Story Summary:
Taiga is an empty shell, as his dream and ambition are snatched out of his reach. He returns back to Japan only to be devoured by the enormity of the nation's criminals. Working his way up the food industry, he has finally managed to be without expecting too much, the staff now his irreplaceable family. He would rather spend all his days reprimanding Sawamura for being the idiot he was, watch as Miyuki makes fun of everyone he can without being maimed, and pray that he lasts another hellish day taking over his capricious boss' duties.
That is, until he meets Aomine Daiki again. Only this time, there is no basketball championship to be battled over and he is a far cry from the amazing player Taiga knew him for.
Wretched, damaged and debauched, Aomine shows Taiga all the shadows in his life are more than mere darkened corners. Alive and moving, these shadows are causing a wave of anguish and torment to all those that Taiga has left close to him. Starting with Taiga himself.
Warning(s): Slow introduction. Mild graphic violence at the start, to increase later. Yakuza!AU, so expect the worse and the best possible. Technical terms at the end of chapter if required. Maybe out of character? I apologise in advance for this and maybe grammatical/writing errors.
This is primarily AoKagaAo (that means homosexual relations, yaoi, BL, what have you predominantly), no two ways about it. But it may take a while for that to spring up. There will be other pairings, and I will concentrate on the others, but my focus will be on these two characters. I apologise if you came here just to find that out. I love all the characters-good and bad-of the two manga/anime, but creative license and all that may seem like I don't (again, I do love them!). But go ahead and comment; you may point out something I have missed.
Please do enjoy this! :)
Chapter 1: "Sour Grapes"
There had been a time when basketball solved everything, Taiga thinks, stirring the demi-glace slowly, watching thickened liquid fold around his spoon for a while before he quickly ups the pot and slams it on the counter in front of the waiting line-chef, resuming his task of checking the sauces before they had to be passed on from him, mind elsewhere.
A time when he was a friendless Issei in America and one measly basketball game had formed his niche and a brother to call his own. Long days of heading back to a cold, uninviting home, no one to look up to and shower praises were all replaced when he could get away and be the free wild child that basketball allowed him to be. His tiny niche grew and grew, encompassing all his thoughts and dreams and life that when he had found Alex, Taiga felt what it was to have an older sibling and a mother, even if it was all in one sweaty, bullying, unfeminine package.
"Get the sofrito started," he commanded, his gruff voice loud enough over the sizzling pans behind him and his line-chefs, and he sees one of them getting the ingredients ready for the Brazilian sauce. Taiga glanced over his left shoulder, his neck muscles pulling at the clavicle that still twanged uncomfortably with spurts of pain. "What else do you need, Sawamura?" He called out to the waiter who was hovering out front, lips pursed and looking mildly panicked.
Sawamura Eijun with his dark brown hair smattered with gel into submission, brown eyes that held a tinge of amber lighting brightly, expressive, and full lips that were currently pouted in nervousness. "Um, er, nothing really, shogun, it's just that…" the lithe young man stammered—using a title that sometimes peeved him—voice going small as he ducked his head and twiddled his fingers, "It's just that Azuma…-sama…has arrived."
The kitchen staffs drops into a deathly silence, the only noise coming from the fryers, the boiling pots and the exhaust fans.
"And…?"
Sawamura gulped. "And he's with guests. And he's sitting at Kunitomo-sama's table." It looked like Sawamura had to physically stop himself from yapping by grinding his teeth together after the glare Taiga threw at him. Or he really did not like the man like the rest of them.
Taiga stepped away from the heated stove, wiping his hands quickly on the clean dishrag he swiped from the nearest rack; he walked down the gangway to where Sawamura shuffled his feet. Taiga glanced outside where the reserved corners of the restaurant were dimly lit by candles on the table, and sure enough, a familiar burly man sat at the furthest corner with two other men, one which had a woman demurely sit at the side of.
Taiga sighed, swivelling around and calling out, "Yea he's out there, but he doesn't look like he'll be coming here anytime soon, so move your asses and get those dishes out there now!" The clattering resumed in almost a shock to the roar he let out. To Sawamura, he said, "If you can't deal with him, just…I don't know, send Kanemaru or Tōjō, just don't come in here to hide."
