Summary: Shuichi wants Hiro to make him breakfast.
G.G.G.
"Hiro wake up. Hiirooo... Hirohirohirohirohirohiro-"
"I'm awake!" grumbled Hiroshi Nakano as he was abruptly woken by his best friend Shuichi Shindou one day in the beginning of their Japan-US tour. He tried to block out Shuichi's voice by covering his ears with his pillow, but the body of the boy, which was bouncing on his bunk in the trailer was less easy to ignore.
Hiro sighed and finally relented to the pink-haired teen, and opened his eyes.
"Hi Hiro!" the tone was much too cheerful for Hiro's mood after such an awakening, but he took it in a stride.
"Hey Shuichi. What's up?"
"I'm hungry." whined Shuichi, pouting.
Hiro blanched.
"Well go to the cafeteria then. I'm sure they'll give you some breakfast. You're the reason they're all here after all." Hiro said patiently.
"I can't. The Chef is sick and everybody's busy and they told me I had to do it myself and you know I can't cook and I'm hungry Hiro!" the last part came out in a whine, and Shuichi pouted again. "Please? Pretty please?" his eyes were wide and innocent, "Hiro?" he said in a small voice, lip trembling.
"Gah!" Hiro exclaimed, covering his face with his pillow, "Alright! Fine! I'll make you breakfast!"
"Yay!" squealed Shuichi and quickly disappeared out of the trailer, practically bouncing.
Hiro rolled his eyes and got out of bed. Shuichi'd be back for him if he didn't come, and he got whinier the more hungry he got. Not the most favorable scenario in Hiro's opinion. So he crawled out of bed and wiggled into the jeans from the day before, pulling at the ends of his night t-shirt, deciding that he did not have the strength to change it for another and made his way out of the trailer, pulling on his sneakers and combing his fingers through his tangled hair.
He stopped right outside the door when the blazing middle-day sun blinded his eyes. Hiro groaned and massaged his temples, trying to hide his face from the sun as he quickly walked over to the kitchen facilities.
He hadn't slept well enough to face this. He'd been up late the night before, not doing anything special really, just playing his guitar and watching as K struggled to write something or other. K had been quite adorable, pulling at his blonde hair and insisting that he didn't even notice that Hiro was there–though he kept glancing up at him every few minutes. Hiro didn't consider it a secret that he was more than a little infatuated with K, it was simply that nobody knew about it. He didn't boast it, he didn't deny it. It was a feeling and it was just there if anybody would ever care to stop and take a look.
Of course, nobody did. There were always other things happening. Mostly those things had to do with Shuichi. The boy was erratic and you never knew what mood he would be in the next second. As such, people tended not to focus on the calm and collected Hiro, and that suited him just fine. He was not the person to flaunt himself–since he became famous he even had people to do that for him–and he was sure he'd go a little crazy too if he got all the publicity Shuichi did. As it was, Shuichi was a greater risk for his sanity than the media. The boy was always up to something which he would then later need help to get out of. Hiro rubbed at his eyes as he pushed the kitchen door open. It was devoid of life–a blessing in his current state of mind.
He let the door slide shut behind him and went over and opened the fridge, eying its contents. It was huge. Boxes and packages of groceries stapled on top of eachother on cold metal shelves and he shuddered, goose-pimples rising on his arms. He was definitely too tired to make surprise trips into unfamiliar walk-in refrigerators. Finally he spotted a carton of eggs and drew a breath of relief. He could make an omelet. Right. And milk... There to the right. He quickly grabbed what he needed and made his way out of the cold room and into the welcoming warmth of the rest of the kitchen.
He whipped the ingredients together in a bowl and turned on the stove. He put a frying pan on the stove and poured the egg mixture in it when it was warm enough. He fried it on middle temperature, moving the coagulated mixture up with a wooden butterknife he grabbed a hold of when randomly rummaging through the top cutlery drawer next to the sink.
It was very warm as he stood there, waiting for the omelet to get done, warm and silent and Hiro relaxed, felt his mind shut down more and more, easing him into a lazy drowsiness. He shook his head. He was cooking. It would not do to fall asleep in Shuichi's breakfast. But he was so tired. And it smelled very nice in the kitchen. Very very nice. But it wasn't omelet smelling nice.
That was all the warning he had when a voice spoke in his ear.
"Hello Hiro-kun."
Hiro jumped, lost his grip on the knife which fell to the floor with a clatter and almost fell face forward on the stove. Almost, because strong arms had wrapped around his waist, holding him away from the hot metal. He slowly caught the breath which had rushed out of him at the shock of the surprise, and turned his face to the man still circling him with his arms.
"Morning K."
Hiro's heart was thudding in his chest, no longer because of being startled but for the arms holding him and the firm body pressed close against his back. K began to pull back, his hands sliding softly over Hiro's stomach and then settling at the hips.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
The words were spoken into Hiro's ear and he struggled not to shiver.
"Erm, that's ok, I was just, I mean, I didn't think..."
K grinned. "Uh-huh. So what are you making?" he leaned forward, peering over Hiro's shoulder, his entire body radiating warmth to Hiro where it was positioned close to his back. He felt himself flush with colour, and hoped that K would think it was from the heat of the stove.
Hiro exhaled. "Omelet. For Shuichi. He said the chef was sick."
K made a noncommittal sound and stepped away. Hiro suddenly felt very cold where he stood in the heat from the stove.
"It seems to be almost done. I'll go get him."
Hiro shrugged and turned away as K slipped out of the door. He stood quietly, just staring at nothing ahead of him, the thick smell of cooking eggs filling his nostrils. He vaguely noted that the eggs would be burned soon. Ah well, Shuichi would have to live with it.
G.G.G.
