Salt, Pepper, and Eggs

09:15 - Polar Star Dorm, Totsuki - Third Year

Yukihira Soma is not her type. And yet, even as she watches him work, his leanly-muscled arms glistening from sweat and the soft morning sun, Nakiri Erina is ripe with the realisation that she is turned the hell on.

She doesn't like it.

He glances up at her with a grin mid-rake, beads of sweat running down the sides of his face. His hair is a mess, the damp crimson tendrils dipping low into his golden eyes. She imagines herself running her hands through them – then turns around so quickly her head spins.

"Don't like what you see, Nakiri?" The man in question trudges up behind her. It's not hard to imagine the shameless smirk on his face. "I know I'm not nearly as shameless as Isshiki-senpai, but I don't think I'm that bad."

"I'm not thinking of you at all." She busies herself with Tadokoro's breakfast onigiri, wrapping one in seaweed and shoving it in his general direction.

"Is that why you turned around fast enough to dislocate your skull?" Yukihira takes her offering, then ambles into her line of vision, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small towel. There's dirt on his light, loose shirt, and it's one she recognises from three weeks ago.

It was the night they'd gotten word on their third year Elite Ten placements. Alice, Ryo, Hayama, and The Aldinis had shown up at the dorm, as had the rest of their friends. It was a raucous party, with food and fighting a-plenty. Hayama and Ryo had gotten into some kind of unofficial Shokugeki over their third-and-fourth placings.

Much later, when Alice had dragged Ryo away by the ear, and when Hisako had persuaded Hayama to go swimming in the nearby lake, she'd found herself alone in a closet with Yukihira, with nothing between them to hold back months of pent-up frustrations and sexual tension.

Then, it had been all too easy to blame Ryoko's rice juice for the way his hands had slid beneath her blouse. For the way hers had tugged his shirt up, and then off over his head.

She doesn't have the luxury of that excuse anymore, though, and the asshole knows it. Still, they haven't discussed the incident, so she's not about to let on that he's just about melted her knees at this point.

"Just eat your damn onigiri. We have more work to do."

"Aye aye, Captain." He jerks his head towards the precious foil-wrapped pack on the wooden picnic table. "That from Chef Barber?"

"Yeah." They'd sent word to the New York-based Chef, requesting seeds for his famed high-carotenoid peppers. "Yuki's hens are ready, so as soon as we get the first peppers, we can add them to the feed. Then we wait for the eggs."

"Should be interesting." Yukihira grins, finishing off the remains of his breakfast. "Egg-based cuisine is kind of our thing, isn't it?"

She glares at him. "It's not always about you, you know."

"That isn't really about me, though." Yukihira pours a cup of tea and nudges it towards her. "It's more about us."

She barely has time to register his words. For his part, Yukihira seems to treat that little confirmation - that there's an 'us' at all - with zero reverence. Classic Yukihira - everything is simple. She hates to admit it, but it's a little heartening to hear the confirmation from the man himself - the state of limbo they'd been in following their little tryst isn't exactly her cup of tea.

"What are you talking about?" She grits her teeth, then snatches up her seeds. "There isn't really an us, unless you think one drunken night is enough to win my affections."

"I know exactly what shoujo mangas you read, but keep going, love." Yukihira tosses aside his towel before reaching for her hand, his laugh a light, amused thing. "We've got all day for you to pretend you barely tolerate me."

"You're such a piece of shit. Couldn't you have brought this up three weeks ago?" Try as she might, she can't really bring herself to be angry at him. The thought is somewhat disconcerting. She settles on being huffy instead.

Yukihira lets out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his head with his one free hand. "I wasn't really sure where you stood. But I sorta figured, you know - it doesn't matter where you stand. You still deserve to know how I feel." A pause, as he meets her eyes. "And I do. Want to be with you, that is."

She feels her scowl fade. When he leans over, his lips barely grazing her own, she allows herself to let go - to sink into his warmth.

When she can feel her legs again, and when breathing becomes less difficult, she manages a response. "Fine. We're a couple. Don't make a big deal out of it."

He kisses her again. "No promises."