Challenge 60: the Sha Goyjo Ramen Special, Gojyo + Hakkai
Title: the Sha Gojyo Ramen Special
Author: Claire (rasphigi)
Rating: G? PG? My god, it doesn't even really have bad language. Vanilla fic :p
Word count: 876
Warnings: none. A bit of Hakkai angst. Set maybe sometime around their Burial arc, but no spoilers.
Summary: Gojyo's cooking makes everything better
Notes: For challenge 60, comfort food. Time allowed: 60 minutes. Time taken: well... jotted down a rough paper draft in about an hour, typed/edited/finished in about another hour. Time limit fail. Oh well.
I'm not sure how I feel about this, it may be rather saccharine ... then again I am used to mostly Sanzo POV, so any human emotion feels strange to write :p I took the prompt in kind of a weirdly literal way. Comments and concrit are all sorts of welcome.
Gojyo steps inside, takes off his jacket, and knows - weirdly, like something crawling down the back of his neck - that something is wrong. “Hello?”
The place is too quiet, the table bare. He steps into the kitchen and sees dirty dishes stacked neatly in the sink, and it’s confirmed: Hakkai doesn’t customarily leave messes sitting around.
Then he sees the knife, stuck a solid centimeter deep in the cutting board.
“Hakkai?” he tries, his voice going embarrassingly shrill on the end - apprehension, dread.
“Here” comes quietly from the back step, and Gojyo breathes again.
He leans in the open doorway (leaving doors standing open, that’s another un-Hakkai thing), and regards the angular hunched shoulders of the man sitting before him. Gojyo considers briefly how to proceed.
“So. What’s up?”
“I, ah.” Hakkai doesn’t turn. “I’m sorry, I didn’t cook.”
“Forget it.” Gojyo settles next to him, roots in his pocket for a cigarette. “What happened?”
“The meat will spoil if it’s not cooked…”
“So I’ll cook it. Or you can, in the morning. What’s up?”
“I.” Hakkai stops and starts like he can’t recall how to put words together. “It was very, um.”
Meat, & knives. Gojyo’s lighter ignites, fourth try. “OK…”
“It’s foolish.” He sounds irritated, at himself, Gojyo guesses. “I should just-“
Hakkai shifts his weight as if to stand. Gojyo pulls him back down by the elbow. “Shut it, Cinderella,” he grumbles as the cig catches. “You don’t have to cook every damn night.” First drag, filling his chest. He holds it, then lets it out slowly, as if he’s calm. As if half a minute ago he hadn’t been too scared to breathe.
“C’mon,” he says, standing, lanky form unfolding fluidly. “I’ll cook for you tonight.”
Hakkai’s eyes look up at him, too dark in a moonlit face. “You will?”
Gojyo tugs at the other man’s shirt, half a sardonic grin on his face. “Ah, don’t look like that, man. I fed myself for years, didn’t I? Come on.”
He leads a bemused Hakkai into the living room, steers him into a chair. “Really, Gojyo, it isn’t necess-“
“Shush.”
“I mean I can at least-“
“Sit. Read a book or something. I can take care of you for once.”
“Gojyo, you already-“
“Shush. And get ready.” He grins, full-on Gojyo charm. “The Sha Gojyo Ramen Special is not for the faint of heart.”
Twenty minutes later, Gojyo sets a steaming bowl in front of an uncomfortably seated Hakkai. “Ta-dah!”
“It looks, er.” Hakkai breathes. “It smells…”
“You eat.” Goyjo looks distinctly pleased with himself. “I’ll do the dishes.” He retreats to the kitchen, humming tunelessly.
Hakkai picks up the chopsticks. Takes a bite.
Chews. Stops.
At length, swallows reluctantly.
“Gojyo?”
“Mm-hm?” over the sound of running water.
“What’s in this?”
“Oh, bit of this, bit of that. You like it?”
“I, ah.”
The water stops. “What was that?” Gojyo sounds genuinely curious. Hakkai wonders if he possibly doesn’t realize…
“I…”
“It’s a hard question, huh?” He sounds half amused.
“I… no. I…”
“So what?”