Snickering from behind made both of them turn to see a bespectacled man with his shoulders hunched and a large grin on his face, toque on his head askew stylishly. Taiga's eye twitched at seeing it. "Heh, what's this, Sawamura-chan, can't handle serving your boss?"
Sawamura glared hotly, snapping, "He's not my boss, Bakazuya!" But the man, Miyuki Kazuya, simply continued snickering and hurried off to his station. Taiga watched, one part bored of the routine and another part annoyed, before he sent Sawamura scampering back out to do his work.
At times like this, Taiga misses basketball even more.
He has stopped thinking about the things he could have done differently—practiced set times, not overwork muscles that were to rest, take precautions for the jumper's knee he invariably acquired—and thinks more along the lines of what he can do now that could possibly fill the large gaping hole left in his heart. He spends more time learning his skillset in the kitchen than catching up with what was happening in the basketball world. He was distinctly afraid to see old faces in new forms, rising up in the world without him, and the knowledge would slowly eat him alive until there was nothing of him left or to call his own.
Resuming his work at the sauté station, Taiga spent the rest of the evening calling out dishes as they were ordered, organising the meals and when to let them out, making sure their dishes had the A-OK before they left the kitchen doors, and tiredly making sure Sawamura especially did not mess up in serving the wrong dish to the customers. He had half a mind to call in their expeditor to finish up the dishes and remind the young male who he was to serve to, but the evening had just started.
It just had to be tonight when both the executive chef and his assistant sauté chef were out of the kitchen, leaving Taiga to do both their work.
Sometimes, he really hated being him.
Daiki spat out the blood slowly pooling in his mouth.
He refused to swallow the iron-tasting liquid, gagging on it to stop it from moving down his sandpaper throat; he was beyond dry heaving at this point. Anything that was forced down was getting pushed right back out whether they liked it or not. His throat, parched, scratchy, wherein coughing made the sandpaper column feel longer than it usually was and the blood leaking from the cuts in his mouth cavity did not help to sooth it. He was sure that when he was done feeling disgusted, done being slammed on his aching head, he was just going to sit back and choke on the blood to end his misery.
Breathing hurt, and staying straight, neck bowing completely to drop his heavy head to hang before his chest, chin inches away from kissing it, he puffed out a few gasps, trying to speak. He could not let out his voice.
"Are you sure they got it?" The voice echoed, vicious. "Where's the money at?"
He does not remember where he was taken. Knowing he met up with them earlier in the docks because that was where most of their business was conducted, and not where he could feel smooth metal on his chaffed knees, because the dock was made of concrete. Disoriented from where he was, he tried blinking; eyelids already puffed up and hurting, crusted with the blood trickling from the gash on his temple. His eyes, so dry they could not tear up anymore, blurred and ached, but he forced them to, wanting to know where his grave was going to be.
"Where is it?!" the voice barked.
Daiki struggled to lick his lips, once so soft now split and bleeding down his chin. When he did manage to at least wet it, he tried speaking again, this time getting out "J-jun…has it."
It seemed like that was all they needed, or it was the right answer, he did not know; he did not care past this point. All he wanted to do was rest his tired, blurry head on something soft so that he would not be feeling like he was suffering from vertigo. The occluded front in the space they were congregated in was making him queasy and it was already difficult to pay attention to the questions.
"What is happening here?"
The voice cut in coolly, from a dark corner or so he thought. Everything was submerged in this quiet muted darkness, and the buzz in his head was becoming louder—like a whirring sound going on and on and on. He has never heard it before but it was making him feel good. Calm. Distant. Like if he nodded off now, no one would be able to wake him up.
"Daiki?" someone called him. With tremendous effort, he managed to lift his head, neck muscles protesting the damage, crying in that creaking way of theirs. He finds it funny; his body muscles can cry but the one organ that was supposed to, did not show a drop of the salty liquid. "Why are you laughing?" And it seems he was going crazy too. Oh whatever, like anyone really cared for him now.
He blinks at the blurry image, of a soft smile on the man's face, a dimple on the left cheek and thick eyebrows moving as soft chuckles escaped tired lips. The man opened his mouth, a hand reaching to brush back dark blue hair from his face, coming closer, as he said with a warm smile, "Don't sleep yet, Daiki. C'mon, wake up now, kiddo. Talk to me?" He pleaded.
