All's Fair in Love and Kitchen 1/4
Title: All’s Fair in Love and Kitchen
Beta: snowing_inside
Pairing: Jin/Kame
Rating: R
Summary: When a cooking reality show promises to change the lives of its participants, neither Jin nor Kame really believes it might be possible. Then they meet in the kitchen.
A/N: Written for pinkynishi @ pt_pirates earlier this year, but I totally forgot to post it also here. This is what happens when you mix two cups of Kame’s Another Sky documentary, a pinch of Jin’s Valentine’s cupcake baking video, an old CTKT episode, and spice it with Gordon Ramsey’s Hell’s Kitchen (something that I've never really watched besides approximately fifteen minutes of youtube cuts while researching for this fic). Hopefully you’ll enjoy the final taste!
original post || AO3
“Thirty minutes left, guys, go, go, go!”
The announcement resounds around the kitchen like an alarm signal, setting the already fast pace into a jittery flurry. Thirty minutes still sounds like a lot of time, but it’s not. Not when all food suddenly seems like it’s gotten a life of its own, more so a very stubborn life; meat in frying pans is not the right shade of pink, evenly cut pieces of vegetable still look undercooked, and shit, something is burning. There’s not enough pre-heated plates-
-
“How is that even possible?”
“You’ve had only one task, Yuya, goddamn!”
“Don’t shout at me! I’m not here to be shouted at!”
-
Suddenly shouting is all everyone does though. It’s a new form of communication, and for once the raised voices aren’t because of the pots and pans clattering all around.
It’s thirty minutes left and the kitchen is about to implode in chaos. Two teams fight their battles in the opposite corners, each group grounded to their set of stoves and counters covered with used utensils, ingredients, bottles and boxes, crumpled paper wraps, as well as dangerously forgotten knives sharp enough to do some serious damage if someone accidentally brushed a hand over whatever is so carelessly covering their blades. The danger is a part of it, though. It’s one more thrill, one more figurative adrenaline shot.
No one has time to give it much thought anyway.
The countdown is merciless.
“Fifteen minutes!”
That’s the tough part. The last minute adjustments. The nagging feeling there’s still too much left to do. It’s gnawing at the back of everyone’s mind, sharp teeth and irritating persistence.
Fifteen minutes turn into ten, ten quickly become five.
-
“I really hate this, you know? When they start reminding us about the clock ticking. Because even though you know you still have time to finish whatever you’re doing, the reminder messes with your head.”
- Yuya
-
“It’s annoying. It really is. I mean, I personally don’t have a problem with it. I’m used to working under pressure, but I can see how people might be affected. To be honest, I hope they will be affected. You make mistakes when you’re stressed, right?”
- Yamapi
-
“… and then it was like, five minutes left, and I glanced up and the other team was in just as much a hurry as we were, so I thought, good, we’re not doing badly. Kame, you got this. You know, that sort of feeling.”
- Kame
-
“Yamashita is so full of shit. Waltzing around here and acting like he’s some Golden Boy of culinary art.”
- Ryo
-
“It’s the best moment for plating up now, by the way. Fifteen seconds, ladies and gentlemen. Ten seconds.”
Then it’s over.
“And stop!”
The kitchen goes silent.
The contrast between two seconds ago and now couldn’t be more striking.
Somewhere in the back a knife hits the floor with a loud clatter, but no one dares moving to pick it up. Once the timer runs out, they aren’t allowed to touch anything; it might be considered cheating.
“Kamenashi, Kuroki, your teams should be ready to present the dishes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All ready.”
Kame is standing behind the counter at his end of the kitchen, while the rest of his team quickly gathers around him. They are all still bouncy with the last moment rush of adrenaline, and the anticipation hanging in the air helps nothing to calm them down. Kame’s apron is clean, wrapped tight around his lean body and narrow hips, hiding a shirt and dark, tight jeans underneath. His hair is a little curly from sweat and the damp air in the kitchen. When a camera zooms in on his focused face, Kame avoids looking into the lenses. It’s easier if he pretends the cameras don’t exist.
Things are different for the leader of the opposite team. Kuroki Meisa could’ve as well just walked out of pages of a kitchen catalogue; the cameras love her, and she knows all her best angles. She presents them well, too. She’s more than just a pretty face though. She’s proved herself to be a tough opponent, too, be it in team or individual contests.
Kame has nothing but respect for her, professionally.
He’d much rather see her mess up and be out of the show for good, though.
Two weeks ago during the first round of cooking, Ryo underestimated her and earned himself a welcome to hell humiliation.
Just because she looks like she’s barely left high school, or like her place should be a catwalk rather than a kitchen, doesn’t mean she is a weak opponent.
This time Ryo is on her team, along with Nakamaru and Jin. Now when they’re all lined up behind their counter, Kame needs to only turn his head a little right to get a good look. Ryo and Nakamaru each stand by Meisa’s side while Jin is keeping himself a bit aside, like he’s not a part of the team at all. Kame spotted him and Meisa work together just moments ago, though, and in spite of all the rivality in the air, the two of them together are a hell of an enemy. They know their way around the kitchen, even though their approach couldn’t be more different.
Luckily, Kame feels confident about his dish. Currently sitting under a silver serving cover in front of him. It’s simple and delicious.
It’s French.
It’s no secret that the almighty one-man judge and jury of Kitchen Wars has a weakness for French cuisine. However, just like with so many things in life, there’s a catch to that, too. Many people before tried to play the card in the past and were shot down-Takizawa Hideaki loves French cuisine and for that simple reason doesn’t tolerate mistakes. If you try to impress him and fail, there’s no mercy.
Kame has confidence in his skills though.
He didn’t spend five years cooking in Paris for nothing.
It’s only his respect for Takizawa that doesn’t allow him to get overly smug. Confidence is good-humility even better.
He feels Meisa’s glare across the room, and pays back as good as he gets.
“Alright, shall we?” Takizawa invites the team leaders over to a fully set table. A snow white cloth, full set of silverware, a vase with flowers in the middle.
Three chairs; two for Kame and Meisa, one across the table for Takizawa.
They bring the covered plates along, handling them with care as if their lives depended on what is under the silver covers. In a way, it’s true.
As has become a habit, Meisa walks barefoot. It doesn’t stir much of an attention anymore. During the first round she wore high heels and the whole kitchen had to deal with her complaints and pain, until Takizawa stepped in.
-
“Are these a part of your regular kitchen uniform?”
“No, sir. I just didn’t expect-this.”
“You didn’t expect cooking here? Do I have a surprise for you.”
“Of course I expected to cook-”
“Right. Because this is a kitchen, not a fashion show. Now off with the shoes and back to work.”
-
Takizawa looks at Meisa, then at Kame. As always, his face is blank. Handsome, but unreadable.
Kame would never admit aloud that he has a little crush on that guy. A tiny I-want-to-be-like-him-when-I-grow-up crush. Following in Takizawa’s footsteps was one of the reasons why Kame went to Paris in the first place. Now he’s back and he’s sitting in front of his cooking idol. Yeah, it’s definitely a crush, a professional and platonic one, but a crush nonetheless. Or maybe the butterflies in his stomach all of sudden are trying to shout at him that he should’ve chosen a different dish. French cuisine was such a bad idea.
“Let’s take a look at what we got here.” Takizawa points at the plate in front of Kame.
Kame wills his hand not to tremble when he takes off the cover and reveals the outcome of the last approximately forty-five minutes of hard work.
“Blue cheese souffle.” It’s puffed up and golden, sitting in a small cup in the middle of a plate decorated with fresh salad leaves and warm slices of white bread. Kame’s today’s teammate Yuya, while completely forgetting about pre-heating plates, did remember to sprinkle the souffle with chopped parsley in the last minute. The air is instantly filled with rich scent of the cheese combined with the softer scent of bread.
Kame can’t remember how to breathe when Takizawa picks up a fork and dips it into the souffle, breaking through the delicate crust. He’d like to look over his shoulder to see the rest of his team. They’re probably short of breath now, too.
The moment feels endless.
Kame is going to be sick. It’s the same feeling like years ago when he got off the plane in Paris, knowing only a bit of French and having two work interviews the following day. Sometimes the memory of that is so surreal that he needs to pinch himself as a reminder that his life has really happened the way it has. He’s come a long way, and this right here should be a natural next step to take. His mom must be right-it’s an opportunity like no other. A door to a bright future; he just needs to push a little harder to open it. Needs to keep pushing until it opens. Only if his body remembered how to work. How to expand his chest and fill his lungs with air. Some air would be really nice now…
Takizawa’s face is still hard to read, and it changes only a little when he finally puts the fork down and nods. “Nice.”
One word, but it breaks through Kame’s anxiety and a mix of air and relief rushes through Kame’s system. Now he does glance over his shoulder. Yuya, Maki, and Yamapi are smiling like idiots, and Yamapi sends him a thumb-up.
