Surprise drabble / late birthday present for @luctui!

She’d suggested it on the assumption that the man would take it as a joke and brush it off, all the while brimming with the hope of him accepting, but she hadn’t expected the answer she got: “I know a place.” They were enemies now despite how close they’d been in the past, so there was no logical reason for it; of course; life didn’t always follow strict logic.

As Kyouka entered the building, she kept a close eye on her surroundings to ensure no one was following her, and that diligence kept up all the way up the stairs, down a hallway, and to a specific door. She passed one person, a stranger, who kept his head down and paid her no mind. Somehow, she was familiar with the sort of place it was, although the thought didn’t bring up happy memories. But she had a mission, so she suppressed the negativity and shifted her bag in order to raise a hand to knock twice before entering the room before her.

The room had subpar lighting–bright enough to see fine, but dimmer than it should’ve been–and bare walls. Only light furnishings filled the space: a couch, a couple chairs, a table, and a lamp that, at first glance, appeared to be burned out. The only space that had more than the bare minimum was the kitchen, where various pans and other supplies rested on the counter because the cabinets were cracking. 

It wasn’t exactly high class, but it was inconspicuous and suited the purpose. No one would guess its occupants. Inside, the girl met the eyes of her companion. Chuuya, who had turned to face her as she entered, offered a grim expression. “Are you alone?” She nodded. “And you’re sure no one followed you?” Another nod. They both stood still for a moment as though to listen for any suspicious sounds. “In that case, let’s get started.”

At that, he turned his attention to a bag that rested on the table next to him and began pulling out various vegetables. Kyouka, in turn, padded over to him, lifted her own bag into the air, and unceremoniously dumped a few boxes of noodles out before setting the container aside and pulling a few sheets of folded paper out of her kimono. A quick survey of the materials informed them that all preparations had been completed.

                                                        The task at hand? Learn to cook.

They had decided to start off easy with a simple noodle dish. As Chuuya prepared the pan on the stove, Kyouka read out, “’Put the vegetables in the water as it boils.’” All went well for a while. Since they both had clean knives on them already (the ones they found in the drawers weren’t usable), they used those to cut up the vegetables into suitable chunks before dumping them in the water and turning on the stove.

While they waited, idle chit-chat filled the room, some answered “how have you been’s” even though neither could go into too much detail on daily matters; after all, they were on opposing sides, and despite the get together, neither were intent on betraying their current organisations. So they forwent the work talk. After a few minutes, Chuuya asked, “How do we tell if it’s boiling?”

The papers Kyouka held didn’t say, but– “Stick your hand in it.” And he, apparently trusting her words over common sense, did exactly that before pulling it out with a loud curse, clutching his hand to his chest. It took exactly seven seconds for the girl to add the most important detail. “…is what Dazai-san said.”

Chuuya half-jumped half-hobbled over to the sink, where he turned on the faucet (as cold as it could get) and stuck his hand under the running water. Once the burning sensation subsided, he turned back to her with a serious expression, somewhere between anger and concern. “Kyouka, what all’s that bastard been telling you?”

By pure logic, the girl figured that Chuuya and Dazai had known each other: they were in the mafia at the same time along with that they were both high ranking. She didn’t know exactly what their relationship had been–or was currently–though his phrasing gave her a hint. Padding over to his side, she lifted his hands to take his, inspecting it to make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt. “He says a lot. Most of it doesn’t mean much, I think.” It would take too long to repeat everything she’d ever heard come out of her coworker’s mouth.

“You shouldn’t listen to him,” Chuuya insisted. There seemed to be some sort of urgency in his words that the girl hadn’t expected. He really hated Dazai, didn’t he?

She blinked. “Nothing?” Well, what an awkward situation to be in, then. She saw Chuuya as an older brother, someone precious to her who made the years of being in the mafia easier somehow, but Dazai was important to her too as one of the main reasons she hadn’t lost faith in herself when it mattered the most. Two of the people she admired most and they apparently didn’t have a good relationship. “But some of it’s good.”

Chuuya snorted in a way that clearly expressed the words, “Nothing good has ever come out of that bastard’s mouth,” but since it was Kyouka, he was willing to listen for her sake.

“He said that just because I’ve hurt people doesn’t mean I can’t help them,” the girl elaborated, and she didn’t need to explain the importance the notion held to her. They both knew already.

A sizzle broke through the conversation, and they looked back at the stove to see water bubbling up over the side of the pan and spilling over, only to evaporate rapidly on the hot surface below. Considering they hadn’t gotten together to argue or talk about Dazai, they went back to the task at hand. Kyouka grabbed a box of noodles, opened it, and poured it into the boiling water while Chuuya picked up a wooden spoon to stir the concoction with. They worked in relative silence until the food was ready to be dished out into mismatched bowls.

Attempt one turned out a failure. The vegetables were overcooked, the noddles were undercooked, and both could taste traces of dirt probably originating from the tap water they used. A second try was needed, as well as a cleaner under-the-radar hideout.