Archive of Our Own

“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 only had 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.

There's thirty minutes left and the kitchen is about to implode in chaos. Two teams fight their battles in 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 brushes 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.

“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 to move and 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 doesn’t help 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 lens. 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 just as well walked out of the 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 as part of a 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 on a catwalk rather than in 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 to the 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 working together just moments ago, though, and in spite of all the rivaly 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 him have 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 from across the room, and pays it back, as good as he gets.

“Alright, shall we?” Takizawa invites the team leaders over to a fully set table. A snow white cloth, a 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 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 have 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. Yuya, Kame’s teammate for today, while completely forgetting about pre-heating plates, did remember to sprinkle the souffle with chopped parsley at the last minute. The air is instantly filled with the 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 remembers 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.

“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 already be holding a fork and diving in for a scallop himself. That’s how curious he is 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.

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 limelight, 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.

For the first two weeks, Ryo, a sushi chef from Osaka, complained about the unpredictability 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 stop it all. He pounced on Ryo and took 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 day and night. While Nakamaru radiates this calm feel of distinguished stability, Yuya is a bouncy ball of extrovert 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—but 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 different. He had everything planned out.

Then his 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 in 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 have been.” 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 himself 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 back 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 smooths 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 public exposure he gains, the better his 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 destined to knock him off in the end.

It all is shifted onto 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 eyes like a hawk that 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 to being an expert in 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 into 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 on display in a white tank top when Jin arrived on the set that first day, but it has 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 owned 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 underneath 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 well 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 to present 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’s the closest I’ve ever gotten 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 them 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 take 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 mussels 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 at 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 it 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 onto his 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 sliced into Kame’s already trembling 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 ado.

There are actual guests outside the kitchen door tonight. People dressed in tuxedos 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, or 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.

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 does nothing to help with keeping the atmosphere cool and friendly, but at least it’s 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 were supposed to have left 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.

The night isn’t a complete disaster.

Despite the accident, Yamapi bounces back rather smoothly and by the end of the service, his and Nakamaru’s meat station is back in the game. They get two compliments about steaks, and that makes the difference.

Compliments are rare here.

More often than not, there’s no direct reaction. People eat their meals, and the contestants learn the verdict from recorded videos.

The orders slow down eventually.

Kame takes off his cap, wipes sweat off his forehead and runs fingers through his hair—he must look like a mess. His hair is wet and droopy, and more curly than usual. He quickly puts the cap on again.

“I think we’re doing good.”

Meisa leans against the counter next to him; she doesn’t seem impressed. “We could do better.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have the first ‘Compliments to the chef’ message of the evening. Yamapi, Nakamaru, your steak made an impression.”

“Really? Wow!”

“Yes! Who’s the boss now?”

There are no other orders for their station at the moment, but the kitchen isn’t closed yet and even the smallest sign of idling or looking bored might get them into troubles. Kame already feels stupid that his baseball cap became Takizawa’s punching bag right at the beginning of the evening. If it’s for some reason brought up again during the final rating, not only will Meisa not forgive him, he’ll kick his own ass, too.

The problem is, anything can rub Takizawa the wrong way.

Before it was Meisa’s heels. Tonight maybe Kame’s cap. And in between, the way Yuya holds a knife, Yamapi’s habit to sing or mutter while cooking, Maki being easily frightened. There’s no pattern and no rule of thumb, which leaves them all in this constant state of mild panic and on guard. No wonder they are either exhausted or in need of a drink.

Kame grabs a cloth and wipes the counter, even though it’s relatively clean. Better safe than sorry, though.

Takizawa moves around the kitchen under a pretense of being curious about how everyone is doing. The truth is—that is exactly what he’s doing. He wants to see them screw up, because the cameras want to see them screw up because the audience wants to see them screw up.

Meisa wiggles her toes. She’s barefoot again, even though she wasn’t wearing heels tonight. It’s a part of her image now, though. She’s expected to take off her shoes the moment she enters the kitchen, even though the floor could get slippery over the course of the evening service.

Compared to Meisa who has to always keep a part of her mind focused on not stepping on something wet and gross that has been dropped on the floor, Kame’s life is much easier right now.

When a new order lands in front of them, it’s almost a relief.

They have things to do again.

It’s a salmon, and Meisa is good at that, so without too much arguing Kame leaves her in charge of a frying pan and starts with the rest of the dish. They’ve made two of these tonight already, so the whole process is pretty smooth. Kame cuts onions and carrots, blazes them with a spoon of sugar. It doesn’t take more than two minutes, and then it’s up to Meisa to take over and cover the nicely pink colored fish with the vegetable paste.

Kame turns away only for a second to get a warmed up plate.

“Get your filthy hands of my fish, Nishikido, or I swear to god you’ll have troubles holding a spoon tomorrow.”

Kame flips around at the sound of Meisa’s irritated growl.

Ryo’s hands are lifted up in front of him in a gesture of surrender, though the cocky tone of his voice is anything but apologetic. “Calm down, Princess, I’m just making sure you don’t screw up.”

“I—what?” Meisa is seething. “Get the hell out of here!” She’s gripping the pan handle so hard her knuckles are whitening. Kame is a little worried the content might end up in Ryo’s face instead of arranged on a plate and delivered to the table.

“Look, it’s for table 13, right?” Ryo goes on, unfazed. “They just had the best appetizer in history, and I’m in for the next compliment tonight—however, if you ruin their taste buds with some shit, that’s all they will remember.” He shrugs. “I’m just watching my back.”

And that’s it.

Ryo once again leans forward to peek into the pan.

Meisa bats him away with a free hand. “I said piss off!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Ryo pouts.

As expected, the cameras are right there in no time to film the unfolding incident, and while Meisa is pushing Ryo away, Kame quickly slips behind her back, unceremoniously loads the salmon on the plate and sprinkles it with final decorations before handing it to the waiting waitress. The girl’s face is hazed over with an expressionless veil, just like the rest of the staff. They just want to do their job and avoid the unavoidable drama around.

A part of Kame wishes he could step into invisibility, too.

He can’t, so instead he joins Meisa and helps her send Ryo back to his rightful station.

The cameras have a field day tonight. Kame hates it.

“Hey you.”

Kame looks up and sees Jin standing at the end of the aisle between the counters. It’s a surprise. Everyone except Kame and Maki left to have a night out earlier, and not even Nakamaru was back by 11PM. Maki locked herself up in her room right after wishing Kame goodnight around 8:30. At least he’s not the only antisocial, boring weirdo around.

“You did well tonight.”