“Thank you.” Kame ducks his head with a thankful nod.
A simple ‘nice’ from a legend like Takizawa goes beyond words.
-
“Going into this with French cuisine was a risk. I knew it, and the others knew it too. We had only a moment to discuss what kind of a dish to prepare today, and I think Yamapi was two steps from killing me when I suggested souffle. It worked out, though, so I’m glad. I’m happy.”
- Kame
-
“Kame is the best of us. Oups, I probably shouldn’t have said that, right? But it’s true.”
- Yuya
-
“I wanted to kill him. I still do, kind of. Yes, it was a success in the end, but I still want to kill him. I think I’ve lost five years of my life because of the stress he put us through today.”
- Yamapi
-
“I don’t remember the last time I felt so nervous! It’s strange, because it was a rather easy dish to make, but really, I was nervous. That’s it.”
- Maki
-
“Now, Meisa, what did your team prepare today?” Takizawa turns to Meisa, his eyes falling on the round cover sitting on the table in front of her.
“Seared scallops with sweet onion purée,” she says. Is it only Kame’s imagination or does her voice lack the usual undertone of confidence?
Kame’s critical eye checks the perfectly grilled nuggets of scallops lying in honey colored purée and decorated with a leaf of something he can’t recognize, and it’s going to gnaw at him for a few days, or until he finds out what it is.
It’s clear that to an untrained eye, Meisa’s plate looks fancy. Something about the small portion of scallops artistically arranged in the middle of a big, shiny white plate.
Takizawa agrees, because the first thing he says is, “That’s a very nice presentation.”
“Thank you,” Meisa says quietly.
Okay… so maybe it’s not just Kame’s imagination.
He tries to look at the plate more critically, but fails to see any issue.
“Don’t thank me yet.” Then Takizawa reaches over the table and pokes one of the scallops with a fork, bathes it in the purée, and finally tastes it. The sweet scent of the onion purée caresses Kame’s senses, his mouth waters, and in any other scenario he’d be already holding a fork and diving in for a scallop himself. That’s how much he’s curious about the dish Meisa and her team prepared. Then Takizawa swallows and nods. By Kame’s side, Meisa practically melts into the chair.
The relief comes too fast.
Takizawa isn’t done yet. “The purée works really well with the scallops. The onion is very delicate there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Meisa repeats, because there’s not much else to say at the moment.
“I just don’t understand why it’s served cold.” The rest of the scallops ends up dumped into a bin under the table. The garbage can of shame. That’s what they call it. The plate goes too. Dish presentation doesn’t mean two shits if the taste is off.
The next thing Kame knows, Takizawa is reaching for his plate to present it to the camera as the winner, in all its already used glory, the crust broken, the soft insides massacred with the fork, the decorative leaves scattered on the plate and also the table.
He didn’t expect it a minute ago at all. To be better than Meisa.
Meisa with her perfectly served scallops and the herb on the top that Kame didn’t recognize, her fancy hotel restaurant background, shoes kicked away somewhere behind the kitchen counter. Meisa who doesn’t like losing. For a moment there, Kame was really worried that the souffle might not have been the best idea after all.
Now he’s hardly holding back the thrill rushing up his spine.
“Kamenashi, good work. You and your team win,” Takizawa announces.
-
“This was a disaster. I don’t know what else to say.”
- Meisa
-
“In the end it was a team decision, so we as a team have to take responsibility.”
- Nakamaru
-
“I don’t-actually, I do know how it happened. The scallops were done too early on, because we, as a team, had some troubles with communication, and someone felt left out for a moment there… and started frying the damn scallops. If something like that happened in my kitchen, I’m telling you, heads would roll. It’s unprofessional. If I can’t count on you to do your damn job, then why the hell are you even here?”
- Ryo
-
“I said, ‘guys, I’m putting the scallops on,’ and got a green light from Meisa. So I put the damn scallops on.”
- Jin
-
A couple of hours later, the kitchen is dark. Empty. Pots and pans are sleeping in their racks, waiting for tomorrow. Meisa’s team spent most of the evening doing dishes and cleaning the place. Task for the losers.
No one really goes back to the kitchen outside the filming schedule. People want to take a break from the room and the pressure that just being in there brings up.
Kame likes the kitchen all quiet and drowned in night shadows, though. No limlights, no cameras, no shouting or people radiating nervous vibes. During the day there’s always someone curiously checking what he’s doing, waiting for his tiniest screw up. If he messes up, everyone will know. With so many talented, professional cooks around, the only chance to shine is when someone else fails.
Like earlier today when Kame’s team won because the other team didn’t do their best.
One wrong step and the situation could’ve been reversed.
Kame is not an idiot. He knows that.
He slips around the main, huge fridge that stores fresh produce every filming day. Sometimes it’s a mix of random things and the task for the day urges them to work with whatever they find, other times they are asked to make a list of ingredients necessary for meals they plan to cook. Today it was the first alternative. Tomorrow morning they’ll learn the next step.
The first two weeks, Ryo, a sushi chef from Osaka, complained about the inpredictability of the tasks they face during the contests. Yamapi, a first class chef from a posh restaurant in Tokyo had a few comments on that, and the whole episode ended with pans flying across the kitchen, Maki hiding under a table, and Jin playing an involuntary knight in white armor who dragged a kicking and cursing Ryo out of the room.
The thing that stuck in Kame’s memory the most wasn’t Ryo’s colorful vocabulary of curses or how bad Yamapi was at aiming, but Jin’s face when he walked into the middle of that mess, completely unaware of what was going on, and without too much thinking did the one thing that helped stopping it all. Pounced on Ryo and got him away, giving Kame an opening to get to Yamapi and talk to him until the guy calmed down.
Neither of the girls wanted to be on either Ryo or Yamapi’s team for a week.
A week that was, however, so packed with other incidents that a few days later it was near impossible to form teams without any kind of animosity.
Nakamaru works the best with Yuya, even though at the first sight they seem like a day and night. While Nakamaru radiates this calm feel of distinguished stability, Yaya is a bouncy ball of extravert energy, but somehow they balance each other well. Nakamaru is the head chef in a small Tokyo restaurant, while Yuya, from what Kame understands, is a patissier-no one quite understands how he’s managed to keep up with everyone else so far.
Jin sort of tolerates Nakamaru, but can’t stand Yuya. On the other hand, he clicks with both Yamapi and Ryo-not when those two are in the same room, though, which is almost always, given the fact the whole group lives on the same floor and spends most days in the same kitchen.
Kame quietly walks around, fingers brushing along the edges of the polished counters. He still hasn’t quite figured out what he’s doing here.
Just three months ago his life looked differently. He had everything planned out.
Then the plans got shattered and he didn’t know what to do next… until his family decided for him, and suddenly he was here. On Kitchen Wars.
The TV crew and the fact people will recognize his name from now on, even the prize-if a miracle happened and he actually won-are a nice cherry on the top of what already having been picked to participate, means. Being here means he’s one of the best people in the business. It’s something no one can take away from him anymore.
If anything, he’s at least getting his confidence back.
He rounds the third row of counters; his spot today was at the far end of this one…
… and he stops. His fingers that have been gently tapping the counter are now pressed against the smooth, cold metal.
“Jin?”
He didn’t expect to find anyone down here at this hour, a little past midnight, and even if he did, it wouldn’t have been Akanishi Jin. In his baggy pants and a too big T-shirt, with his dark messy hair and pretty face. Damn, that jaw is probably sharper than any knife Kame has held in his hand during his whole professional life. He itches to touch it to find out.
“What are you doing here?”
His voice startles Jin and there’s a thud when the back of Jin’s head collides with the counter leg behind him.
“Shit.” A hiss, followed by clumsy struggling to get on his feet, but in the end Jin gives up and leans back against the counter. No doubt Jin is as surprised as Kame is that there’s someone else in here tonight. “I didn’t expect… anyone, actually.”
“Same here.”
Kame walks closer.
He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Jin much yet. Jin usually hangs with Ryo, or Yamapi, or somehow manages to do magic and hang with both of them at the same time, while Kame keeps to himself. He always has; not counting the kids from his high school baseball team, but in hindsight, most of them were idiots and he would’ve done better if he hadn’t tried so hard to impress any of them. Having to change oneself for the mere purpose of making people like you is stupid and doesn’t work well longterm.
Lesson learnt.
He thought he had it all figured out. Then the acceptance letter for Kitchen Wars appeared in his mail…
Now he can kind of turn it on and off, but it takes lots of energy.
Kame gets along with Yamapi, but he politely refuses each and every invitation to have a night out.
He’s also not sure how to hang out with Jin-not without making an idiot of himself.
“I guess I’ll leave you alone then.” Kame makes a vague gesture with the hand that’s not temporarily fused into the counter top.
