, but all they found was a girl huddled under the covers, blue hair spilling out like ink, fast asleep like she’d never been woken at all.

____________________

The next day...

“I’m back!”

The residents of Polar Star Dormitory dropped their makeshift weapons and garden hoses to see a redheaded boy walking through the wrought-iron gates, his smile blinding in light of the evening sun.

Tadokoro Megumi didn’t know when she’d begun crying but as the boy was ambushed by his dorm members with shouts of “You idiot!”, “You left to protect us on your own!” and “That was too reckless, Yukihira.”, it felt like fireworks were going off in her chest every time she took a breath.

“We were all so worried,” she said quietly, the words lost in the general hubbub that surrounded him, but she didn’t mind.

Yukihira Souma glanced at her then, smiling even brighter than before, and for a second it felt like they were the only two people in the entire world.

Tadokoro, what did you think of my magic show? His eyes seemed to say, glinting mischievously as a lopsided grin tugged the corner of his mouth.

You won’t ever listen, will you, Souma-kun? She smiled right back, wiping away the leftover tears on her cheeks, and hurrying down the steps.

“Not just reckless, that was stupid and irresponsible and the worst decision you could have made-“

“My bad, my bad,” he laughed, taking their scolding with good sportsmanship, as he held out an arm in surrender. He played it off well, but Megumi could see the tiredness that radiated from him; the slight slump of his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes. Souma had gone in without a plan, with barely a recipe, betting everything he had left on a shot at proving their worth, and it had taken its toll.

“But seriously.. Thank you, thank you, Yukihira..” Yuuki bawled finally, holding onto Ryōko for dear life as the stress of the day finally caught up to her. The shokugeki challenge, fighting off thugs, saving the dorm; this whole debacle was like something out of a manga.

The corners of his eyes crinkled fondly as he watched Ryōko scold her friend and Yuuki in turn scold Marui for breaking his glasses, finally relaxing as the weight he’d been carrying around for a week released its hold on his heart. Polar Star was theirs. Everyone was safe. He’d pulled off yet another trick– out of luck or sheer audacity, this time, he didn’t want to know.

Megumi took another step forward sensing him slip away again, but he didn’t seem to notice- his mind already moving onto the next question, the next duel, the next everything. What would happen now that he’d won? Who was left to help? He hadn’t heard back from Hayama about the seminar either– had his friend run into some kind of trouble?

Souma’s hand involuntarily tightened on the strap of his bag as he thought about all that was left to do, and she watched him carefully, noticing the way his half-smile dimmed in the span of a few seconds. She couldn’t help but recall the conversation they’d had the night before; how he’d looked almost hurt when she’d admitted she’d lost all hope. It was that same look that had spurred her to take a stance against the fifty thugs that had ambushed the dorm.

Megumi wanted to tell Souma about the siege first, or how they’d defended their dorm against all odds, borrowing baseball bats and shields from Polar Star’s collection of Golden Era memorabilia; she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and berate him for taking on the Ninth Seat of the elite Ten to save her, to save all of them– but some tiny part of her inherently knew what the redhead chef had been waiting to hear all day.

“Souma-kun?”

Souma looked up, eyes clearing as he took her in: the helmet in her arm gleaming proudly as the last rays of sunlight bounced against it and illuminated her soft smile. A warm feeling wrapped itself around his chest like a pair of arms, holding tight enough that he wouldn’t fall– promising him that it was finally time to rest.

He blinked as he glanced around at his friends, their faces flushed gratitude, each one of them fired up to take on whatever Central had in store for the future; the faint spark of hope they’d once lost reignited into a roaring flame– and then back to Megumi, her gold eyes shining with something neither of them were brave enough to name.

“Welcome home.��

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