“You think so? We didn’t get any compliments, though, and Ryo…”

“… was being himself. Don’t worry about him.”

“I try. I just didn’t expect this all to be so hard, you know? Anyway, thanks, Kame. Goodnight.”

Now it must be past midnight again; not that Kame keeps track of time. He’s left his wrist watch upstairs in the room and from his position on the floor he can’t see the big clock on the wall somewhere behind him.

“I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Really? Why?”

Jin doesn’t move. “Because it’s our first night off in three days, and I kind of missed talking to you? I mean, besides exchanging cooking directions in the kitchen.”

Oh.

Kame has almost convinced himself the midnight scallops never happened.

He’s walked the wobbly line of having an affair with someone from the same kitchen before and it didn’t end well. Just being attracted to Jin distracts Kame from the main reason of being here.

“You should’ve come with us, you know?”

“I didn’t want to impose on you and your cool people club,” Kame mumbles. It sounds stupid even to himself, but it’s still better than admitting that he keeps a distance from Jin in order not to develop a silly high-school crush. On a guy. A bitter, bordering on hysterical, laugh gets stuck in Kame’s throat. No amount of on-camera fights between Ryo and Meisa would beat the big revelation that one of the participants of Kitchen Wars is gay. Kame could usher himself out of the door and buy a one way ticket back to Paris right away.

“My—what?”

“You, Ryo, and Yamapi. Meisa. I can’t see myself fitting in there.” God, he’s pathetic. This is exactly why he prefers being The Popular Chef Kamenashi™ over being his normal boring self.

Before Kame is aware of his silence, Jin takes another step forward.

“Bullshit, it was fun, and you’d have fit just fine. Even Nakamaru had fun. Oh, and who would’ve known Yuya is such a drinker.” There’s a quiet chuckle at the end of his words.

Kame shrugs. “I just… didn’t feel like going, I guess.”

“Next time?”

Jin plops down next to him. He still smells like a bar made of bad ventilation and cigarettes. A lingering scent of fine whisky, too. And under all of that, a scent of kitchen. Not burnt oil, or raw fish, but kitchen as a whole, with all the smells mixed together, faint but ever-present, so outsiders would either not catch it at all, or would find it overwhelming. Kame isn’t an outsider. He likes it.

It smells like everything he loves about cooking.

“Maybe,” he says, in that tone that could be easily translated as, “I’m saying maybe but I already know I’ll find a reason to be busy when the time comes.”

Jin either doesn’t hear it that way, or gives Kame a leeway.

“That is a yes then,” Jin grins, kind of smug.

Kame shakes his head. He should be in bed. Sleeping. It’s been a long day, a couple of days. The show is on a roll and besides the regular filming of two episodes a week, there are also live events outside the filming schedule, and this week has been packed with that stuff. He’s tired, exhausted—he’s way past the point where lying down and closing his eyes brings the sweet embrace of sleep. He’s turning into a zombie.

“You also missed the bomb explosion of the year.” Kame must look confused, because Jin continues without needing to be prompted. “Meisa and Ryo. Making out in public. In a corner of our booth, sure, but still, with people all around.”

That… is information worth staying up for, even though Kame isn’t one to be too interested in other people’s drama.

Live and let live, that’s the thing.

But Meisa and Ryo—that is something that has potential to cause trouble to everyone on Kitchen Wars.

Kame recovers enough to realize he hasn’t said anything yet, so he tries, “Shit.”

Jin chuckles. “Yeah, that was the generally accepted reaction. I think they were at least a bit drunk by the time it happened—not that it’s an excuse, or anything. Yamapi thinks it was all that bottled up sexual tension from earlier.”

“Sexual—tension from earlier? You mean, the argument in my kitchen? Shit.” After a double check, that still sounds like the best reaction.

“They have been in each other’s hair from the start and today it made things just go all kind of… boom.” Jin throws his hands up.

“That’s crazy. How drunk were they?” Like that matters.

“A couple drinks down? I don’t know. All I know is that Meisa was the one throwing herself at Ryo, and she didn’t seem drunk five minutes before.” Jin shrugs his shoulders. “Ryo, well, he just kind of went along with it.”

“Do you think they will remember what happened come tomorrow morning?”

Tomorrow is a Showdown day, and the last thing any of them needs is adding unresolved—or drunkenly resolved—sexual tension into the flaring mess of reasons why you should nominate someone to leave the show. So far there have been two Showdowns and both were quite easy. First to go was Kusano; everyone but Jin voted him out, because by general consensus, Kusano was a jerk who didn’t want to be there at all, anyway. Why he’d signed up in the first place was left unanswered. Then, the one leaving last week, was Minami. The voting was tight between her and Meisa. Minami was useless as a team player and some people were afraid she’d ruin things for them in the future, while others were more afraid of Meisa’s cooking skills and strong personality.

In both cases, Takizawa understood the reasons for their picks and agreed with them, sending home those who received the majority of votes. It doesn’t have to always be that way, though. The votes work as a guide, but at the end of the day, it’s solely up to Takizawa to make the final choice.

That doesn’t help cool down anxiety at all.

No amount of strategical planning can beat Takizawa’s decision.

When Jin looks up and meets Kame’s eyes, the concern Kame feels is mirrored in Jin’s face, though Jin’s realization of possible consequences is fresh. Until now the events of the evening have been nothing but funny, but Kame has just offered him another angle, a bigger picture.

It’s what Kame does. Kame sees the show for what it is. Not just cooking, not just heightened emotions and a thin line between shaky patience and irritation. Kame sees people playing games, because they want to win. He saw Meisa being nervous because the dish she was presenting wasn’t her usual level of perfect. It was like having a rare opportunity to steal a glance under the mask she’s so meticulously built around herself. Kame knows Yamapi voted Minami out last week because in the bigger picture, they need to keep the talented chefs in play in order to win team contests. On the other hand, Ryo was the loudest about sending home Meisa. To him, she’s a threat, and whatever has happened tonight could be Ryo’s plan to get rid of her.

When Kame thinks of it, the strategy part of participating in Kitchen Wars is just as exhausting as the cooking itself, and in the end, it can easily be for nothing, because Takizawa can sweep strategy off the table with a vote of his own that pretty much beats all other votes.

Bless the quiet of the kitchen during the night.

Jin’s occasional company helps, too.

“I want to say no, but I’m afraid we won’t be so lucky,” Jin says regretfully. “Like I said, they weren’t so drunk, and I think I spotted a hickey on Ryo’s neck when we got back here. He will remember tonight in detail.” Jin thinks for a moment, replaying the night in his head. “Meisa too most likely. Let’s just say, tomorrow’s Showdown will be interesting.”