Jin huffs. “Nah, plenty space around here.”
Kame hesitates, considers finding himself a different corner, one of the other aisles between the counters, but then slides down and sits on the tiled floor just a couple feet away from Jin. It would be stupid to sit elsewhere now that they know of each other. “Thanks.”
They are quiet for a while. Kame doesn’t know what to say, and Jin doesn’t look like he wants to talk. A sleeping kitchen isn’t for talking; it’s one of those liminal spaces where things could become surreal really fast. Like underground train stations in the middle of the night, or long forgotten amusement parks, empty hospital hallways, an old room with a flickering light just before the bulb breaks. Those places aren’t real. People are different there.
Even Kame, who is usually an expert at polite small talks. He doesn’t say anything now.
Looking, however, is a different thing, and Kame can’t help himself. His eyes keep flicking to Jin’s direction all the time.
It’s not just the jawline of quick death that makes Jin the most attractive guy Kame has ever met. It’s his casual self-confidence and drive. The fact that he’d rather show what he’s capable of than babble about it into the camera.
While Kame’s crush on Takizawa is professional and Kame’s intentions are very platonically set on his dream to someday have a chance to prepare a three course dinner alongside Takizawa, making a mess in the kitchen and presenting the perfect meals to guests at the tables outside, his interest in Jin is more along the dirty lines of making a mess of Jin in a kitchen until they both are flushed and breathless, and in the best case scenario, also blissfully spent and sticky all over.
Two weeks ago, Kame believed the dream about cooking with Takizawa was the most impossible wish.
Now he is sitting here on the floor and thirsting over some stright guy who would probably kick his ass if he ever found out the content of Kame’s thoughts.
Kame pulls his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them.
It’s just thoughts. Not so innocent in their imagery, but where reality is concerned, thoughts are safe.
Thoughts that aren’t acted upon can’t ruin people’s careers and lives.
“Probably not gonna help you much, but the scallops today looked amazing,” Kame says quietly, but in the silence of the kitchen his voice sounds loud anyway.
Jin’s legs are comfortably stretched. He’s picking at the denim of his jeans with a finger. It’s not something he needs to concentrate on, but he doesn’t look up anyway. “It was shit.”
“It couldn’t be.” Kame straightens up his back without realizing doing so. He wants to look serious when he tells Jin this. And his flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt with a cartoon turtle holding a baseball bat that he got from his older brothers for his last birthday can hardly be considered a trust-invoking outfit. That is how much he didn’t expect to run into anyone at this hour, otherwise he wouldn’t be wandering around in his night clothes. “When the lid went off and I saw it, I thought I’d lose.”
“Too bad food isn’t just for the eye.” Jin scoffs and picks at the invisible dust on his pants again.
In the dim light, Kame is a bit mesmerized by Jin’s hand. Pale skin and long, beautiful fingers. Whenever Jin seasons food with his fingers, Kame sure as hell stalks the program site later on to watch the moment in a close-up. And decency be damned, he does have a few ideas about what else those fingers could be doing.
He catches himsef staring, and swallows a frustrated groan.
This is getting out of hand. Really fast.
“Well, I bet if it was served properly, it would taste as great as it looked.” And it damn well looked like a piece of heaven.
“I don’t know, there was some improvization going on, and obviously, no one tasted it before the final gong.” Jin’s head thuds against the counter again. Frustration over something that can’t be done again and better is the worst. “Meisa threw everything away afterwards. I think she will never want to hear about scallops again in her life.”
“That sucks.”
“She’s in a seaside restaurant, so yeah.” Jin’s hand finally stops. He smoothes the denim with a flat palm.
“Hey, do you remember the improvized bits?” The question is out of Kame’s mouth before he gives it a rational thought. Or any thought at all.
“Huh?” Jin looks at him.
“I’m still rather intrigued by the scallops.” This smells like either a moment of embarrassment or a potential to get them into some serious troubles. Alarms in Kame’s head go off, warning him to step back in the line because the stakes are too high and his mom expects him to fight and get as far as possible on this show. The bigger exposure to public he gains, the better chances for a potential employer to notice him. Somewhere out there must be a kitchen that would appreciate his devotion and hard work, his skills and the sheer truth that he always dives into everything on 100%, even if it were to knock him off in the end.
It all is shifted on a side track now when Kame is face to face with a brooding Jin.
A guy Kame doesn’t even know that well.
It shouldn’t be worth risking his future for.
Even if it’s a future that Kame-possibly-doesn’t care for that much. He didn’t ask to be here; not really.
“I don’t think there will be, like, scallops-round-two,” Jin mutters.
“There could be now.”
Jin’s eyes widen. They look as surprised and alarmed as Kame feels inside. He has literally no reason to be doing this.
Except the happy gleam in Jin’s eyes. Jin’s full, seductive lips turning a little upwards from the pout that settled on them before Kame even arrived in the kitchen. Jin’s jaw relaxes. Something in Kame’s voice must have sounded genuinely convincing.
Kame shouldn’t be seeing all these minor changes in Jin, but he is. Which means he’s got either a hawk sight he didn’t know about before, or he is obsessively focused on Jin.
“It’s almost 1AM and you want to cook and fry scallops.”
Good, it’s not a question.
If Jin was asking, Kame might chicken out. When said aloud, it does sound like a really bad idea.
A bad idea that has them both on their feet the next moment, though. They rummage through the well stocked fridge, taking out everything they’ll need. Jin recites the list of ingredients that his team used earlier during the show off the top of his head. In no time they have everything spread out on the nearest counter and the stove is fired up.
It’s amazing how Jin remembers every single detail about the temperature and times, measurements, as well as step-by-step directions.
The two of them quickly fall into a synchronized dance around the stove. It’s a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle in the afternoon. No stressful countdown, no irritating sense of competition in the air. No cameras. No one will judge the final dish; hell, it doesn’t even need to be arranged on a plate. If they wanted, they could dump everything into one pan and dig in. They keep the conversation light, mostly fueled by their mutual interest in food and sports, even though Jin admits being a junk food trash while Kame can name a list of French fancy foods off the top of his head, and while Jin only roughly guesses the rules of baseball, Kame is an avid fan.
Their professional backgrounds couldn’t be any more different, too.
“How’s work in that family run restaurant of yours?” Kame asks, genuinely curious.
Jin’s just put the scallops on a pan, and his posture is a little too stiff. Like he’s focused too much. Like his brain has switched into a torture mode, reminding him that the last time he was cooking this, it didn’t end well.
For someone who likes to keep to himself, Kame is surprisingly good at talking and distracting.
“Not bad. I mean, it pays bills.” Jin pokes a scallop with a spoon and turns it over. The surface is still too pale. Nowhere near done then.
“And you’re the chef there?”
Something about that question makes Jin laugh. A short, rather desperate huff of laughter. “I’m lucky if my dad allows me to touch the stove. Sometimes it feels like I do everything but cooking. During summer, there are days when I’m out in the streets handing out flyers.” It’s bitter and hurt and soaked with disappointment.
Kame doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, though he’s not sure what the right thing to say might be.
He’s been watching Jin closely over the last two weeks. Sure, his interest started with Jin’s attractive face and broad, sharply cut shoulders when Jin arrived on the set in a white tanktop the first day, but slowly evolved into curiosity about who Jin is as a person, beyond the face Jin shows to the cameras.
For the cameras, Jin has created this broody, quiet persona who doesn’t like to talk much and has a wicked, kind of mean sense of humor that is generally directed against Nakamaru. Though Nakamaru doesn’t seem to mind and often plays along, so Kame doesn’t see anything bad in it. The thing is, Kame knows it’s a made up Jin-character that may or may not have traits overlapping with real Jin. With cameras around, Jin would never hide under a kitchen counter in the middle of the night because an earlier mess up doesn’t let him sleep. Made-up Jin would huff and puff, and shrug the problem off like it’s not his problem at all.
Kame knows it, even though he hasn’t had a chance to talk to Jin about any of it. In fact, they haven’t interacted much at all so far.
However, Kame has a persona made up specifically for the cameras, too.
All of them do.
Because the audience of Kitchen Wars doesn’t care about a Jin who works his ass off in a family restaurant and rarely gets a chance to even touch the real cooking.
Neither would they care about the heaps of insecurities Kame has so skillfully locked up under his shiny armor of a successful sous chef. The bits and pieces of his personal life that he occasionally allows to slip are nothing but spicy baits to intrigue the audience.
Kame stops stirring purée.
“Maybe, but you’re here now. And from what I’ve seen when I watch you-”
Jin forgets about the scallops that are slowly gaining a nicely golden crust. “You watch me-?”
“-when I watch you, you are bloody damn talented.” It’s not an understatement.
