[Author's Note: Welcome to yet another kink meme fill of mine that has yet to be finished. I'll post the 2 and 1/2 parts already written and maybe I'll get around to the rest... someday. Thanks for reading!]
Yao's piercing voice had taken on a particularly frantic quality, and everyone attempted to scurry out of range of the soup ladle he wielded as a sort of homely yet effective disciplinary instrument. Yet even with this latest distraction, not one of the workers dared take their concentration away from the food, for fear of becoming the next target of the head chef's wrath.
At the soup station, Toris ducked his head, not needing to pretend to look busy chopping vegetables. The rounded bowl of the ladle prodded him on the side, and he felt his stomach clenching in distress.
"Where is Francis?" Yao snapped. "Why isn't he at his station?"
Toris cringed, briefly torn between covering for his fellow chef and telling the truth, but quickly settling for the truth in the end. "H-he's taking his cigarette break, Chef Wang."
"We have a party of twelve arriving in twenty minutes, find him at once! And tell him he needs to quit smoking! …Aiyaaa, what did I do to deserve such a crew?" Yao whirled around, muttering to himself in Chinese as he sought out Feliciano, who in a stroke of rare brilliance had fled to the dining room to mingle with the patrons.
Sighing as loudly as he dared, Toris set the knife down and wiped his hands on his apron. Despite the hectic pace and the idiosyncrasies of his co-workers and boss, he actually enjoyed working at this restaurant more days than not. But he also had the sinking feeling that he may be the only sane person employed in the kitchens, and that was not a very encouraging thought.
Toris headed towards the loading area, where Francis could be found lounging against the railing, cigarette held loosely between thin fingers, looking utterly calm, as if he could not hear the head chef screaming for his blood. At least Francis was mostly pleasant and cooperative for an insane person, his only fault being overly proud of his training at Le Cordon Bleu and showing off his undeniable flair for baking whenever he could. That is, whenever he was not on any of his numerous cigarette breaks.
Opening the door, Toris peeked around the corner and smiled shyly at the errant pastry chef.
"Umm, Francis? Sorry, but Chef Wang needs you to get back to work as soon as possible." He cleared his throat as Francis stared at him, then rallied his courage and continued delivering the message.
"If it's not too forward of me to say so, you should really consider quitting smoking. For your health, I mean," Toris added quickly, "not because the boss doesn't want you taking so many breaks."
"Oh, of course, of course…" Francis replied, blowing a stream of smoke into the air almost lazily before directing a warm, brilliant smile at him. "I admit, I had no idea you worried about my well-being, Toris."
"Well, I… someone has to be." Toris felt a blush creeping up his neck under the intensity of Francis' gaze, and suddenly wished, uselessly, that Yao had asked someone else to find him.
"How kind of you. I appreciate the concern, do not doubt that." Flicking the spent cigarette into the trashcan, Francis then drawled, "But if I were to quit smoking, I would need some other… thing to help me… relax." He pronounced "thing" like "sin" and "relax" like "indulge my wicked, decadent cravings," and there was no doubt that he meant to do so.
Toris froze, his smile fixed in place as his brain hastily tried to string some words together into coherent English. "Oh, err, I heard that chewing gum can help the transition," he offered, surprising himself with that almost logical burst of inspiration. "Not that I've tried it myself, but it sounds like it could work. You know, for… y-you…"
Francis glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "Oh, you used to smoke? I would have never guessed."
"My last job was very stressful, believe me." Breathing easier now, Toris leaned against the door, holding it open for Francis. "Let's get back before the boss starts yelling again."
Chuckling to himself, Francis slid by him, and in that brief moment, Toris caught a whiff of tobacco, a hint of sugar and dark chocolate, sparkling with notes of expensive wines, the scent of someone used to the finest things in life. Even after Toris resumed tending to his pots and pans, he found himself longing for the chance to brush by Francis again, as if he could somehow vicariously live out a life of assured luxury that way, by intangible sensations and near touches. Then he sighed and shook his head abruptly, trying to clear his thoughts and focus. It wouldn't do to cut himself because he was daydreaming of things he could never have.
Later that night, the kitchen staff was treated to another showdown between Yao and Francis. It was fairly mild as far as arguments went, since Yao's main complaint with Francis, that he was lazy, was a complaint he saw in everyone except probably Toris. Not only that, but the entire staff had noticed how much more business the restaurant had seen ever since Francis had been hired on as the new pastry chef, and Yao could not afford to lose such a valuable employee, whatever his personal failings may be. However, with the ultimatum given, Francis had no choice but to accede to Yao's demands, and the argument ended as abruptly as it started.
As soon as the head chef flounced out to oversee the waiters, Francis returned to his station, a look of hurt dignity on his handsome face. He noticed Toris staring at him from across the way and smiled sheepishly.
"It looks like I may have to start chewing that gum sooner than I expected, if I want to keep my job." Francis sighed, but in amusement. "I am afraid I will look very silly doing so."
"I'm sure you won't look silly, Francis."
"Nothing like Feliks up front?" France suggested slyly, referring to the bubbly waiter who had been hounded to stop smacking his gum and blowing bubbles during his shift, to a complete lack of success.
"N-no, not at all," Toris replied, laughing somewhat nervously. "We're just friends, you know, Feliks and I."
"Oh? I wasn't suggesting you two were anything but friends."
Blushing, Toris wondered why he blurted that out, to Francis of all people. Even if he were still with Feliks, which he wasn't, that wouldn't have mattered, since everyone in the kitchen and even the wait staff had gotten floury handprints on the seat of their trousers by now, as that seemed to be the way Francis said hello. But it was concerning him how easily Francis disturbed his composure, made him say things he would never tell anyone else with just a little half-smile. How he kept falling for him, knowing what Francis was truly like, all flirty flightiness and shameless self-obsession. And still, Toris could not help worrying about Francis, could not stop himself from thinking and wondering, what if…
"I will do my best to quit on my own," Francis was saying, "but you will have to keep the cigarettes away from me. I will be tempted, so sorely tempted." He wrung his hands fretfully, already anticipating missing his nicotine fix, his eyes searching Toris' face for any hint of sympathy. "You will help me, won't you, mon ami?"
"I know you can do it, you are already on the first step," Toris reassured him. "But if you do need anything else, just let me know, and I will do my best to help."
Francis had already turned back to his work by then, but Toris could hear him murmur, "Thank you, Toris."
Throughout the rest of the evening, Toris felt strangely light on his feet, and he didn't notice that his stomach pains had disappeared until he got back home and reached for his medicine and discovered he did not need it. Setting the medicine bottle back on his nightstand, he curled up under his quilts and fell asleep almost immediately before the usual nightmares could settle in.