Daiki stared, eyelids pushed past their limit as he took in the figure almost glimmering before him, sure he had snapped that thin line tethering his soul onto Earth. Wryly, thinking this was it, Daiki rasped out a greeting he had almost forgotten, "Hey…oyaji."
By the time the night was winding down and Taiga sent home the expeditor, he and two other line-cooks were busy cleaning up his station before they started with the next rush of dishes when the call came. Furihata Kōki, one of their waiters that sometimes acted worse than Sawamura, popped his head in quickly to inform Taiga that he was called by the executive chef and his guests, and just as fast exited so that he would evade the worse of the redhead's glare.
Once again, Taiga found himself cleaning up to leave his station, taking the cleaner chef's coat to don on before leaving, patting down the creases. He neared the table, hearing a toned down conversation between his boss who acted more like his wayward son and the two men with him. The woman had left, not at the seat he had seen her occupy, but he did not care as he turned to face the wide face of Azuma Kiyokuni.
"Kagami, here, meet my friends," Azuma introduced the two men, Shirogane Kōzō and Harasawa Katsonari. Shirogane was an imposing man, slicked light grey hair with a few stray strands flitting on his forehead showing off his cold sharp features with a peculiar rap industry standard beard, even though when he smiled at Taiga, he appeared warm and genuine. A cold shiver went down his spine as he bowed at the man, being stared at with narrowed and curved eyes. The other man, Harasawa, was the youngest of the three, black wavy hair that grazed his nape and dark eyes set into a furrowed look and it did not affect his relatively handsome, tight-lipped presence amongst the company he kept tonight.
And here he thought he was going to be complimented without the stare down.
"A pleasure to meet you," he tried not to mumble, hands fidgeting to get back to work and not here socialising with men he could hardly care about.
"Shirogane-san here has shares in Kin to Seidō," Azuma goes on, talking about the restaurant as if he cared much about the establishment. Taiga really did not care and it might have shown in his expression when Shirogane chuckled and waved off the stiff talk.
"The food was lovely, Kagami-ryōri." Taiga blushed at the title given to him.
"Ah, I'm not such a great person," he denied, bowing his head.
"No, he's not simply complimenting you," Harasawa cut in, leaning on the table with his fingers interlocked, resting his chin on them. The slowly dying candles—which Taiga realised he had to get someone to change soon—threw off a heated sheen to those dark eyes that bore into him. He tried to distract himself from the attention, unused to this, but the man did not let up the stare despite clearly knowing Taiga was uncomfortable.
Fuddled and not knowing what he should say besides thank you, he catches Sawamura tiptoeing around so as to not be caught, but Taiga flagged him down. Downtrodden eyes and a pout were aimed at him as he signalled at the candles. Sawamura did as requested, bowing to excuse his interference, and reached out to replace the candles from Azuma's side.
Then Sawamura yelped, quickly snapping his neck to the side to glare heatedly in shock at Azuma. Taiga was surprised too, and unknowing of what made the younger male react in that way, could only stand by dumbly.
Stiffly, Sawamura straightened, bowed with a firm apology, and stalked back into the kitchen, once again using the bustling place as a hideout. Azuma, though, had a mile-wide smirk on his face as he stared after the slim retreating figure.
The other two at the table acted as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, not like Taiga had any hunch. In fact, Harasawa was still staring at him, eyes hooded and contemplative.
"We should sit down one day," the man finally decided to part, "and talk more about how lovely your meals really are."
The innuendo did not miss Taiga as he would have wished. Under the chef's coat, his muscles bunched in a manner that wanted to wipe out the calm, collected look that oozed self-confidence; as though Taiga would follow through with his hidden request.
"I'm not too sure," he was starting to say when Azuma cut in with a boisterous laugh.
"Oh don't worry, Harasawa. Kagami is very good at private functions, too." The large toothed smile curled Taiga's stomach contents, but he was more furious over what the other was implying.
"I'm sorry but I do not do functions out of my contract…sir," and bowing he ground out, "I am glad you enjoyed your meal but I'm afraid my kitchen requires my presence. If you would please excuse me." Not waiting for a response, he straightened and stalked back the way he came.