At the very beginning when they were asked to make a signature dish to introduce themselves, Jin risked everything by presenting a burger. He stood against Yuya and sure, Yuya with his duck breast on sweet walnut purée couldn’t have possibly lost the round, but the point is that Takizawa didn’t completely humiliate Jin either. In fact, as it turned out, it was likely the first time ever in the history of the show when someone dared presenting a burger and got a nod instead of vividly demonstrated disgust.
“Right,” Jin scoffs. “You all have a background of fine dining and working overseas. Ryo’s sushi won a damn prize. And Meisa, Meisa is a regular on a cooking channel. Do you want to know what is the closest I get to a cooking channel? When I turn on the TV we have in the corner of the restaurant while I wipe floors in the evening.”
Yeah, that doesn’t go as Kame imagined.
It sucks because if there’s someone who should be in a kitchen, it’s Jin.
“You’re here now and, I mean, even if you don’t win-” He stubbornly ignores another one of Jin’s scoffs. “-the show will give you enough exposure to move on. I’m certain there’s a kitchen somewhere out there that has already laid an eye on you and it’s only a matter of time before they contact you.”
Jin shrugs.
Kame catches the jerky movement from the corner of his eye and forces himself not to imagine Jin doing it while wearing a tanktop. Or not wearing anything.
Jin remembers the frying pan and quickly pokes the scallops again. Almost done.
“Wanna know what I think? I think they carefully picked each one of you from a pile of fancy chef applications, and then just randomly raked through trash and my name got stuck between their fingers. I’m like, a wild card, or some shit.” Jin turns off the heat and stirs the content of the pan a little too roughly. One scallop nearly jumps over the edge.
“That’s bullshit.” Kame quickly checks the purée. Also done. Great. “Time to serve?” he asks promptly to get Jin’s mind away from the dark place he’s unintentionally thrown the other into.
Jin finds two plates. They don’t voice it expressively, but the visual side of a meal is about as important as the taste, and just because the visual presentation went smoothly for Jin’s team earlier and this time it’s all about the taste, having things nicely arranged on a plate can’t do any bad either. It’s also a reminder why this midnight cooking fest is happening in the first place.
Jin decorates each plate with a tiny leaf of lemon balm, and Kame wants to laugh.
“Damn, I didn’t think of that one.”
“Improvization,” Jin says.
They briefly consider taking the plates to the table, but that would give them another part of the kitchen to clean afterwards, and at 2AM and with a lingering reminder of having to be up and ready in only a few hours, eating fancy served scallops while leaning against a messy kitchen counter sounds like the better choice.
Moreover, after all the previous cleaning Jin had to do as a punishment for losing the contest today, he is a firm believer in kitchen mess minimalism now.
Kame pulls himself up to sit on the counter opposite from Jin.
They look at each other and dig into their steaming plates. The smell is overwhelming, sweet and spicy, and this time Kame can clearly recognize the lemon balm sitting at the top. Now when he knows what it is, it’s not hard to see it, too. Damn.
Jin pokes the scallops on his plate with a fork the same way he did with the spoon a moment ago when they were still in the pan. Like he’s gathering courage to take a scoop and have a taste.
Kame has no such qualms. He stuffs his face and burns his tongue in the process, because the food is hot and he’s gobbling it down like he’s got only a couple moments of life left and he wants to die with his stomach full and taste buds happy. He’s not a graceful eater. From the huge spoonfuls he’s able to fit in his mouth to the blissful moans he makes.
He swallows and licks his lips.
Honey undertones of the purée stick to his palate. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he must have at some point, because now he’s blinking them open, adjusting to the dim light of the kitchen. Jin’s watching him with curious amusement.
People tend to have that kind of reaction when they see Kame enjoy food.
That’s what he does. He doesn’t just eat-he enjoys food.
“This is amazing,” Kame says, gesturing at the plate with the fork. “I admit I was a little skeptical about the honey, but man-okay, now I feel really bad that we won the round.”
Jin’s amusement immediately morphs into a snort. “I fucked up. It was fair.”
“You’ll do better next time.” Kame puts another spoonful into his mouth. A perfect balance of tastes explodes on his tongue, and there it is again, that moan.
Jin doesn’t takes his eyes off him.
-
The next three days whizz past in a busy turmoil of preparations and cooking and pointless heated arguments that spring out of the blue and die out just as suddenly, and it could be easy to pretend none of that happened if all the shouting and boiling blood weren’t caught on the cameras forever.
It escalates into tears and a bowl of marinated mussles dumped on the floor.
By the time they are back in front of the cameras, Kame is exhausted before the filming even starts. One glance over his shoulder to Jin’s spot two rows away and it’s clear the guy wants to be anywhere but where he is now, too.
-
“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Hey, none of that. I told you, you’re a great cook and you deserve to be here just like the rest of us.”
“Right, because you’ve been watching me-”
“I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“… Cooking is not the problem though. I know I can do good. Better than most of you even-”
“Well, that’s the spirit!”
“I just fucking hate the drama, you know? I don’t care how fake and exaggerated it is. It’s exhausting nevertheless.”
-
Jin has been paired with Yuya for this round and Kame is sort of surprised they have both made it through the prep part in one piece. Yuya is a chatty little thing that doesn’t know when to keep quiet. Kame didn’t particularly mind when the two of them worked together last week, because at least they have baseball to talk about. Yuya trains a team of high schoolers in his free time, and Kame had a chance to learn the training methods of today and compare them with the exhausting drill he went through in his teens. He used to get home so worn out he’d fall on bed face down.
Getting through a particularly busy service can be just as exhausting though.
Takizawa walks in, all dressed up, his dark hair smoothed back. He looks like a movie star, or an idol. Like someone who doesn’t get his hands dirty too often.
Looks can be deceiving though.
Kame’s hair is tucked under a baseball cap tonight. He tried to tie it up with a band last time, but his hair is too short to stay in a pony tail or a bun.
“Alright, people,” Takizawa says, eyes skimming over the kitchen. He lingers on Kame a moment longer, and it’s almost like Kame can feel the incoming impact before the punch hits him. He swallows, straightens up his back. “Is this a baseball match or a service, Kamenashi?”
“A service, sir.”
Takizawa regards him doubtfully for a moment, but to Kame’s relief, he doesn’t poke the wound he’s just shot into Kame’s already trembing confidence. “Glad to hear you know that.” Then it’s a closed chapter.
There won’t be any more remarks about Kame’s cap tonight.
For now, the best Kame can do is to not move and let the moment pass. It helps. Maybe he’ll become invisible. Maybe the cameras will find a more interesting object to film.
“Today is your lucky day, ladies and gentlemen. You know why? Because I won’t be the one having to taste the often questionable magic of your culinary skills. We’ve got people for that. Do notice that I’m calling them people, not guinea pigs, so try to treat them as such. Understood?”
A chorus of, “Understood,” comes as a reply.
“Great. The kitchen is officially open for the night,” Takizawa announces without further hindering.
There are actual guests outside the kitchen door tonight. People dressed in tux and fine dresses. People who won’t shout at them and won’t laugh into their faces if something goes wrong, but who will eat and talk into the cameras about how their steaks aren’t medium rare enough, or how their vegetable is undercooked, how the presentation of their salmon isn’t appealing enough. People who eat in the finest restaurants, and maybe some of them even ate in Paris and Kame cooked for them and there were no complaints, but there could be tonight.
Kame and Meisa are on the seafood duty.
Ryo went into a fit when they drew the cards assigning the pairs to the kitchen stations for the evening, and Maki wasn’t the one getting the seafood one out of the ballot for them. Instead, the two of them are responsible for appetizers.
-
“I think Ryo was disappointed that I didn’t get the seafood card.”
- Maki
-
“I fucking hate appetizers. I have people who make that shit in my kitchen. I wasn’t even the one drawing that shit. If I was the one going to ballot, I bet I’d have pulled out the seafood card.”
- Ryo
-
The service is fast-paced as ever. It’s loud and stressful, and Kame kind of wants to know how many people are out there, because the kitchen is swarmed with orders and everyone seems to be a bit behind, which helps nothing with keeping the atmosphere cool and friendly, and functioning.
He and Meisa have found their pace, at least.
They occasionally bump into each other, sure, because it’s their first time working together just the two of them and they aren’t exactly well-coordinated yet, but they’re getting there with each new order tossed their way.
There’s shouting and a fight about to break out somewhere at the other end of the room, but Kame is focused on arranging two plates of calamari in red wine and tomato sauce that have been supposed to leave the kitchen at least five minutes ago. Five minutes feel like nothing here, but to people in the restaurant waiting for their food, five minutes is a lifetime. Busy with his job, Kame doesn’t have time to look up and see what’s going on. He doesn’t want to know, anyway. He can hear Maki’s choked voice and that gives him most of the information he may need. Maki doesn’t get really mad like this over nothing. She’s one of the few people on this shit-show who doesn’t play the angry card. She probably wouldn’t even know how to do it.