“Gojyo…” Hakkai can’t bring himself to speak above a whisper. “Gojyo, it’s horrible.”
“I - what?” Gojyo sticks his head around the corner. Hakkai cannot speak. Gojyo saunters the rest of the way into the room and stands over him. “That bad, huh?”
“I… yes. I’m sorry Gojyo. But yes. It’s like you dug out the oldest leftovers from the back of the fridge, and just tossed them together in one pot.”
Gojyo’s face is carefully blank. “Huh.”
“Innocent ramen has never been so abused, Gojyo.”
Gojyo pulls out a seat. “Is that right.”
“Yes.” Hakkai’s expression is one of excruciating pain. “I’m sorry, Gojyo, I know you were trying to help, but …”
“Well. That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Hakkai doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to. Gojyo runs a hand through his hair and says “Look, Hakkai. Here’s the deal. I’ll cook for you whenever you want.” His eyes sneak over to Hakkai’s, half-hidden behind his long hair, and skitter away again. He adds in a self-conscious rush, “But, I mean, that doesn’t mean it’ll ever be any good, right? But, there it is.”
Silence stretches thin. Hakkai’s fingers tighten on the chopsticks.
“Look,” Gojyo says, reaching for the offending bowl, “this was a stupid idea, let’s just get takeout or something-“
Hakkai’s hand bats Goyjo’s away, cradling the bowl protectively.
Gojyo pauses, surprised, and says, “Come on, Hakkai, you don’t have to pretend, okay, I know it’s not-“
“Gojyo.” Hakkai’s voice and face are a complex stew of emotions. “I don’t…” He takes a calming breath, and speaks from deep earnestness. “I don’t want anything else.” He glances up, green eyes meeting red and holding, testing. He looks away again, and continues, “But… I think you’re not allowed in the kitchen without supervision, until further notice.” Nervous tension breaks in his laughter, and tension floods out of the room.
“Hey, what? Supervision? What, like I’m eight years old or something?”
“Gojyo, after this concoction, be glad it isn’t a lifetime ban.” Hakkai is still smiling, and Gojyo thinks if he can hold on to that then the kitchen’s not so important.
“Well fine, smartass. You want that takeout or what?”
Author: Claire (rasphigi)
Rating: G? PG? My god, it doesn't even really have bad language. Vanilla fic :p
Word count: 876
Warnings: none. A bit of Hakkai angst. Set maybe sometime around their Burial arc, but no spoilers.
Summary: Gojyo's cooking makes everything better
Notes: For challenge 60, comfort food. Time allowed: 60 minutes. Time taken: well... jotted down a rough paper draft in about an hour, typed/edited/finished in about another hour. Time limit fail. Oh well.
I'm not sure how I feel about this, it may be rather saccharine ... then again I am used to mostly Sanzo POV, so any human emotion feels strange to write :p I took the prompt in kind of a weirdly literal way. Comments and concrit are all sorts of welcome.
Gojyo steps inside, takes off his jacket, and knows - weirdly, like something crawling down the back of his neck - that something is wrong. “Hello?”
The place is too quiet, the table bare. He steps into the kitchen and sees dirty dishes stacked neatly in the sink, and it’s confirmed: Hakkai doesn’t customarily leave messes sitting around.
Then he sees the knife, stuck a solid centimeter deep in the cutting board.
“Hakkai?” he tries, his voice going embarrassingly shrill on the end - apprehension, dread.
“Here” comes quietly from the back step, and Gojyo breathes again.
He leans in the open doorway (leaving doors standing open, that’s another un-Hakkai thing), and regards the angular hunched shoulders of the man sitting before him. Gojyo considers briefly how to proceed.
“So. What’s up?”
“I, ah.” Hakkai doesn’t turn. “I’m sorry, I didn’t cook.”
“Forget it.” Gojyo settles next to him, roots in his pocket for a cigarette. “What happened?”
“The meat will spoil if it’s not cooked…”
“So I’ll cook it. Or you can, in the morning. What’s up?”
“I.” Hakkai stops and starts like he can’t recall how to put words together. “It was very, um.”