“No kidding.”

“It would be cool if they stopped fighting now, though.”

“Meisa is kind of scary when Ryo is around,” Kame chuckles. It’s easier to just think about the incident in the kitchen today as something in the past, not something he was a part of and that could’ve fucked up his own participation on the show. The temptation to vote for Meisa tomorrow grows bigger, but the strategical part of Kame’s brain tells him the timing isn’t right yet. For now, Ryo poses a much bigger threat.

Jin laughs, too.

When the laughter dies out, Jin says, “I’m thinking of voting Ryo out tomorrow.”

That is… wow. Not only because Kame was just thinking the same thing. “Really?”

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re friends. He’s one of the few people here who I’d like to keep in touch with also outside. You know, in real world. He’s a great chef, too, but so are you, or Nakamaru. Everyone here—”

“Including you.”

Jin gives Kame a flash of a smile, and it may be just the shitty night lights, but it looks like his cheeks flush a little.

“Do I think he deserves to win? Sure, but so do the others. But I also see what I didn’t see with Kusano the first week. Ryo creates drama for no reason other than to draw the cameras and entrance the audience.”

“It’s his tactic. He gives people the show they want.”

Kame should know. He helped today.

“What if he uses Meisa to stir up even more drama?”

“He’s been already doing it. He must know his presence sets her off, that’s why he came over to our station today to talk shit. What if the next time he speaks on camera, instead of complaining about her fried salmon, he tells people what it’s like to kiss her? Having a thing with someone from the same kitchen is bad enough even without a whole camera crew behind your back.”

Kame should remember that the next time he looks at Jin for a little longer than a polite, friendly conversation requires, or when his thoughts stray to wondering about what it would feel like to have Jin touch him, or when a drop of cream sticks to Jin’s lip and Kame’s first impulse is to lick it, or reach up and wipe it off with a thumb so he could feel the softness of Jin’s mouth.

Jin tilts his head. “That sounds like speaking from experience.” There it is, that grin again.

“Kind of?”

“So you wouldn’t be interested in anyone here? I mean, we’ve been mostly locked up together for almost three weeks now, and while I can see the shit-show that’s most likely rolling our way with this whole Ryo/Meisa thing, in a way I’m not surprised it happened.”

“Really?” Kame feels a little like an idiot because his ability to form sentences seems temporarily limited.

Is he interested in anyone here?

Funny it’s Jin who is asking…

Jin runs a hand through his hair, and Kame follows the move with his eyes. His own fingers twitch to do the same.

“What about Maki? She even stayed here tonight with you.”

That makes Kame laugh. “With me? We said our goodnight’s early on and I haven’t seen her since. If she had a reason not to go out with all of you tonight, it wasn’t me.”

He tries to replay the brief interaction with Maki, but there’s nothing pointing to Jin being right.

“Are you sure?” Jin presses on.

“One hundred percent sure.” And then Kame keeps talking, and damn, it was really better when he couldn’t stitch three words together in a sentence just a moment ago. “And besides, she couldn’t be farther from my type.”

Jin grins. “So you like them fierce, like Meisa?”

“What? Not really.” Kame frowns. What is going on? “I’m not discussing this with you.”

Jin leans back, his legs stretched on the tiled floor; he’s sitting sprawled and comfortable, with a sort of smug twitch in the corner of his lips. His head is turned to Kame, resting against the cabinet behind his back. The pale light glowing from the fluorescent lamps on the ceiling highlight the contrast of Jin’s dark hair and eyes against his skin, as well as the shadows of his jawline.

Kame can’t take his eyes of Jin.

Jin looks thoughtful, like he’s trying hard to figure something out, to mold over words before asking again—there are no other girls on the show anymore, and given that both Meisa and Maki are very attractive, it doesn’t make sense that Kame isn’t interested in either of them. Not like that, anyway. He can appreciate female beauty just fine. He just doesn’t want to make out with Meisa in a corner of a bar after one too many drinks, and he wouldn’t know how to react if Maki tried to flirt with him.

Then Jin bites his lip. His eyes darken with a resolution. One Kame is oblivious of until there’s a slow-motion scene happening around him.

Jin shifts closer, leans forward, meets Kame’s eyes one last time, and then the world shrinks into nothing but the tingling, soft feeling of Jin’s lips pressed against Kame’s. The lips Kame was so curious about just a minute ago; they are all Kame imagined and more, full and warm and tasting lightly of alcohol.

He should pull back and fake being scandalized.

He doesn’t.

It’s Jin who starts pulling away first, actually. His lips tremble against Kame’s and then they are gone, replaced with a puff of warm breath when Jin mumbles something, probably curses himself and his action, because he’s kissed Kame and Kame hasn’t kissed back.

A kiss.

Right.

Kame’s brain kicks back in, and before Jin can pull all the way back and awkwardly pretend it all has been a misunderstanding and that Kame shouldn’t read more into it than that—a weak apology Kame has used before a few times, so he knows all about it—, Kame’s hand is pulling Jin back.

This time the kiss evolves and when it’s open mouths and tongues and soft needy moans, there may be a problem putting it down to a misunderstanding afterwards. Kame is holding Jin close and Jin’s hands slip into Kame’s hair, their bodies are uncomfortably twisted, but who cares about a little prickling pain in the side when there’s a kiss going on?

Kame pulls away to catch a breath, growling a throaty, “This is such a bad idea,” but as soon as Jin chases his lips and catches Kame in another kiss, Kame can’t remember what exactly about any of this could be a bad idea at all.

Eventually Jin ends up straddling Kame’s lap, Kame’s hands holding him firmly in place.

By the time they finally pull away for good, Kame’s heart is pounding wildly in his chest and his sweatpants do nothing to hide the effect Jin’s kisses have on him. From the bulge pressed against him every time Jin rocks back and forth, however, Jin’s jeans aren’t that helpful either.

Jin keeps his eyes closed. His forehead is resting against Kame’s.

When he speaks, his breath caresses Kame’s face. “Shit.”

Kame lets out a breathy chuckle. “That’s the general consensus for things like this, yes.” He’s a little light-headed right now. From a kiss. Sure, it’s been one hell of a breathtaking kiss, pretty high on the scale of first kisses, but just a kiss nonetheless.

To Kame’s disappointment, Jin becomes self-conscious and crawls off of Kame’s lap then, resuming his sitting position on the floor. He leaves a bit of a space between them. He keeps his eyes lowered. In no time, Kame misses looking into them.

Jin’s fingers pick on a nonexistent speck on the knee of his jeans. “I’m sorry.”

Kame blinks.

“If you want to vote me out tomorrow—”

Wait. What?

“I’m not voting you out,” Kame says quickly. His mind goes from a lust-filled mush to alert and cautious in 0.1 of a second, leaving him hazy and reeling from the fast change. Kind of like when you stand up too fast and your body needs to remember how to balance in the new position after having fallen asleep in the previous one.

“Are you sure?” Jin dares looking up, his already red and swollen bottom lip being massacred by his worrying teeth.

Kame wants to kiss him again.

Jin straightens up, encouraged by the lack of freaking out on Kame’s side. “Because we just agreed that Ryo making out with Meisa could be really bad for… like, everyone. And now this—” he gestures between himself and Kame, “I mean, I’d understand if you wanted to get rid of me now. It’s a part of why I didn’t kiss you earlier—”

Shit. Did Jin just say they could’ve kissed earlier? A real kiss… not just fantasies in Kame’s head that he never allowed to soar too close to the surface of consciousness?

Kame’s apparently quiet for too long, because Jin’s brows furrow.

“Is it… is it weird? Are you even…?”

And that finally sends Kame directly into a fit of laughter, because damn, he’s been this close to being a total wreck tonight; exhaustion and the ever present tension that seems to have infected the air and soaked into the walls of this whole place, it all has been slowly sinking its sharp teeth into him, but now he can’t stop laughing. He leans forward and hides his burning face in Jin’s shoulder.

“Kame?”

Kame nearly chokes. “I very much am,” he assures Jin when the worst of his fit subsides.

“Oh.” Relief visibly washes over Jin.

Kame smiles. “I’m definitely not voting you out tomorrow.”

When they kiss again, Kame pushes away the nagging voice that tries to remind him of all the reasons why this whole thing is still a bad idea.

Showdown day shouldn’t be the most stressful day of the week. There’s not much to do activity wise, no prep, no cooking, and no public outings. No need to stay in character of the persona everyone created for the show, because except for a couple of minutes alone in a booth with a camera and the evening filming, there’s no one imposing on anyone’s privacy. For the last two weeks, the Kitchen Wars participants spent the Showdown day lounging around the hotel, either separately in their rooms or meeting in small groups in the common room or outside on the terrace.

It’s funny how they can actually get along or tolerate one another to a certain degree, when it’s not an act for the cameras.

However, despite the seemingly relaxing atmosphere, Showdown day is stressful. At least for those like Kame who try to think a little farther than just the next cooking task that needs to be done without failing.

It’s the time when everyone has to finalize their decision for the evening voting. Some, like Ryo or Yuya, already made their picks, and they also shared them loud and clear with the rest of the group, as well as the cameras, because the cameras love it when people like Ryo or Yuya become loud. Being loud is only one step away from throwing things, and the cameras love that more than anything.

“I’m sending you home tomorrow, do you hear me? Better start packing your Barbie pink suitcase!”

“Hah! That is exactly the kind of attitude that will send you home, Nishikido.”

“You wish! Watch me win this shit when you’re back home baking cream puffs.”

When the evening comes, they gather in the kitchen once again, standing lined up in front of the first row of cooking stations. They have their Kitchen Wars chef uniforms on. One of them will be left hanging on the rack by the exit before the day comes to its end.

The room is quiet.

There’s a bunch of crew people operating the filming equipment, and every once in a while they talk to each other in hushed voices.

Kame looks to the left.

He sees seven people—eight if he includes himself—who can do amazing things in the kitchen. Eight different personalities. If it all was only about cooking skills, he wouldn’t dare guess which one of them has the biggest chance to win. Each of them is great at their job. When bias enters the picture, however, Yamapi’s got the most experience and can play both as a team player and on his own, and he doesn’t make himself look better or more interesting by belittling others. Ryo has a terrifying drive to go after what he wants. And then there’s Jin. It’s almost ridiculous how much Kame wants Jin to win and make his cooking dreams come true. All of that after a night of kissing secretly in the kitchen.

Tonight Jin is standing between Nakamaru and Maki, while Kame has Maki on his left and Ryo on his right.

Considering the name Kame is about to drop in a few moments, his position couldn’t be worse.

If he tried to switch places with someone now, though, his behavior would become suspicious.

The filming finally starts.

They are all a bit shifty as they wait for Takizawa’s arrival. Kame has heard the guy’s voice from behind the wall five minutes ago, so now the waiting is really just for the effect, and likely, to fuel their nervousness. It works.

Kame is nervous.

Logically, he doesn’t think he has a reason to be. He hasn’t gotten into an open conflict with anyone besides the incident with Ryo last night, but even that was more Meisa’s fight, not Kame’s. He just played his role. He’s been also doing quite well in team work this week. He didn’t mess up. In fact, the only thing that could’ve attracted negative view of him was Takizawa’s mockery of Kame’s baseball cap, but people aren’t kicked off of this show for stuff like that, right? Kame doesn’t think so. Meisa is still here. Barefoot, but doing fine. So really, unless someone gives him a completely random kick in the ass, he should be relatively safe tonight. The problem is, logic really doesn’t work well on this show. The show feeds off emotions and drama and people kind of being the worst versions of themselves, so while logically Kame should be safe, the truth is that anyone could drop his name today. Even Yuya or Ryo, even though the two of them made it very much clear as to where their decision has been to.

That would be one vote for Ryo and one for Yuya.

Kame risks a quick glance at Jin. To his surprise, his eyes meet Jin’s concentrated stare and a hard to read expression.

Tilting his head a little, Kame tries to silently communicate a question about the direction of Jin’s thoughts and a concern about what is going on.

A panicked voice at the back of his mind offers an explanation Kame refuses right away. Last night, it wasn’t an act on Jin’s side. It wasn’t just to distract Kame.

Jin isn’t like that.

Jin won’t try to send him home. Jin doesn’t play that kind of mind games.

Or for now, Kame wants to believe that Jin doesn’t.

Then the door opens and Takizawa enters.

Takizawa stops in front of them, overlooking the line they’ve formed, and it can’t be more than two, three seconds to slide his eyes from one end to the other, but it feels like he actually lingers on each one of them for hours, seeing right through them and reading their minds. At least Kame’s mind is, for once, blissfully empty. He’s worried himself into numbness.

If he’s the one to leave tonight, so be it.

He’d be leaving this place knowing he’s done his best.

And then would likely spend a week self-analyzing every possible mistake that could’ve added up to his failure.

Leaving the show only three weeks in is not a proof of having done his best. In fact, it’s nowhere near that.

Kame’s shoulders are tense. He rolls them back.

For someone who says he doesn’t really care about being on this show, he suddenly isn’t ready to leave just yet.

“It’s been a busy, interesting week,” Takizawa starts.

Nakamaru nods.

“Who thinks they did well this week and thus should get a free pass through the Showdown?”

Ryo’s hand is up immediately.

Everyone else, Kame included, hesitates. It could be a trick question. Correction, it most probably is a trick question. Even a conversational inquiry about the weather could turn into one if the one asking is Takizawa and there’s a camera nearby.

Kame catches the moment when Jin cautiously raises his hand.

Meisa, Yuya, Maki. One hand after another goes up. Yamapi’s is the last one.

Takizawa doesn’t miss that. “You’re not sure.”

“I am sure about my cooking, sir,” Yamapi says.

“But?”

“The rest of it, not quite so. There’ve been a few moments this week that I’m not so proud of. I could’ve handled them better.”

He doesn’t look left or right, no indication of what in particular he’s referring to, but next to Kame, Maki quietly sighs and staggers, overwhelmed, like she’s taking Yamapi’s words personally. Considering the collision the two of them had, maybe she does so rightfully.

Takizawa nods thoughtfully. “Your cooking received a compliment this week, so you could be right.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Nakamaru.” Takizawa has moved on with his interrogation before Yamapi’s mumbled words are finished. “Do you still want to be here?”

“Sir?” Now, that, is definitely a trick question. “Yes, sir, I’d like to stay and continue with this challenge.”

Nakamaru is probably the calmest person Kame has ever met. He’s also not faking it. The calm around him is genuine. He doesn’t lose his cool even when Jin teases him, or when he’s forced to work with Yuya who doesn’t understand the concept of being quiet.

“Do you think the others will let you?” Takizawa asks.

Nakamaru doesn’t even blink before saying, “I hope so.”

“Aright. Now, Kamenashi.”

Kame perks up. “Yes.”

“What if there was no one to leave tonight and the eight of you were to continue as you are now for another week?”

“Then I’d say it would be a very long week.”

The answer earns him a few chuckles, because despite their differences, they have some things in common, too. They’re tired. Nervous. They’re ambitious and want to be here also next week. They want this to be over, because then seven of them will at least know they won’t be leaving this place. The small, simple hotel rooms upstairs have become their temporary homes; impersonal and often claustrophobic, yet a welcome reminder of the open possibilities of bright future.

Takizawa moves on again. “Meisa, we’ve seen some tension between you and Ryo again this week.”

“He’s stepped over the line. Again.” Meisa nods resolutely without a glance in Ryo’s direction. “I know my job and I’m good at it, and it wasn’t his place to lecture me.”

“I was just making a point.” Ryo shrugs.

“You were being an asshole.”

Ryo snorts.

“So, Meisa,” Takizawa steps in before the sparring could escalate into a full-grown argument, “Is Ryo your choice tonight for Showdown?”

Kame’s heartbeat quickens.

No more polite filler questions.

Here they go.Meisa shakes her head. “No sir. My choice is Maki.”

Next to Kame, Maki visibly flinches. Kame almost does too. He can’t recall a single incident between the two remaining girls that might explain what has just happened.

Meisa seems confident about her decision though.

It’s even a bigger surprise when Takizawa asks Nakamaru, and the answer is the same. Maki.

Ryo gets three votes; one from Jin, one from Yuya, and when it’s Kame’s turn, he adds the third one, ignoring the explosion of curses next to him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ryo growls. “What is this? Some fucking conspiracy?”

Yuya leans forward, disrupting the line, only to get a better view of a raging Ryo. “Whatever you call it, it’s gonna send you right out of the door.”

“Shut up, you little—”

“Yamapi, who’s your choice?” Takizawa interrupts Ryo’s shouting.

“It’s Maki, sir.”

Takizawa turns to the girl in question. She’s backed against the counter and is blinking furiously to hold back tears. “That’s another point for you, Maki. In total it’s three for you and three for Ryo. What if I told you I’d send home either you or him, depending on your vote?”

She takes a shaky breath. “I’d still like to stick to my original pick and nominate Meisa.” It’s cold and definite, and she could’ve pointed a finger at Ryo and her life would’ve been much easier in the following five minutes or so, but she didn’t. Kame has to respect that. He can’t imagine himself doing the same.

He may have his doubts about the reason for his being here, or about what he expects to get out of his participation—a job in a luxurious restaurant with high class clientele sounds nice, but the truth is that his resume and experience could probably score him one anyway, no matter what his mom thinks—so he doesn’t really need to be here. Not the way Jin does.

Kame doesn’t need to prove his cooking skills are top notch to anyone. Not like Yuya.

He could leave tonight and live a good life.

And yet, Kame can’t imagine risking everything the way Maki just did.

“Ryo, Maki, step forward, please.”

They do; Ryo takes two long, angry steps, while Maki shuffles her feet on the floor, head lowered.

She seems to be slowly coming to terms with tonight being her last moments on Kitchen Wars. Ryo, on the other hand, will probably fight anyone who would as much as point at the exit door and ask him to leave.

With the two of them leaving the line, Kame is left standing kind of separated from everyone else.

Like he’s been just singled out.

It’s not a good feeling.

An alarm bell makes a dull sound of a warning in his head. He wants to look at Takizawa to perhaps read and understand if this is some kind of a tactic leading to Takizawa finally making use of his veto and choosing Kame to send out of here, but the fact is, Kame can’t bring himself to move his head. He wants to stay oblivious for a little longer.

“So, you two,” Takizawa speaks to Maki and Ryo, “How does it feel to know that your colleagues don’t want you around anymore? That they think you’re not good enough to win?”

“That’s a fucking bullshit,” Ryo says right away. He actually looks really scary when he gets angry. “They’re not trying to get rid of me because I’m not good enough—they want me gone because I’m better than all of them put together.”

“It’s their decision, and if they don’t see me as someone who deserves to be here, I must respect it as such,” Maki says quietly. It’s hard to believe the same voice is capable of getting loud and angry, like it happened earlier this week. “However, I’m a good chef and I know I still have things and skills to show on this show.”

Takizawa nods.

“Very well.”

A moment of silence that follows is strangely worse than the angriest of Ryo’s tantrums, or Yamapi singing around a stove. It’s deafening.

Takizawa once again looks at each one of them, not just Maki or Ryo. It’s hard to guess if it’s a good or bad thing. They learnt early on that Takizawa’s eyes can be deceiving. When he threw out Kusano, he was actually looking at Nakamaru all along. It was so intense that when Takizawa opened his mouth to say the name, Nakamaru stepped forward before a single sound came out. It caused a little, temporary comical relief just before the final decision was made clear.

“Yuya.”

The room is suddenly so quiet that it feels like no one is breathing.

“Sir?” Yuya croaks, his voice jumping up at the end as a wave of shock rolls over him.

“I’m sending you home. Take off your uniform and leave it at the door on your way out.”

It’s obvious from the way his bottom lip trembles that Yuya has things to say, questions to ask, perhaps ways to defend himself, demand an explanation. The decision has just hit him like a lightning from a clear sky on a beautiful summer day—it kind of hit all of them, because when Kame glances at the others, he can see relief mixed with the same shock that’s settled on Yuya’s face.

It doesn’t matter how people voted, or that Ryo and Maki have been pulled out of the line to hear the verdict.

Takizawa is the one with the final word, and he’s pointed his finger at Yuya.

Yuya starts unbuttoning his white chef uniform as he walks past Ryo, past Takizawa, and he’s taking it off by the time he reaches the door sending him back to whatever life he lived before Kitchen Wars.

“Who thinks he didn’t deserve it?” Takizawa asks as soon as the door closes behind Yuya’s back.

Kame watches Ryo.

Ryo who wanted Yuya gone tonight got his wish fulfilled. It’s like a bad joke.

While still standing in the front line, Maki cautiously raises her hand. “With all respect, I think there are others who should’ve walked through that door tonight.”

“Are you one of them?” Takizawa asks harshly. “You can catch up with him and switch places if you want to.” He waves towards the door, and it really does look like an invitation for Maki to do so. It’s hard to say how serious Takizawa is at the moment.

Maki, rebellious and determined just seconds ago, drops her shoulders and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sir,” she mumbles.

Right. Because at the end of the day, those who make it through the Showdown victoriously wouldn’t sacrifice themselves for the person who wasn’t so lucky.

The moment Takizawa dismisses them and leaves the kitchen, the room explodes in chatter and shouting as everyone tries to speak over each other, expressing their shock and relief, and in some cases, also anger.

Maki starts sobbing, leaning against a counter, her narrow shoulders shuddering under a torrent of sobs and gasps. She was so close to leaving, but now she doesn’t have to, she can continue, and it’s overwhelming. Nakamaru and Kame hurry to her rescue; Nakamaru quietly soothes her breakdown with soft words, Kame just cautiously holds her shoulder in a silent gesture of companionship.

It’s really been a tough week.

They’re all agitated, and while it’s still not too late, it’s going to be an early night.

Kame squeezes Maki’s shoulder.

More than anything, though, he wishes everyone would leave the kitchen and he could slide down and sit on the floor and clear his head. There’s been too much thinking.

He looks over his shoulder.

Maybe Jin could sit by his side.

Kame isn’t the only one in need of a quiet corner.

“Look at me, asshole.” Ryo pounces at Jin. “Look at me so you can see what a fucking dagger in the back looks like!”

Jin backs away. “I’m telling you, calm down.”

“Calm down? How about no! I can’t believe you just tried to kick me out.”

“Right now you’re giving me all the reasons to do it again next week,” Jin says.

Ryo bares his teeth in a scowl. “I’m going to make sure you don’t make it through the next week, Akanishi.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Go sleep it off, Ryo. Maybe tomorrow morning you’ll wake up and for once realize the shit coming out of your mouth sometimes.” It’s Yamapi, putting himself between Jin and Ryo before things could get worse and louder.

“No one asked you,” Ryo spits.

Jin turns around and storms out of the room. He doesn’t look at Kame before leaving, his focus narrowed on finding the shortest way out of there. Kame only catches a glimpse of his back disappearing around a corner of the doorway.

He looks at Nakamaru, saying, “I need to go,” and rushes after Jin.

In the hallway, Kame calls Jin’s name a couple of times without getting an answer, but there are sounds of hasty footsteps moving upstairs.

It can be either Jin, or Yuya, because everyone else is still in the kitchen. It won’t take long for them to disperse into their rooms though, Kame assumes. Nakamaru is doing his best to calm down Maki, and Yamapi will hopefully talk some sense into Ryo. A cold shower might be a way to do that, to cool off Ryo’s head.

Kame heard hardly half of the fight, but he still can’t even begin to imagine how Jin must feel like right now.

“Jin?”

Kame runs up another flight of steps, his heart pounding a little faster, his breath a little heavier. When all this is over, he’ll need to jump back on the train of regular exercising to get in shape. It’s difficult to find time for regular morning runs when his day is planned out minute after minute, and his options to leave the premises are limited.

When he finally finds Jin, it’s almost all the way up to their floor. Jin is leaning against the white wall, his kitchen uniform unbuttoned but still on, revealing a dark T-shirt with a simple picture of sunglasses in bright yellow color across his heaving chest.

“Here you are,” Kame breathes out as he jogs up the last few steps.

Jin’s eyes are closed.

“Are you alright?” Kame asks, even though the answer is practically offering itself. Jin’s not alright. Kame sways on his feet, back and forth, thinking. “I’m sorry about the fight.”

It’s not like he has anything to apologize for. Not personally.

It’s a general feeling of being sorry, because Jin is down.

Jin finally opens his eyes, dark and bleak, and so, so tired. He rubs his palms down his face, then through his hair. “I hate this show,” he groans.

Kame nods, watching Jin closely.

“The worst is, I knew Ryo would think the worst and make a scene, and I meant it when I told him that was exactly my reason for wanting him gone.”

“It’s almost like Takizawa wants to keep him on for the drama,” Kame says. Kitchen Wars is a show, after all; it’s meant to entertain, and while Kame isn’t sure how much of a say the audience has in the Showdown process, the production must know Ryo’s unhinged temperament is a hit.

“Well, fuck Takizawa. And fuck the audience.”

Kame sighs. Jin’s frustration is… understandable.

They’re all frustrated, Kame too; he’s just much better at hiding it when necessary. Jin doesn’t want to hide anything though.

“I know,” Kame whispers. He touches Jin’s shoulder, very much like he tried to console Maki downstairs. The touch feels different, though. Jin’s shoulders are strong; Kame’s fingers knead firm muscles underneath the layers of the uniform and the T-shirt.

Jin looks up and meets Kame’s gaze.

He peels himself off the wall, reaching out until his fingers curl in the front of Kame’s uniform and tug Kame closer. Kame doesn’t protest. Taking a step, two, into Jin’s personal space, and then his body collides with Jin’s, his feet bump against Jin’s.