( part 2)
Beta: snowing_inside
Pairing: Jin/Kame
Rating: R
Summary: When a cooking reality show promises to change the lives of its participants, neither Jin nor Kame really believes it might be possible. Then they meet in the kitchen.
A/N: Written for pinkynishi @ pt_pirates earlier this year, but I totally forgot to post it also here. This is what happens when you mix two cups of Kame’s Another Sky documentary, a pinch of Jin’s Valentine’s cupcake baking video, an old CTKT episode, and spice it with Gordon Ramsey’s Hell’s Kitchen (something that I've never really watched besides approximately fifteen minutes of youtube cuts while researching for this fic). Hopefully you’ll enjoy the final taste!
original post || AO3
“Thirty minutes left, guys, go, go, go!”
The announcement resounds around the kitchen like an alarm signal, setting the already fast pace into a jittery flurry. Thirty minutes still sounds like a lot of time, but it’s not. Not when all food suddenly seems like it’s gotten a life of its own, more so a very stubborn life; meat in frying pans is not the right shade of pink, evenly cut pieces of vegetable still look undercooked, and shit, something is burning. There’s not enough pre-heated plates-
-
“How is that even possible?”
“You’ve had only one task, Yuya, goddamn!”
“Don’t shout at me! I’m not here to be shouted at!”
-
Suddenly shouting is all everyone does though. It’s a new form of communication, and for once the raised voices aren’t because of the pots and pans clattering all around.
It’s thirty minutes left and the kitchen is about to implode in chaos. Two teams fight their battles in the opposite corners, each group grounded to their set of stoves and counters covered with used utensils, ingredients, bottles and boxes, crumpled paper wraps, as well as dangerously forgotten knives sharp enough to do some serious damage if someone accidentally brushed a hand over whatever is so carelessly covering their blades. The danger is a part of it, though. It’s one more thrill, one more figurative adrenaline shot.
No one has time to give it much thought anyway.
The countdown is merciless.
“Fifteen minutes!”
That’s the tough part. The last minute adjustments. The nagging feeling there’s still too much left to do. It’s gnawing at the back of everyone’s mind, sharp teeth and irritating persistence.
Fifteen minutes turn into ten, ten quickly become five.
-
“I really hate this, you know? When they start reminding us about the clock ticking. Because even though you know you still have time to finish whatever you’re doing, the reminder messes with your head.”
- Yuya
-
“It’s annoying. It really is. I mean, I personally don’t have a problem with it. I’m used to working under pressure, but I can see how people might be affected. To be honest, I hope they will be affected. You make mistakes when you’re stressed, right?”
- Yamapi
-
“… and then it was like, five minutes left, and I glanced up and the other team was in just as much a hurry as we were, so I thought, good, we’re not doing badly. Kame, you got this. You know, that sort of feeling.”
- Kame
-
“Yamashita is so full of shit. Waltzing around here and acting like he’s some Golden Boy of culinary art.”
- Ryo
-
“It’s the best moment for plating up now, by the way. Fifteen seconds, ladies and gentlemen. Ten seconds.”
Then it’s over.
“And stop!”
The kitchen goes silent.
The contrast between two seconds ago and now couldn’t be more striking.
Somewhere in the back a knife hits the floor with a loud clatter, but no one dares moving to pick it up. Once the timer runs out, they aren’t allowed to touch anything; it might be considered cheating.
“Kamenashi, Kuroki, your teams should be ready to present the dishes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All ready.”
Kame is standing behind the counter at his end of the kitchen, while the rest of his team quickly gathers around him. They are all still bouncy with the last moment rush of adrenaline, and the anticipation hanging in the air helps nothing to calm them down. Kame’s apron is clean, wrapped tight around his lean body and narrow hips, hiding a shirt and dark, tight jeans underneath. His hair is a little curly from sweat and the damp air in the kitchen. When a camera zooms in on his focused face, Kame avoids looking into the lenses. It’s easier if he pretends the cameras don’t exist.
Things are different for the leader of the opposite team. Kuroki Meisa could’ve as well just walked out of pages of a kitchen catalogue; the cameras love her, and she knows all her best angles. She presents them well, too. She’s more than just a pretty face though. She’s proved herself to be a tough opponent, too, be it in team or individual contests.
Kame has nothing but respect for her, professionally.
He’d much rather see her mess up and be out of the show for good, though.
Two weeks ago during the first round of cooking, Ryo underestimated her and earned himself a welcome to hell humiliation.
Just because she looks like she’s barely left high school, or like her place should be a catwalk rather than a kitchen, doesn’t mean she is a weak opponent.
This time Ryo is on her team, along with Nakamaru and Jin. Now when they’re all lined up behind their counter, Kame needs to only turn his head a little right to get a good look. Ryo and Nakamaru each stand by Meisa’s side while Jin is keeping himself a bit aside, like he’s not a part of the team at all. Kame spotted him and Meisa work together just moments ago, though, and in spite of all the rivality in the air, the two of them together are a hell of an enemy. They know their way around the kitchen, even though their approach couldn’t be more different.
Luckily, Kame feels confident about his dish. Currently sitting under a silver serving cover in front of him. It’s simple and delicious.
It’s French.
It’s no secret that the almighty one-man judge and jury of Kitchen Wars has a weakness for French cuisine. However, just like with so many things in life, there’s a catch to that, too. Many people before tried to play the card in the past and were shot down-Takizawa Hideaki loves French cuisine and for that simple reason doesn’t tolerate mistakes. If you try to impress him and fail, there’s no mercy.
Kame has confidence in his skills though.
He didn’t spend five years cooking in Paris for nothing.
It’s only his respect for Takizawa that doesn’t allow him to get overly smug. Confidence is good-humility even better.
He feels Meisa’s glare across the room, and pays back as good as he gets.
“Alright, shall we?” Takizawa invites the team leaders over to a fully set table. A snow white cloth, full set of silverware, a vase with flowers in the middle.
Three chairs; two for Kame and Meisa, one across the table for Takizawa.
They bring the covered plates along, handling them with care as if their lives depended on what is under the silver covers. In a way, it’s true.
As has become a habit, Meisa walks barefoot. It doesn’t stir much of an attention anymore. During the first round she wore high heels and the whole kitchen had to deal with her complaints and pain, until Takizawa stepped in.
-
“Are these a part of your regular kitchen uniform?”
“No, sir. I just didn’t expect-this.”
“You didn’t expect cooking here? Do I have a surprise for you.”
“Of course I expected to cook-”
“Right. Because this is a kitchen, not a fashion show. Now off with the shoes and back to work.”
-
Takizawa looks at Meisa, then at Kame. As always, his face is blank. Handsome, but unreadable.
Kame would never admit aloud that he has a little crush on that guy. A tiny I-want-to-be-like-him-when-I-grow-up crush. Following in Takizawa’s footsteps was one of the reasons why Kame went to Paris in the first place. Now he’s back and he’s sitting in front of his cooking idol. Yeah, it’s definitely a crush, a professional and platonic one, but a crush nonetheless. Or maybe the butterflies in his stomach all of sudden are trying to shout at him that he should’ve chosen a different dish. French cuisine was such a bad idea.
“Let’s take a look at what we got here.” Takizawa points at the plate in front of Kame.
Kame wills his hand not to tremble when he takes off the cover and reveals the outcome of the last approximately forty-five minutes of hard work.
“Blue cheese souffle.” It’s puffed up and golden, sitting in a small cup in the middle of a plate decorated with fresh salad leaves and warm slices of white bread. Kame’s today’s teammate Yuya, while completely forgetting about pre-heating plates, did remember to sprinkle the souffle with chopped parsley in the last minute. The air is instantly filled with rich scent of the cheese combined with the softer scent of bread.
Kame can’t remember how to breathe when Takizawa picks up a fork and dips it into the souffle, breaking through the delicate crust. He’d like to look over his shoulder to see the rest of his team. They’re probably short of breath now, too.
The moment feels endless.
Kame is going to be sick. It’s the same feeling like years ago when he got off the plane in Paris, knowing only a bit of French and having two work interviews the following day. Sometimes the memory of that is so surreal that he needs to pinch himself as a reminder that his life has really happened the way it has. He’s come a long way, and this right here should be a natural next step to take. His mom must be right-it’s an opportunity like no other. A door to a bright future; he just needs to push a little harder to open it. Needs to keep pushing until it opens. Only if his body remembered how to work. How to expand his chest and fill his lungs with air. Some air would be really nice now…
Takizawa’s face is still hard to read, and it changes only a little when he finally puts the fork down and nods. “Nice.”
One word, but it breaks through Kame’s anxiety and a mix of air and relief rushes through Kame’s system. Now he does glance over his shoulder. Yuya, Maki, and Yamapi are smiling like idiots, and Yamapi sends him a thumb-up.
