The name of this story is: Preparing Dinner
Author: Kaida
Fandom: D. Gray Man by Katsura Hoshino
Pairing: None, really. Kanda Yuu and Allen Walker
An author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter. For any additional information, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F. I will respond ASAP.
Let the madness begin.
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It wasn't as if Kanda Yuu was incapable of making his own soba. He was perfectly able to use a pot and an oven, a ladle, a knife (who is he kidding?)…
And he didn't necessarily always take his soba plain.
In fact, before he met a certain Allen Walker, he was perfectly fine with preparing bean sprouts to be simmered in a broth.
Before he met that white-haired, old-man impersonator his conscience didn't twinge every time he snapped off the tails of the sprouts.
Before he met the bottomless pit of a walking, talking, thinking stomach, Kanda did not have any problems with dropping a bowlful of sprouts into the bubbling liquid, burying the vegetables under starchy soba noodles and various other seasonings.
Before meeting his fellow exorcist and maybe-kinda-sorta-possibly-perhaps-a-little friend (even a maybe-kinda-sorta-possibly-perhaps-a-little-more-than-a-friend), the Japanese man would not envision screaming little bunches of Allen Walkers as they were plunged into a liquid heat, merely to be consumed right afterwards.
Now, a year or so after the fateful meeting between Allen's left arm and Kanda's faithful katana, Kanda was still not able to prepare his soba in peace.
Snap…Snap…Snap…
The methodical crack of the bean sprouts being slowly butchered sent shudders up the eighteen year-old's spine.
He gathered up the frail, thin vegetables (they wilted in his hand. He could see it,) and threw them in the rolling water.
Hiss…Ss…Hiss…
Was that little exploding Allens he heard?
No, no. It was just the little exploding moyashi. All hundred and some of them.
(Turn down the heat, turn it down)
Taking the soba noodles, he drowned the sprouts under the thick mass of carbohydrates.
Were the noodles crying? Wait, no. That was the sprouts that were crying.
Great.
When all the broth and noodles and Allens—moyashi—bean sprouts—had been spooned out into a bowl, Kanda grimaced as he took the chopsticks in his hand.
Sullenly, the eighteen year-old exorcist picked out a mouthful of soba and shoved the chopsticks in his mouth, chewing semi-contentedly, the trauma of cooking Allen sprouts disappearing as he took in the smell of soba.
Until he crunched on a vegetable.
"Dammit, Moyashi!"
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Thank you for finishing my second story. Treat me well, and I will respond accordingly.
Again, an author's note will be attatched to the beginning and end of each chapter, and for any suggestions or questions, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.. I will get to you ASAP.
Thank you, again, for your indulgence.
:-Kaida-: