1.75 years postgrad
Ever since the shitshow with the Noirs at BLUE close to three years ago, Saiba Jouichirou had practically been inducted as an honorary member of the Nakiri family. However, even after Azami's reconciliation with Asahi and the rest of the Nakiris had done wonders to improve the general dynamic in the mansion, family luncheons were still somewhat rare.
And when Yukihira Souma happened to be in Tokyo long enough to attend one of said luncheons with Jou and Erina's side of the family, things took a turn for the very awkward.
It was pitiful to think that he hadn't seen his own son since his graduation — even before, to be honest — but Jou couldn't have possibly guessed how much had changed since then.
"Hey, Souma, when are Nakamura and I gonna get our grandchildren?"
"The hell are you talking about, old man?"
"Christ, kid, you really are stupid. When are you and Erina-chan getting married?"
After moving his chopsticks around in his rice bowl for a few moments of eerie silence, Souma gave a snort. "You're seriously asking me this right now? In front of them?"
Jou frowned. "What's up, kid?"
"Did Nakiri not tell you!?" Souma stood suddenly, his chair skidding backwards. "It's been over a goddamn year and none of you know!?"
They all looked at him quizzically.
"She dumped me two days before graduation! She's been with three other guys since then! How do none of you know this!?"
All Nakiris promptly fell out of their chairs. Jou spat out his sake.
Souma slumped back into his seat. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be yelling."
"She didn't tell me at the wedding," Mana said.
Azami looked a little paler than normal. "So… Saiba-senpai and I… won't have grandchildren in common?"
Simultaneously, Asahi whispered, "I… won't be related to Jouichirou?"
"That is not the problem here!" Mana exclaimed. "Yukihira Souma. What happened?"
"I opened Fountainhead. I put my career over her."
Senzaemon frowned, but he didn't get a chance to question the sheer absurdity of this logical fallacy because Nakiri Erina walked into the dining hall.
"Hey, everyone," she said cheerfully, too absorbed with taking off her coat to notice the red haired chef sitting with his chin tucked to his chest, eyes shut and lips pressed into a tight line.
Once her jacket was on the coatrack beside the door, she finally lifted her head.
"I had some time so I thought I'd drop by—" The words died on her tongue and she stood motionless with her hand halfway in a wave.
"Yo, Erina-chan," Jou said nervously. "Senzaemon-dono said you'd be in Chengdu."
They all watched the muscles flex in Erina's jaw and knew she didn't even hear him. "Hey, Yukihira."
"Sup, Nakiri," Souma answered impassively, then wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up. "Sorry, old man. I gotta go. I have a… um… flight… anyhow, Nakiris, always a pleasure."
Souma swung past Erina with a casual nod and a fake smile.
But Saiba Jouichirou knew, just from hearing his son's footsteps, that Souma had been crushed all over again.
Erina bit her lip in deliberation. Then she bolted from the hall.
"Yukihira! Wait!"
Souma paused with his hand on the doorknob, but he remained facing the wood.
"Wait," Erina repeated.
"How long?" Souma asked.
"Can we talk?"
The vein in Souma's neck pulsed as he finally met her eyes. She hated how lost those chips of gold were; tangled in echoes of reflections and reflections of echoes, no genesis. Mirrors upon mirrors, everything blending together, the thousand emotions behind his eyes impossible to distinguish. "Yeah, sure." He leaned against the double doors.
"Outside," she said.
Souma nodded and fell in step next to her as they walked out in silence. Their hands brushed in the doorway and Erina wanted nothing more than to take it, interlacing their fingers as they'd done so many times… but she didn't.
"So. What do you want?"
You.
Erina made a noise in the back of her throat. "Don't make baseless assumptions, Yukihira. I don't want anything from you."
"My bad. So what do you not want?"
For you to leave me.
Erina said with a forced diplomatic air, "I just think we should make some things clear and come to a mutual agreement. The way we left off at the wedding a few weeks ago left much to be resolved. Are you and I free to see other people now?"
Souma's eyes narrowed. "Are you asking for permission or forgiveness?"
I'm asking, Yukihira Souma, if you'll give me another chance.
"As if I would ask for either. I'm saying that there is nothing between us, so don't lie to the media on my behalf because you think we're still tied together or some sappy shit like that."
Souma gave her a pointed look. "She and I are not dating, and we will never date. Don't be jealous."
Why was it that she, Nakiri Erina, had everything in this world, everything except the one thing she wanted — the place by his side?
"Jealous? Me, jealous?" she scoffed, hating herself more with each syllable.
"Sorry. Was that also… how'd you put it? A baseless assumption?"
Erina took a deep breath. "Listen, Yukihira. You and I are… not—" fuck! "—tied together by a red string or whatever they call it."
"I understand."
"So what I'm saying is that we are under no obligation to not see other people we find attracti—"
"I'm not attracted to anyone else," Souma cut in.
Else? Erina wasn't so sure she wanted to know who the exception was.
"Look, Nakiri. I promise I won't see other people. Not until…" he sighed. "Not until you do first."
Erina closed her eyes. There it was. It was all down to her. In the end, she was the one who would make or break this relationship. She'd broken it once before.
"I promise I won't see other people either, Yukihira. I can't… " stop thinking about you.
Made it once.
Souma gave a thin smile and they hooked pinkies. "Alright then, Nakiri. See you around."
Then he left her and she watched his back recede yet again — but there was hope this time.
2 years
The next time the old social club congregated was at the richest wedding of Japan's culinary sphere to date. CEO of Eizan Capital and CFO of the NTG Eizan Etsuya and monarch of ichibanko distribution Kinokuni Nene were rumored to have amassed a fortune worthy of John D Rockefeller, equal parts new and old money; they were easily two of the wealthiest alumni in Totsuki's history.
Etsuya was hard pressed to pinpoint exactly when he'd fallen for the bespectacled girl who always radiated an amplified Heather Chandler vibe. Looking back on their Elite Ten days, however, he came to realize that he had a general idea of when he'd started caring about what she thought of him.
When any of the eccentric members so much as rubbed the wrong way against his professionalism, he lost his shit and was pretty inclined to flip the table, to hell with respecting elders or setting a good example for the underclassmen.
But when Nene flambéed him with all the force of a single phrase—die—Etsuya had always found himself at a loss of words. This was worrisome indeed, because should this trend also manifest itself in a business negotiation, a single faltering could cancel a deal.
Looking back on it now, he must've cared about her a lot. It wasn't often that something occurred that he hadn't already predicted—damn that Yukihira—but he had never planned for a part of his subconscious mind to somehow always be on that olive-haired girl.
There were little actions over the years; namely him bringing her food in her office at Legislation when she was staying late to finish her work (and Rindou's, when they were second years) while pretending like he certainly did not give half a damn about her.
She hadn't been fooled, not for a single second, and she never failed to rub this in.
In the end, though, maybe some things didn't have to be planned.
Isshiki Satoshi walked into the reception ballroom to find Tsukasa Eishi sitting alone at the bar with a Pisco sour.
Well, he wasn't alone per se—there were ten journalists crowded around him in a futile attempt to extract something newsworthy from the chef—but he ignored them in an extremely uncharacteristic manner. Eishi could typically be counted on to nervously blurt out some insanely philosophical quote, but right now he was dead silent. He regarded the journalists with a tired smile and a half-assed excuse about not wanting to be the center of attention at someone else's event.
When the media hounds gave up and dispersed to find some other source of headline, Satoshi approached the silver-haired chef.
"Tsukassan," he greeted.
"Isshiki," Eishi replied, and nodded at the stool next to him. "Why don't you sit down?"
The bartender set an old fashioned in front of Satoshi upon request and the two former first seats observed each other's silence until Eishi's eyes flickered past Satoshi's shoulder.
Kobayashi Rindou was networking with all her typical elegant chaos, tipping her flute against pretty much everyone else's, providing whatever quotes the journalists desired, and not hesitating to swing her arms around her newlywed kouhais and tease the shit out of them (much to Etsuya and Nene's consternation) whenever she was given the opportunity. But Satoshi was no fool. The electricity in her feline eyes had lost major voltage and it was obvious to those that knew her that she was beyond crestfallen.
"So it's true, then," Satoshi said.
They'd all heard the whispers, seen the incredulous looks. No, no, it couldn't be possible. Tsukasa and Kobayashi? After five years? That was unfeasible.
"Yeah," Eishi sighed, and sipped his drink. "Three weeks ago."
"Sorry to hear that, senpai. Did you… or—"
"It was Rindou." The 90th gen first seat ran a hand through his silver hair. "She said she didn't want to settle. Something about riding out the wave of her career? Can't blame her."
"It's because you started your restaurant, right?"
Eishi nodded. "I won the investment and lost Rindou."
Satoshi grimaced and stared at his rocks glass until a flicker of movement caught his eye. He looked up to see Takumi Aldini and Tadokoro Megumi walking past the bar to join some friends from their generation.
Ah, Tadokoro.
"Tadokoro-san, will you go to the Polar Star garden with me?"
"Huh? Oh, yes! Sure."
They were silent until they were standing side by side in the greenhouse where they used to find solace in their plants, the ripe tomatoes and legumes that she'd continued to foster after he graduated.
It was the night of the 92nd gen scouting gala, and he'd pulled her aside with the knowledge that she had already accepted a position has head chef for the Gritti Palace in Venice.
And if she would have him, he'd move there as well.
Not all who wander are lost.
Isshiki Satoshi was not a man of tradition. He had turned down his inheritance of the Isshiki brand—it was anybody's guess whether or not Nakiri Erina had been inspired by him to do the same a year later—and set out making a name for himself as a guest chef and critic, never settling in one place for long. His family, who had endeavored his entire life to coerce him into marrying Kinokuni Nene…
If only they knew that he'd long since fallen for the blue-haired girl fussing over a droopy little leaf beside him.
And then he confessed…
But she already…
So he nodded and apologized, because he would rather die than lose their friendship—no, that was an irrationality; they would never stop being friends.
But he knew that no matter what, the helpless romantic in his heart would always belong to her.