“Thank you.” Kame ducks his head with a thankful nod.
A simple ‘nice’ from a legend like Takizawa goes beyond words.
-
“Going into this with French cuisine was a risk. I knew it, and the others knew it too. We had only a moment to discuss what kind of a dish to prepare today, and I think Yamapi was two steps from killing me when I suggested souffle. It worked out, though, so I’m glad. I’m happy.”
- Kame
-
“Kame is the best of us. Oups, I probably shouldn’t have said that, right? But it’s true.”
- Yuya
-
“I wanted to kill him. I still do, kind of. Yes, it was a success in the end, but I still want to kill him. I think I’ve lost five years of my life because of the stress he put us through today.”
- Yamapi
-
“I don’t remember the last time I felt so nervous! It’s strange, because it was a rather easy dish to make, but really, I was nervous. That’s it.”
- Maki
-
“Now, Meisa, what did your team prepare today?” Takizawa turns to Meisa, his eyes falling on the round cover sitting on the table in front of her.
“Seared scallops with sweet onion purée,” she says. Is it only Kame’s imagination or does her voice lack the usual undertone of confidence?
Kame’s critical eye checks the perfectly grilled nuggets of scallops lying in honey colored purée and decorated with a leaf of something he can’t recognize, and it’s going to gnaw at him for a few days, or until he finds out what it is.
It’s clear that to an untrained eye, Meisa’s plate looks fancy. Something about the small portion of scallops artistically arranged in the middle of a big, shiny white plate.
Takizawa agrees, because the first thing he says is, “That’s a very nice presentation.”
“Thank you,” Meisa says quietly.
Okay… so maybe it’s not just Kame’s imagination.
He tries to look at the plate more critically, but fails to see any issue.
“Don’t thank me yet.” Then Takizawa reaches over the table and pokes one of the scallops with a fork, bathes it in the purée, and finally tastes it. The sweet scent of the onion purée caresses Kame’s senses, his mouth waters, and in any other scenario he’d be already holding a fork and diving in for a scallop himself. That’s how much he’s curious about the dish Meisa and her team prepared. Then Takizawa swallows and nods. By Kame’s side, Meisa practically melts into the chair.
The relief comes too fast.
Takizawa isn’t done yet. “The purée works really well with the scallops. The onion is very delicate there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Meisa repeats, because there’s not much else to say at the moment.
“I just don’t understand why it’s served cold.” The rest of the scallops ends up dumped into a bin under the table. The garbage can of shame. That’s what they call it. The plate goes too. Dish presentation doesn’t mean two shits if the taste is off.
The next thing Kame knows, Takizawa is reaching for his plate to present it to the camera as the winner, in all its already used glory, the crust broken, the soft insides massacred with the fork, the decorative leaves scattered on the plate and also the table.
He didn’t expect it a minute ago at all. To be better than Meisa.
Meisa with her perfectly served scallops and the herb on the top that Kame didn’t recognize, her fancy hotel restaurant background, shoes kicked away somewhere behind the kitchen counter. Meisa who doesn’t like losing. For a moment there, Kame was really worried that the souffle might not have been the best idea after all.
Now he’s hardly holding back the thrill rushing up his spine.
“Kamenashi, good work. You and your team win,” Takizawa announces.
-
“This was a disaster. I don’t know what else to say.”
- Meisa
-
“In the end it was a team decision, so we as a team have to take responsibility.”
- Nakamaru
-
“I don’t-actually, I do know how it happened. The scallops were done too early on, because we, as a team, had some troubles with communication, and someone felt left out for a moment there… and started frying the damn scallops. If something like that happened in my kitchen, I’m telling you, heads would roll. It’s unprofessional. If I can’t count on you to do your damn job, then why the hell are you even here?”
- Ryo
-
“I said, ‘guys, I’m putting the scallops on,’ and got a green light from Meisa. So I put the damn scallops on.”
- Jin
-
A couple of hours later, the kitchen is dark. Empty. Pots and pans are sleeping in their racks, waiting for tomorrow. Meisa’s team spent most of the evening doing dishes and cleaning the place. Task for the losers.
No one really goes back to the kitchen outside the filming schedule. People want to take a break from the room and the pressure that just being in there brings up.
Kame likes the kitchen all quiet and drowned in night shadows, though. No limlights, no cameras, no shouting or people radiating nervous vibes. During the day there’s always someone curiously checking what he’s doing, waiting for his tiniest screw up. If he messes up, everyone will know. With so many talented, professional cooks around, the only chance to shine is when someone else fails.
Like earlier today when Kame’s team won because the other team didn’t do their best.
One wrong step and the situation could’ve been reversed.
Kame is not an idiot. He knows that.
He slips around the main, huge fridge that stores fresh produce every filming day. Sometimes it’s a mix of random things and the task for the day urges them to work with whatever they find, other times they are asked to make a list of ingredients necessary for meals they plan to cook. Today it was the first alternative. Tomorrow morning they’ll learn the next step.
The first two weeks, Ryo, a sushi chef from Osaka, complained about the inpredictability of the tasks they face during the contests. Yamapi, a first class chef from a posh restaurant in Tokyo had a few comments on that, and the whole episode ended with pans flying across the kitchen, Maki hiding under a table, and Jin playing an involuntary knight in white armor who dragged a kicking and cursing Ryo out of the room.
The thing that stuck in Kame’s memory the most wasn’t Ryo’s colorful vocabulary of curses or how bad Yamapi was at aiming, but Jin’s face when he walked into the middle of that mess, completely unaware of what was going on, and without too much thinking did the one thing that helped stopping it all. Pounced on Ryo and got him away, giving Kame an opening to get to Yamapi and talk to him until the guy calmed down.
Neither of the girls wanted to be on either Ryo or Yamapi’s team for a week.
A week that was, however, so packed with other incidents that a few days later it was near impossible to form teams without any kind of animosity.
Nakamaru works the best with Yuya, even though at the first sight they seem like a day and night. While Nakamaru radiates this calm feel of distinguished stability, Yaya is a bouncy ball of extravert energy, but somehow they balance each other well. Nakamaru is the head chef in a small Tokyo restaurant, while Yuya, from what Kame understands, is a patissier-no one quite understands how he’s managed to keep up with everyone else so far.
Jin sort of tolerates Nakamaru, but can’t stand Yuya. On the other hand, he clicks with both Yamapi and Ryo-not when those two are in the same room, though, which is almost always, given the fact the whole group lives on the same floor and spends most days in the same kitchen.
Kame quietly walks around, fingers brushing along the edges of the polished counters. He still hasn’t quite figured out what he’s doing here.
Just three months ago his life looked differently. He had everything planned out.
Then the plans got shattered and he didn’t know what to do next… until his family decided for him, and suddenly he was here. On Kitchen Wars.
The TV crew and the fact people will recognize his name from now on, even the prize-if a miracle happened and he actually won-are a nice cherry on the top of what already having been picked to participate, means. Being here means he’s one of the best people in the business. It’s something no one can take away from him anymore.
If anything, he’s at least getting his confidence back.
He rounds the third row of counters; his spot today was at the far end of this one…
… and he stops. His fingers that have been gently tapping the counter are now pressed against the smooth, cold metal.
“Jin?”
He didn’t expect to find anyone down here at this hour, a little past midnight, and even if he did, it wouldn’t have been Akanishi Jin. In his baggy pants and a too big T-shirt, with his dark messy hair and pretty face. Damn, that jaw is probably sharper than any knife Kame has held in his hand during his whole professional life. He itches to touch it to find out.
“What are you doing here?”
His voice startles Jin and there’s a thud when the back of Jin’s head collides with the counter leg behind him.
“Shit.” A hiss, followed by clumsy struggling to get on his feet, but in the end Jin gives up and leans back against the counter. No doubt Jin is as surprised as Kame is that there’s someone else in here tonight. “I didn’t expect… anyone, actually.”
“Same here.”
Kame walks closer.
He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Jin much yet. Jin usually hangs with Ryo, or Yamapi, or somehow manages to do magic and hang with both of them at the same time, while Kame keeps to himself. He always has; not counting the kids from his high school baseball team, but in hindsight, most of them were idiots and he would’ve done better if he hadn’t tried so hard to impress any of them. Having to change oneself for the mere purpose of making people like you is stupid and doesn’t work well longterm.
Lesson learnt.
He thought he had it all figured out. Then the acceptance letter for Kitchen Wars appeared in his mail…
Now he can kind of turn it on and off, but it takes lots of energy.
Kame gets along with Yamapi, but he politely refuses each and every invitation to have a night out.
He’s also not sure how to hang out with Jin-not without making an idiot of himself.
“I guess I’ll leave you alone then.” Kame makes a vague gesture with the hand that’s not temporarily fused into the counter top.
Jin huffs. “Nah, plenty space around here.”
