Let me say up front that I've not yet read the Loveless manga in its entirety. I know - writing fanfic without knowing the material? Sacrilege! I have seen the anime though. ^_^ I guess what I'm saying is if there is anything here that contradicts the canonical story...I wouldn't be surprised. lol
Even without reading the whole manga, though, I am a staunch supporter of SeimeixRitsuka. Totally and completely. And today I had a flash of inspiration concerning the two so...here we are. XD
This is dedicated to a special someone, who may themselves remember an evening spent cooking spaghetti...
Seimei found stairs to be a punishing architectural detail in a home. Yes, they did spare a person distance. He granted that. With a stairway, you could go up or down one floor while traversing half the distance it would take if you were to use an incline. And less distance often meant less time. Fine.
But then you had to go and pay for it in double the expended energy - either in lugging your body up a series of short vertical obstacles, or in dropping yourself down those vertical obstacles repeatedly until you reached the lower level. Seimei was cursing each one now as he descended - and he was finding his vocabulary to be frighteningly lacking. Surely he knew more profanity than this?
When he reached the last stair, Seimei decided to blame it on the nap he'd just taken. His brain wasn't performing at its usual rate of retrieval, processing, and output. Still sluggish. Yes.
At least the house was quiet. Mother and Father were out tonight.
And...
Seimei closed his eyes and turned his head to and fro, catching a scent in the air. A heavenly...glorious...delicious scent...
Seimei opened his eyes again, hardly daring to hope. Could it be?
He inhaled once again, savoring the fragrance in the air. If Ritsuka wasn't cooking tonight, he could at least have these few seconds of possibility. Seimei could sense the sharp, clean smell of fresh parsley, the sweetness of tomato...a spicy, savory aroma that could only be Western-style meat...
Seimei exhaled finally and set his feet to movement again, turning a corner and making his way through the dining room. Just a few more feet to the doorway to the kitchen...and when he eased it open, he might find...
Seimei felt his lips turn up and his mouth widen in a spectacular grin. There was Ritsuka, standing up at the stove - and he was cooking. Cooking spaghetti, just as Seimei had hoped. There was the small pile of uncooked pasta. There was the pot of water coming to a boil on the back burner. And closest to Ritsuka, a skillet full of spaghetti sauce. It was a rich red color color, dotted here and there with small round balls of meat. A few leaves of parsley lounged across the surface.
The dish looked as good as it smelled.
"Seimei!"
Seimei jerked and immediately realized that he'd never announced his presence. He had likely given Ritsuka a shock, skulking as he was there in the doorway. And Ritsuka was more alert than most, even during sleep. Seimei knew from experience...
He didn't bother to conceal the smile still plastered on his face when he said in reply, "I didn't know you were cooking."
Ritsuka's hair was wonderfully disheveled, the straight locks sticking up this way and that. His pointed ears were flattened down the way they did when Ritsuka was frustrated or annoyed. And look...there it was. The narrowed eyes and spots of color on his cheeks.
With quick, aggravated movements, Ritsuka reached down for the apron strung about his waist and wiped his messy hands with it.
"I'm not," he huffed. "I'm only trying to."
Seimei let himself lean against the doorframe and look his fill. There was a name for the way his heart thudded, and if Seimei thought about it long enough, he would be able to give it. But he had made the conscious decision to delay that consideration for now, and only savor the emotion of it.
"I am quite sure you're cooking," Seimei said with a warm smile. "And cooking well. It smells divine in here. I'm convinced that the scent is what woke me from me from my slumber."
Ritsuka turned back to the stove with a pronounced "hmph" and began stirring. After a few turns, he sighed heavily and let the spoon slump limply in his hand.
"I'm afraid to taste it," confessed Ritsuka. "What if I've screwed it up?"
Seimei shook his head fondly. Ritsuka may be only twelve, but he was quite skilled in cooking a variety of dishes - most particularly spaghetti. Seimei already knew it would taste sublime. It always tasted sublime. He never understood why Ritsuka continually doubted himself.
Seimei thought he knew a way in which Ritsuka's mood might be bolstered.
Stepping forward, Seimei asked, "Shall I taste it for you, then?"
Seimei could tell that he'd said the right thing then, though he couldn't say how he knew. It was something in Ritsuka's form that changed - something very subtle, but definitely there. A lift. A brightening. It made Seimei feel pleased with himself in a way that nothing else ever had.
Not looking up from the saucepan, Ritsuka paused for a long moment before mumbling quietly, "If you want to."
Seimei had known Ritsuka since his infancy, and so he knew that "if you want to" really meant "would you please?" and "If you do this, I would be so grateful." So he took another step forward, bringing himself directly in front of the stove and just to the left of Ritsuka.
"I'd love to," said Seimei warmly. He was looking down at his brother, still visibly worried over the spaghetti, coming only as high as Seimei's chest. Ritsuka had taken the time to prepare a dinner for the two of them when rightly Seimei should have been the one to do it. Seimei was older, he was supposed to be one to take care of Ritsuka - not the other way around. But Ritsuka possessed an incredible capacity for care-giving himself, and would often amaze Seimei with his selflessness. Ritsuka let Seimei lounge and nap upstairs while he himself slaved over a hot stove.
Seimei needed to do better.
Ritsuka stirred the saucepan once more, then lifted out a spoonful. He held the utensil up to eye level for a bit, watching the steam waft away. Seimei knew he was doing this so that the sauce would be cool enough for Seimei to taste without burning his tongue. Here again Ritsuka was as giving and considerate as they come.
When the steam no longer rose from the spoon, Ritsuka turned, raising it up to Seimei's lips as he did. The smell of the sauce grew stronger the closer it came. Seimei's mouth watered with every passing second...
He felt like he'd been wanting a taste for ages on end...longing for just a sliver of that flavor. And now here it was - the spoon was against his lips. The only thing to do now was part them slightly...let it slide in...
Seimei felt the wood of the utensil slide forward across his tongue, then back again as Ritsuka pulled it out. He wrapped his lips around the edges as it left, taking care to keep as much of the sauce as he could in his mouth, wanting none of it left when the spoon came out again. Then he swallowed.
Ritsuka was staring up at him with wide eyes...Seimei knew he was anxious. His small frame was only inches away from Seimei's own, fairly vibrating with the desire to please him. Even the tips of his ears quivered impatiently for the verdict.
So Seimei gave it to him, but not in words. He slowly...carefully...brought the corners of his lips up and out, feeling his eyes crinkle at the corners and his teeth reveal themselves. The expression was not at all hard to create. Not at all forced.
And by the way that Ritsuka exhaled, and gave a small, sweet, answering smile of his own, Seimei knew that he'd gotten the message.
It was good.