Jin’s lips curl up into a weak smile.

“Can we not think about this anymore today?”

It’s a request Kame can hardly refuse. He doesn’t want to.

He wants to feel Jin’s lips on his, because the simple touch, the taste, it all helps chase the first half of the evening away.

And when Jin takes his hand and starts gently tugging him in the direction of his room at the other end of the floor from where Kame’s room is located, the thought flashing through Kame’s mind is something along the lines of the second half of the evening turning out to be much, much better.

It takes Ryo three days and one messed up service before he finally calms down and stops glaring at everyone like wrath personified. He makes a weak attempt to patch things up between him and Jin one evening after dinner, stopping Jin on the way out of the kitchen and mumbling a rather unconvincing apology.

Jin accepts it anyway.

He’s had time to think meanwhile, too.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself.”

“Jin, wait. I—I’m sorry, alright?”

“Are you now?”

“Listen, I was an ass and I’m sorry. Standing there in front of Takizawa… Hell, that’s not a good feeling at all.”

“Yeah, so maybe next time try not to get into that position. Or even better, don’t make me your punching bag when you do. How about that?”

“All I can say is that I’ll try.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe, but an idiot with a plan. Meisa wants to get rid of Maki next, and I think I’ll join the crusade. You’re safe.”

“I don’t think anyone is safe, though.”

The show is taking its toll on all of them. Some get defensive over the smallest expression of a different opinion, like Meisa; others like Nakamaru, Pi, and Kame keep a façade of being collected and professional for most of the time, and pay the price of constant exhaustion. Then there’s Ryo who has no idea what being calm and collected means.

Despite the obvious flaw, however, he’s still probably the best chef among all of them. Not that Kame would say that aloud.

Definitely not where Ryo might hear it, anyway.

He does tell Jin, though.

They’ve sneaked out of the lounge area, trading the company of the others for an evening of privacy in Kame’s room.

Kitchen Wars is in the middle of Week 6 of its run, and with every next person leaving the show, the atmosphere thickens. Yuya’s sudden departure was followed by Maki a week later, then Nakamaru after a failed team contest, because he wasn’t able to organize his team, and now the bets are on Yamapi who fucked up and had an argument with Takizawa—a real, shouting argument that had frozen the whole kitchen in dread.

If anyone at all were expected to get into an open argument with Takizawa, it was Ryo or Meisa. Not the Golden Boy Yamapi.

Jin is sitting in a chair, fingers wildly dancing over the display of his phone as he texts with his brother. It’s been going on for a little over an hour, back and forth, while Kame is lying on Jin’s bed, watching him. It’s a nice view. Jin’s shirtless, his hair still a little damp from the shower, and his fingers… now Kame knows what they feel like on his skin, hot and sure, gripping, soothing.

Kame feels hot just thinking about it.

He rolls over onto his stomach. “Everything good back at home?”

“Same old shit, I suppose.”

Jin shrugs, his fingers moving in a frantic sequence of typing. When he finishes the thought, he looks up. The strange expression in his face says nothing good about whatever Jin and his brother have been talking about.

Kame rears up on his elbows. “You wanna talk about it?”

Another message lights up the display of the phone, Jin skims through it, but instead of replying right back like before, he puts the phone away. “My brother Reio has been accepted into a small theatre company. They offered him a full time spot, and it’s pretty much a dream come true. He’s been talking about becoming an actor since high school,” Jin explains with an underlying pride in his voice, but his eyes keep flicking towards the phone, leaving an impression that things are just bright. Because they are not. “But Dad refuses to let him go. With me engaged here and Reio gone, it would be just him and mom in the restaurant.”

“He could hire someone else.”

“You don’t know my Dad.”

Jin sighs and slides a little down in the chair. His knees fall apart, the loose pants Jin’s wearing stretch over his groin, and Kame forces his eyes to stay looking above Jin’s waist.

It’s been over a week since they started spending nights together in bed instead of in the darkness of the empty kitchen downstairs, but the sparks that ignited the heat between them seem nowhere near fading.

Whenever it’s time to leave the room, Kame sees it more and more as an inconvenience.

“Is it the ‘family restaurant’ thing?” Kame asks, frowning.

“Pretty much. He doesn’t want strangers in the kitchen. Me and Reio have been helping around since we were kids. I remember coming home from school, and while other kids would sit down and do their homework, the two of us had to go help with dishes or something. The same on weekends when everyone would be outside playing with a ball at this place by the river, we were stuck in that damn restaurant.”

“That must’ve sucked.”

Jin runs a hand through his hair. “Still does. Dad treats Reio like he’s still the kid he used to be, and like Reio doesn’t want a future of his own.”

Kame squirms to sit up. He crosses his legs. “And he doesn’t let you near the stove. What about your mom? Doesn’t she have a word in the business?”

“She wouldn’t stand up to him. It’s not… easy to go against my Dad.”

“Hm.” Kame smoothes a crease on the sheet in front of him, then pats the place with his hand. “Come here.”

Jin raises a brow, but moves anyway.

In a moment he’s comfortably nestled on the bed next to Kame, his head resting in Kame’s lap, Kame’s fingers threading through his hair. Despite the uneasy talk about his father, Jin seems content and not far from purring.

Kame senses some of Jin’s discomfort and when he speaks again, they’re as far from Jin’s family issues as possible.

“Back at home it’s me and three older brothers,” Kame says. “They are big and playing all sorts of sports, they have decent jobs and families. My eldest brother has a baby girl, and you should see my mom when she gets to see her.” His fingers stop moving, buried in the thick mop of Jin’s hair, fingertips just about touching Jin’s scalp. “That’s what my parents expected from all of us. To have a solid, respectable life, and a big family.” He lets out a strained huff. “And here I am.”

Jin looks up. “Nothing wrong with you.”

“Yeah, right. Nothing wrong with you. Not exactly Dad’s words when I came home and announced that I wouldn’t be going to baseball practices anymore and that I was more interested in helping mom with Sunday lunch and that I wanted to study cooking in Paris.”

“He was mad because you didn’t choose a baseball career?”

“Baseball is kind of a family thing. And I love it. I mean, if I could, I wouldn’t miss a single game. But playing it professionally? Look at me, I’m not the biggest guy around—”

“Hm, I think your size is just fine,” Jin purrs for real, turning his head so his hot breath tickles Kame’s stomach.

It’s silly, but at least it does the work and makes Kame chuckle.

“I meant for playing baseball. Have you seen some of the league guys? They are huge.”

Jin pokes a finger teasingly against Kame’s side. “The few times I watched, I was too distracted by the way their uniforms stretched over their butts.”