Kame hesitates, considers finding himself a different corner, one of the other aisles between the counters, but then slides down and sits on the tiled floor just a couple feet away from Jin. It would be stupid to sit elsewhere now that they know of each other. “Thanks.”
They are quiet for a while. Kame doesn’t know what to say, and Jin doesn’t look like he wants to talk. A sleeping kitchen isn’t for talking; it’s one of those liminal spaces where things could become surreal really fast. Like underground train stations in the middle of the night, or long forgotten amusement parks, empty hospital hallways, an old room with a flickering light just before the bulb breaks. Those places aren’t real. People are different there.
Even Kame, who is usually an expert at polite small talks. He doesn’t say anything now.
Looking, however, is a different thing, and Kame can’t help himself. His eyes keep flicking to Jin’s direction all the time.
It’s not just the jawline of quick death that makes Jin the most attractive guy Kame has ever met. It’s his casual self-confidence and drive. The fact that he’d rather show what he’s capable of than babble about it into the camera.
While Kame’s crush on Takizawa is professional and Kame’s intentions are very platonically set on his dream to someday have a chance to prepare a three course dinner alongside Takizawa, making a mess in the kitchen and presenting the perfect meals to guests at the tables outside, his interest in Jin is more along the dirty lines of making a mess of Jin in a kitchen until they both are flushed and breathless, and in the best case scenario, also blissfully spent and sticky all over.
Two weeks ago, Kame believed the dream about cooking with Takizawa was the most impossible wish.
Now he is sitting here on the floor and thirsting over some stright guy who would probably kick his ass if he ever found out the content of Kame’s thoughts.
Kame pulls his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them.
It’s just thoughts. Not so innocent in their imagery, but where reality is concerned, thoughts are safe.
Thoughts that aren’t acted upon can’t ruin people’s careers and lives.
“Probably not gonna help you much, but the scallops today looked amazing,” Kame says quietly, but in the silence of the kitchen his voice sounds loud anyway.
Jin’s legs are comfortably stretched. He’s picking at the denim of his jeans with a finger. It’s not something he needs to concentrate on, but he doesn’t look up anyway. “It was shit.”
“It couldn’t be.” Kame straightens up his back without realizing doing so. He wants to look serious when he tells Jin this. And his flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt with a cartoon turtle holding a baseball bat that he got from his older brothers for his last birthday can hardly be considered a trust-invoking outfit. That is how much he didn’t expect to run into anyone at this hour, otherwise he wouldn’t be wandering around in his night clothes. “When the lid went off and I saw it, I thought I’d lose.”
“Too bad food isn’t just for the eye.” Jin scoffs and picks at the invisible dust on his pants again.
In the dim light, Kame is a bit mesmerized by Jin’s hand. Pale skin and long, beautiful fingers. Whenever Jin seasons food with his fingers, Kame sure as hell stalks the program site later on to watch the moment in a close-up. And decency be damned, he does have a few ideas about what else those fingers could be doing.
He catches himsef staring, and swallows a frustrated groan.
This is getting out of hand. Really fast.
“Well, I bet if it was served properly, it would taste as great as it looked.” And it damn well looked like a piece of heaven.
“I don’t know, there was some improvization going on, and obviously, no one tasted it before the final gong.” Jin’s head thuds against the counter again. Frustration over something that can’t be done again and better is the worst. “Meisa threw everything away afterwards. I think she will never want to hear about scallops again in her life.”
“That sucks.”
“She’s in a seaside restaurant, so yeah.” Jin’s hand finally stops. He smoothes the denim with a flat palm.
“Hey, do you remember the improvized bits?” The question is out of Kame’s mouth before he gives it a rational thought. Or any thought at all.
“Huh?” Jin looks at him.
“I’m still rather intrigued by the scallops.” This smells like either a moment of embarrassment or a potential to get them into some serious troubles. Alarms in Kame’s head go off, warning him to step back in the line because the stakes are too high and his mom expects him to fight and get as far as possible on this show. The bigger exposure to public he gains, the better chances for a potential employer to notice him. Somewhere out there must be a kitchen that would appreciate his devotion and hard work, his skills and the sheer truth that he always dives into everything on 100%, even if it were to knock him off in the end.
It all is shifted on a side track now when Kame is face to face with a brooding Jin.
A guy Kame doesn’t even know that well.
It shouldn’t be worth risking his future for.
Even if it’s a future that Kame-possibly-doesn’t care for that much. He didn’t ask to be here; not really.
“I don’t think there will be, like, scallops-round-two,” Jin mutters.
“There could be now.”
Jin’s eyes widen. They look as surprised and alarmed as Kame feels inside. He has literally no reason to be doing this.
Except the happy gleam in Jin’s eyes. Jin’s full, seductive lips turning a little upwards from the pout that settled on them before Kame even arrived in the kitchen. Jin’s jaw relaxes. Something in Kame’s voice must have sounded genuinely convincing.
Kame shouldn’t be seeing all these minor changes in Jin, but he is. Which means he’s got either a hawk sight he didn’t know about before, or he is obsessively focused on Jin.
“It’s almost 1AM and you want to cook and fry scallops.”
Good, it’s not a question.
If Jin was asking, Kame might chicken out. When said aloud, it does sound like a really bad idea.
A bad idea that has them both on their feet the next moment, though. They rummage through the well stocked fridge, taking out everything they’ll need. Jin recites the list of ingredients that his team used earlier during the show off the top of his head. In no time they have everything spread out on the nearest counter and the stove is fired up.
It’s amazing how Jin remembers every single detail about the temperature and times, measurements, as well as step-by-step directions.
The two of them quickly fall into a synchronized dance around the stove. It’s a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle in the afternoon. No stressful countdown, no irritating sense of competition in the air. No cameras. No one will judge the final dish; hell, it doesn’t even need to be arranged on a plate. If they wanted, they could dump everything into one pan and dig in. They keep the conversation light, mostly fueled by their mutual interest in food and sports, even though Jin admits being a junk food trash while Kame can name a list of French fancy foods off the top of his head, and while Jin only roughly guesses the rules of baseball, Kame is an avid fan.
Their professional backgrounds couldn’t be any more different, too.
“How’s work in that family run restaurant of yours?” Kame asks, genuinely curious.
Jin’s just put the scallops on a pan, and his posture is a little too stiff. Like he’s focused too much. Like his brain has switched into a torture mode, reminding him that the last time he was cooking this, it didn’t end well.
For someone who likes to keep to himself, Kame is surprisingly good at talking and distracting.
“Not bad. I mean, it pays bills.” Jin pokes a scallop with a spoon and turns it over. The surface is still too pale. Nowhere near done then.
“And you’re the chef there?”
Something about that question makes Jin laugh. A short, rather desperate huff of laughter. “I’m lucky if my dad allows me to touch the stove. Sometimes it feels like I do everything but cooking. During summer, there are days when I’m out in the streets handing out flyers.” It’s bitter and hurt and soaked with disappointment.
Kame doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, though he’s not sure what the right thing to say might be.
He’s been watching Jin closely over the last two weeks. Sure, his interest started with Jin’s attractive face and broad, sharply cut shoulders when Jin arrived on the set in a white tanktop the first day, but slowly evolved into curiosity about who Jin is as a person, beyond the face Jin shows to the cameras.
For the cameras, Jin has created this broody, quiet persona who doesn’t like to talk much and has a wicked, kind of mean sense of humor that is generally directed against Nakamaru. Though Nakamaru doesn’t seem to mind and often plays along, so Kame doesn’t see anything bad in it. The thing is, Kame knows it’s a made up Jin-character that may or may not have traits overlapping with real Jin. With cameras around, Jin would never hide under a kitchen counter in the middle of the night because an earlier mess up doesn’t let him sleep. Made-up Jin would huff and puff, and shrug the problem off like it’s not his problem at all.
Kame knows it, even though he hasn’t had a chance to talk to Jin about any of it. In fact, they haven’t interacted much at all so far.
However, Kame has a persona made up specifically for the cameras, too.
All of them do.
Because the audience of Kitchen Wars doesn’t care about a Jin who works his ass off in a family restaurant and rarely gets a chance to even touch the real cooking.
Neither would they care about the heaps of insecurities Kame has so skillfully locked up under his shiny armor of a successful sous chef. The bits and pieces of his personal life that he occasionally allows to slip are nothing but spicy baits to intrigue the audience.
Kame stops stirring purée.
“Maybe, but you’re here now. And from what I’ve seen when I watch you-”
Jin forgets about the scallops that are slowly gaining a nicely golden crust. “You watch me-?”
“-when I watch you, you are bloody damn talented.” It’s not an understatement.