Meat, & knives. Gojyo’s lighter ignites, fourth try. “OK…”
“It’s foolish.” He sounds irritated, at himself, Gojyo guesses. “I should just-“
Hakkai shifts his weight as if to stand. Gojyo pulls him back down by the elbow. “Shut it, Cinderella,” he grumbles as the cig catches. “You don’t have to cook every damn night.” First drag, filling his chest. He holds it, then lets it out slowly, as if he’s calm. As if half a minute ago he hadn’t been too scared to breathe.
“C’mon,” he says, standing, lanky form unfolding fluidly. “I’ll cook for you tonight.”
Hakkai’s eyes look up at him, too dark in a moonlit face. “You will?”
Gojyo tugs at the other man’s shirt, half a sardonic grin on his face. “Ah, don’t look like that, man. I fed myself for years, didn’t I? Come on.”
He leads a bemused Hakkai into the living room, steers him into a chair. “Really, Gojyo, it isn’t necess-“
“Shush.”
“I mean I can at least-“
“Sit. Read a book or something. I can take care of you for once.”
“Gojyo, you already-“
“Shush. And get ready.” He grins, full-on Gojyo charm. “The Sha Gojyo Ramen Special is not for the faint of heart.”
Twenty minutes later, Gojyo sets a steaming bowl in front of an uncomfortably seated Hakkai. “Ta-dah!”
“It looks, er.” Hakkai breathes. “It smells…”
“You eat.” Goyjo looks distinctly pleased with himself. “I’ll do the dishes.” He retreats to the kitchen, humming tunelessly.
Hakkai picks up the chopsticks. Takes a bite.
Chews. Stops.
At length, swallows reluctantly.
“Gojyo?”
“Mm-hm?” over the sound of running water.
“What’s in this?”
“Oh, bit of this, bit of that. You like it?”
“I, ah.”
The water stops. “What was that?” Gojyo sounds genuinely curious. Hakkai wonders if he possibly doesn’t realize…
“I…”
“It’s a hard question, huh?” He sounds half amused.
“I… no. I…”
“So what?”
“Gojyo…” Hakkai can’t bring himself to speak above a whisper. “Gojyo, it’s horrible.”
“I - what?” Gojyo sticks his head around the corner. Hakkai cannot speak. Gojyo saunters the rest of the way into the room and stands over him. “That bad, huh?”
“I… yes. I’m sorry Gojyo. But yes. It’s like you dug out the oldest leftovers from the back of the fridge, and just tossed them together in one pot.”
Gojyo’s face is carefully blank. “Huh.”
“Innocent ramen has never been so abused, Gojyo.”
Gojyo pulls out a seat. “Is that right.”
“Yes.” Hakkai’s expression is one of excruciating pain. “I’m sorry, Gojyo, I know you were trying to help, but …”
“Well. That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Hakkai doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to. Gojyo runs a hand through his hair and says “Look, Hakkai. Here’s the deal. I’ll cook for you whenever you want.” His eyes sneak over to Hakkai’s, half-hidden behind his long hair, and skitter away again. He adds in a self-conscious rush, “But, I mean, that doesn’t mean it’ll ever be any good, right? But, there it is.”
Silence stretches thin. Hakkai’s fingers tighten on the chopsticks.
“Look,” Gojyo says, reaching for the offending bowl, “this was a stupid idea, let’s just get takeout or something-“
Hakkai’s hand bats Goyjo’s away, cradling the bowl protectively.
Gojyo pauses, surprised, and says, “Come on, Hakkai, you don’t have to pretend, okay, I know it’s not-“
“Gojyo.” Hakkai’s voice and face are a complex stew of emotions. “I don’t…” He takes a calming breath, and speaks from deep earnestness. “I don’t want anything else.” He glances up, green eyes meeting red and holding, testing. He looks away again, and continues, “But… I think you’re not allowed in the kitchen without supervision, until further notice.” Nervous tension breaks in his laughter, and tension floods out of the room.
“Hey, what? Supervision? What, like I’m eight years old or something?”
“Gojyo, after this concoction, be glad it isn’t a lifetime ban.” Hakkai is still smiling, and Gojyo thinks if he can hold on to that then the kitchen’s not so important.
“Well fine, smartass. You want that takeout or what?”