When he entered the kitchen, his eyes caught Miyuki's who simply turned back to the dish before him, sautéing. Sawamura was nowhere in sight, but Taiga could hardly bother about the one-too-many-screw-loose youth, and stormed to his place without removing the showy chef's coat.
No one questioned him when he banged a clean pot on the burner.
Daiki's eyes snap open to the bright light filtering in through open shoji doors, serene sounds of nature permeating the air. But the rough ball at the back of his throat stopped him from appreciating that supposedly pleasant ambiance. His body screams and aches as he tries to sit up, right side beyond forgiving as he buckles forward at the jolting pain. He almost does not feel the soft hands that guide him to a proper sitting posture, hoping it does not kill him as he tried to cough in a painless way. Wheezing, he looks over his shoulder at the pink mushroom-helmet the person helping him has on their head only to realise that it was actual hair.
Small delicate hands produced a cup of cool water. He tried to greedily gulp it down, but the same saving hands pulled it away, soft murmurs that did not make sense reaching his ears. He felt muffled, surrounded by cotton, and nothing was affecting him.
It was not long before he managed to get his vocal cords strumming, near croaking out "Who are you?" Daiki had stopped years ago asking where he was; sometimes it was best not to know.
A light dusting of red covered the person's t-zone, looking very child-like, and most probably a woman. She was sitting in seiza, knees together, feet tucked neatly and even though she looked like a little tomboy with the high necked t-shirt and shorts, pale pink lips pouted out a "Ah, I'm Kominato Haruichi." The voice was a little low, but it did not matter; not like Daiki could charm a lady the way he was feeling and certainly not one that looked like she was jailbait.
Then the name caught up to his jittery brain.
"You're a boy?" he cried out, surprised, and in the same shock, made his throat scuff like sandpaper, the sudden motion pulling at the bruises to his right side.
"Wait, don't move so much," the boy cried out, reaching forward to restrain him. Daiki would have laughed if those gentle fingertips did not give way to a firm hand wrapped around his left wrist to keep him from checking his side. "You have stitches."
That would explain a lot of things, Daiki thought, mind partially clearing from the haze that was starting to build. He then took the next few seconds to categorise what all body parts hurt and what their ailments could be. He was just really glad he had not been shot as confirmed through some prodding.
Satisfied, he lethargically threw off the covers, recognising he was lying on a futon spread dead centre of a tatami floored room, and pushed off insistent hands that were forcing him to stay in bed.
"If the man does not want your concern," a calm voice spoke, cutting through the fussing, "You should leave him be, Haruichi."
"Aniki," the young male said, looking over Daiki to the corner. Daiki turned, painfully slow, chest tight with anticipation. Another pink-haired male wearing a dark blue gi and a frown on his face stood leaning against the door jamb, eyes shut.
Almost like a fox, Daiki thought, already irritated; he wondered when the other entered the room. He did not hear the shoji door open or pattering of any kind on the tatami, but he was sure this 'big brother' fellow was not there when he woke up.
"Let him leave if he wants to," he walked in further, Daiki tensing in the futon, distinctly aware that he had nothing to protect himself with. "And I'll cut him down from behind."
The fox-faced male grinned.
Author's Note(s):
Demi-glace – In French cuisine, it is a rich brown coloured sauce used in a varied number of ways; by itself or as a base for others.
Issei – First generation of immigrant Japanese (in another country).
Sofrito – A Brazilian sauce of onions, garlic, tomatoes fried in olive oil and then recooked/baked/steamed depending on the dish it is being a base for. Or something like that. Sometimes it can be eaten plain or with the addition of spices and/or herbs, or even made with rice. Really flavourful.
Expeditor – The non-cooking kitchen staff that "decorates" the dishes before they are served. Mostly comes in only when it is the busiest, otherwise not needed. Can double as the "caller" who tells each cooking station what dish needs to be prepared, but the executive chef can do it. Here, Taiga is playing all those roles.
Kin to Seidō - Gold and Bronze. And no, I did not choose Bronze because of the baseball team's name. That was pure happenchance.
Ryōri – Chef. (Sometimes, ryōrichō, meaning head chef). It usually is a great honour to be called this, which is why Taiga feels stifled and embarrassed since he really isn't a real head chef.
[Could you recognise all the characters?]
Um, some characters may pop up or not, that depends on how the story line goes.
Reviews and comments, please? ^^