At the very beginning when they were asked to make a signature dish to introduce themselves, Jin risked everything by presenting a burger. He stood against Yuya and sure, Yuya with his duck breast on sweet walnut purée couldn’t have possibly lost the round, but the point is that Takizawa didn’t completely humiliate Jin either. In fact, as it turned out, it was likely the first time ever in the history of the show when someone dared presenting a burger and got a nod instead of vividly demonstrated disgust.
“Right,” Jin scoffs. “You all have a background of fine dining and working overseas. Ryo’s sushi won a damn prize. And Meisa, Meisa is a regular on a cooking channel. Do you want to know what is the closest I get to a cooking channel? When I turn on the TV we have in the corner of the restaurant while I wipe floors in the evening.”
Yeah, that doesn’t go as Kame imagined.
It sucks because if there’s someone who should be in a kitchen, it’s Jin.
“You’re here now and, I mean, even if you don’t win-” He stubbornly ignores another one of Jin’s scoffs. “-the show will give you enough exposure to move on. I’m certain there’s a kitchen somewhere out there that has already laid an eye on you and it’s only a matter of time before they contact you.”
Jin shrugs.
Kame catches the jerky movement from the corner of his eye and forces himself not to imagine Jin doing it while wearing a tanktop. Or not wearing anything.
Jin remembers the frying pan and quickly pokes the scallops again. Almost done.
“Wanna know what I think? I think they carefully picked each one of you from a pile of fancy chef applications, and then just randomly raked through trash and my name got stuck between their fingers. I’m like, a wild card, or some shit.” Jin turns off the heat and stirs the content of the pan a little too roughly. One scallop nearly jumps over the edge.
“That’s bullshit.” Kame quickly checks the purée. Also done. Great. “Time to serve?” he asks promptly to get Jin’s mind away from the dark place he’s unintentionally thrown the other into.
Jin finds two plates. They don’t voice it expressively, but the visual side of a meal is about as important as the taste, and just because the visual presentation went smoothly for Jin’s team earlier and this time it’s all about the taste, having things nicely arranged on a plate can’t do any bad either. It’s also a reminder why this midnight cooking fest is happening in the first place.
Jin decorates each plate with a tiny leaf of lemon balm, and Kame wants to laugh.
“Damn, I didn’t think of that one.”
“Improvization,” Jin says.
They briefly consider taking the plates to the table, but that would give them another part of the kitchen to clean afterwards, and at 2AM and with a lingering reminder of having to be up and ready in only a few hours, eating fancy served scallops while leaning against a messy kitchen counter sounds like the better choice.
Moreover, after all the previous cleaning Jin had to do as a punishment for losing the contest today, he is a firm believer in kitchen mess minimalism now.
Kame pulls himself up to sit on the counter opposite from Jin.
They look at each other and dig into their steaming plates. The smell is overwhelming, sweet and spicy, and this time Kame can clearly recognize the lemon balm sitting at the top. Now when he knows what it is, it’s not hard to see it, too. Damn.
Jin pokes the scallops on his plate with a fork the same way he did with the spoon a moment ago when they were still in the pan. Like he’s gathering courage to take a scoop and have a taste.
Kame has no such qualms. He stuffs his face and burns his tongue in the process, because the food is hot and he’s gobbling it down like he’s got only a couple moments of life left and he wants to die with his stomach full and taste buds happy. He’s not a graceful eater. From the huge spoonfuls he’s able to fit in his mouth to the blissful moans he makes.
He swallows and licks his lips.
Honey undertones of the purée stick to his palate. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he must have at some point, because now he’s blinking them open, adjusting to the dim light of the kitchen. Jin’s watching him with curious amusement.
People tend to have that kind of reaction when they see Kame enjoy food.
That’s what he does. He doesn’t just eat-he enjoys food.
“This is amazing,” Kame says, gesturing at the plate with the fork. “I admit I was a little skeptical about the honey, but man-okay, now I feel really bad that we won the round.”
Jin’s amusement immediately morphs into a snort. “I fucked up. It was fair.”
“You’ll do better next time.” Kame puts another spoonful into his mouth. A perfect balance of tastes explodes on his tongue, and there it is again, that moan.
Jin doesn’t takes his eyes off him.
-
The next three days whizz past in a busy turmoil of preparations and cooking and pointless heated arguments that spring out of the blue and die out just as suddenly, and it could be easy to pretend none of that happened if all the shouting and boiling blood weren’t caught on the cameras forever.
It escalates into tears and a bowl of marinated mussles dumped on the floor.
By the time they are back in front of the cameras, Kame is exhausted before the filming even starts. One glance over his shoulder to Jin’s spot two rows away and it’s clear the guy wants to be anywhere but where he is now, too.
-
“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Hey, none of that. I told you, you’re a great cook and you deserve to be here just like the rest of us.”
“Right, because you’ve been watching me-”
“I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“… Cooking is not the problem though. I know I can do good. Better than most of you even-”
“Well, that’s the spirit!”
“I just fucking hate the drama, you know? I don’t care how fake and exaggerated it is. It’s exhausting nevertheless.”
-
Jin has been paired with Yuya for this round and Kame is sort of surprised they have both made it through the prep part in one piece. Yuya is a chatty little thing that doesn’t know when to keep quiet. Kame didn’t particularly mind when the two of them worked together last week, because at least they have baseball to talk about. Yuya trains a team of high schoolers in his free time, and Kame had a chance to learn the training methods of today and compare them with the exhausting drill he went through in his teens. He used to get home so worn out he’d fall on bed face down.
Getting through a particularly busy service can be just as exhausting though.
Takizawa walks in, all dressed up, his dark hair smoothed back. He looks like a movie star, or an idol. Like someone who doesn’t get his hands dirty too often.
Looks can be deceiving though.
Kame’s hair is tucked under a baseball cap tonight. He tried to tie it up with a band last time, but his hair is too short to stay in a pony tail or a bun.
“Alright, people,” Takizawa says, eyes skimming over the kitchen. He lingers on Kame a moment longer, and it’s almost like Kame can feel the incoming impact before the punch hits him. He swallows, straightens up his back. “Is this a baseball match or a service, Kamenashi?”
“A service, sir.”
Takizawa regards him doubtfully for a moment, but to Kame’s relief, he doesn’t poke the wound he’s just shot into Kame’s already trembing confidence. “Glad to hear you know that.” Then it’s a closed chapter.
There won’t be any more remarks about Kame’s cap tonight.
For now, the best Kame can do is to not move and let the moment pass. It helps. Maybe he’ll become invisible. Maybe the cameras will find a more interesting object to film.
“Today is your lucky day, ladies and gentlemen. You know why? Because I won’t be the one having to taste the often questionable magic of your culinary skills. We’ve got people for that. Do notice that I’m calling them people, not guinea pigs, so try to treat them as such. Understood?”
A chorus of, “Understood,” comes as a reply.
“Great. The kitchen is officially open for the night,” Takizawa announces without further hindering.
There are actual guests outside the kitchen door tonight. People dressed in tux and fine dresses. People who won’t shout at them and won’t laugh into their faces if something goes wrong, but who will eat and talk into the cameras about how their steaks aren’t medium rare enough, or how their vegetable is undercooked, how the presentation of their salmon isn’t appealing enough. People who eat in the finest restaurants, and maybe some of them even ate in Paris and Kame cooked for them and there were no complaints, but there could be tonight.
Kame and Meisa are on the seafood duty.
Ryo went into a fit when they drew the cards assigning the pairs to the kitchen stations for the evening, and Maki wasn’t the one getting the seafood one out of the ballot for them. Instead, the two of them are responsible for appetizers.
-
“I think Ryo was disappointed that I didn’t get the seafood card.”
- Maki
-
“I fucking hate appetizers. I have people who make that shit in my kitchen. I wasn’t even the one drawing that shit. If I was the one going to ballot, I bet I’d have pulled out the seafood card.”
- Ryo
-
The service is fast-paced as ever. It’s loud and stressful, and Kame kind of wants to know how many people are out there, because the kitchen is swarmed with orders and everyone seems to be a bit behind, which helps nothing with keeping the atmosphere cool and friendly, and functioning.
He and Meisa have found their pace, at least.
They occasionally bump into each other, sure, because it’s their first time working together just the two of them and they aren’t exactly well-coordinated yet, but they’re getting there with each new order tossed their way.
There’s shouting and a fight about to break out somewhere at the other end of the room, but Kame is focused on arranging two plates of calamari in red wine and tomato sauce that have been supposed to leave the kitchen at least five minutes ago. Five minutes feel like nothing here, but to people in the restaurant waiting for their food, five minutes is a lifetime. Busy with his job, Kame doesn’t have time to look up and see what’s going on. He doesn’t want to know, anyway. He can hear Maki’s choked voice and that gives him most of the information he may need. Maki doesn’t get really mad like this over nothing. She’s one of the few people on this shit-show who doesn’t play the angry card. She probably wouldn’t even know how to do it.
( part 2)