The statement ends with a smirk, and Kame rolls his eyes.

“What? Don’t tell me you never noticed.”

“Oh, I did notice! Right there in the dressing room before an afternoon practice one day when I was fourteen. And then I spent the next three years eyeing my team mates and praying that none of them caught me staring.”

“Oh my god!”

“Don’t you dare judge me, it was a torture!” Kame whimpers as Jin’s finger pokes him again, this time hitting a particularly ticklish spot. He slaps the hand away but it’s right back.

“No wonder you quit baseball!”

Kame’s eyes widen, and then he starts laughing. “Shut up! I should’t have told you anything!”

Jin joins him, which in return only fuels Kame’s own giggles and gasps.

By the time his voice grows hoarse and it’s hard to catch a breath, they’ve somehow managed to roll all over the bed. Kame is on his back, gasping for air, and Jin hovers over him. Their legs are intertwined and constrained by the sheets that are stuck around them.

Dark curly hair falls down around Jin’s face, framing the flushed skin of his cheeks.

Kame raises his head, straining his neck and shoulder muscles, to steal a quick kiss. As soon as their lips touch, though, Jin presses back, pushing Kame back down on the pillow, and the kiss turns into much more than the stolen playful peck it should’ve been. Not that Kame opposes.

“Do you still have a baseball uniform?” Jin asks after he pulls away, just enough to be able to move his lips. His words still tickle Kame’s skin.

Kame nods.

“I still play sometimes. For fun.”

“Good, because I’ll want to see your ass in those pants.” Jin’s completely shameless about his request.

Kame tries to ignore the fact his heart did a little jump at the notion of Jin making, shameless or not, requests for later, because in both cases it means Jin’s thinking of them seeing each other after the show is over. Outside in the real world, where they are not constantly under watch and where life is more than participating in crazy, stressful tasks that are supposed to crash them and bring them to their knees if they aren’t strong enough.

It’s too soon to make such plans though.

Too soon.

“Sounds fair. Considering I’ve been watching your ass from day one,” Kame says though. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

Jin’s eyebrows twitch in surprise. “Really?”

“Chef apron suits you.”

Kame rummages through the fridge in search of anything that could serve as a late night snack and that wouldn’t require heating up. Boxes and plastic bags are piled up in the spacious shelves, some of them were opened earlier today during the show filming, others are still sitting there untouched. He’s not after the latter, because while it hasn’t happened yet, there’s this lingering suspicion that someone regularly checks the fridge and pantry contents and all the Kitchen Wars participants will eventually receive a bill for everything they used or ate during the show, be it for the on-camera cooking, or personal use—like for example when someone needs an urgent energy refill after two amazing orgasms with their fellow contestant.

It’s not likely to happen, because rationally, Kame can’t remember any mention of such a thing in the contract he signed, but one can never be careful enough.

He grabs some strawberries and adds them to the variety of stuff he’s already collected on the nearest counter. There’s white bread and a small jar of honey, two bananas, and whipped cream in a spray can. For a second he also considers ice cream, but he’s only got two hands and those are already going to be full.

Closing the fridge and drowning the kitchen back into the dimness of the night emergency lights, Kame gathers his loot and hurries out of the kitchen.

After weeks of moving around the sleeping building, it’s no longer a strange sensation to be all alone in the hallways. The soft clink of the elevator door opening and then closing behind Kame’s back still kind of sounds much louder than it is, but experience tells him it’s definitely not loud enough to wake up a whole floor of sleeping people.

He rides back up to his floor. The mirror on the cabin wall reflects Kame’s disheveled hair, as well as the stupid grin in the corner of his lips that he doesn’t seem to be able to get rid of these last few days.

The days aren’t so stressful anymore when at the end of every single one of them, he and Jin can lock the door of one or the other’s room and forget about Kitchen Wars and the other contestants, even about Takizawa, or about cooking.

It may very well be the first time since Kame quit baseball that his life doesn’t center just around cooking.

Two weeks ago he would wake up and go to bed thinking about the next contest segment, about the next meal to prepare, details to add to the plate just before serving. He’d think over and over again about why he was on the show and what he expected to get out of it, but no matter how much thought went into it, he didn’t seem to be anywhere near getting answers.

Now he’s able to clear his head at the end of the day, and he wakes up relaxed and refreshed in the morning, with Jin quietly snoring next to him. Sometimes they wake up just as tangled in one another as they fell asleep the night before. That is nice, too.

Kame never considered himself a cuddler, but Jin is like a damn octopus, always trying to wrap himself around Kame.

Sometimes it’s almost hard to remember what it’s like to wake up in a bed alone.

The mirror shows Kame’s grin growing bigger at the thought.

He hasn’t really had time to think too much about any of what’s happening. In the kitchen his brain switches into the chef mode and runs on automatic, and as soon as he gets some personal time, he’d much rather spend it kissing and undressing Jin than trying to figure out what they are doing.

As long as they’re having fun and it’s not interfering with their participation on the show, there’s no need to bother with complicated thinking.

It’s only when the show is over that he will need to figure out the more complicated things. For now, his concerns are… more simple.

Kame looks down at the strawberries sitting on the top of the armful of food.

He should have taken also the container with ice cream.

The ride upstairs doesn’t take long and he’d have probably somehow managed. He’s managing fine now, isn’t he?

Too late though.

The elevator cabin comes to a halt and a quiet ding announces he’s reached the chosen floor.

It comes as a surprise that when the door opens, the light in the hallway is on. It wasn’t fifteen minutes ago when Kame slipped out of the hotel room door and set off on the food hunt. He and Jin played janken and Kame lost—yes, Jin technically cheated, but he did so in such a cute way that Kame didn’t mind putting on a pair of sweats and a hoodie while Jin lazily stretched in bed. Just that sight alone was more than worth it, in fact.

Kame looks around, the paranoid voice in his head suggesting there might be a camera or two to catch him red-handed, with arms full of treats. Or even better—turning away from his room and heading into Jin’s.

There’s no camera.

“Hey!” It’s Yamapi. “Can’t sleep?” He’s got a hand on the doorknob and in three seconds he would’ve been in his room had the elevator door not caught his attention. Now he’s regarding Kame with curious eyes; eyes that inevitably land on the food in Kame’s hands. Yamapi quirks a brow. “Is there a party that I should know about?”

A suggestive visual of Jin waiting in bed pops up on Kame’s mind.

“You have no idea,” he says, mysterious and impatient.

So probably a good idea not to bring the ice cream, after all.

Now he can only hope Jin’s still exactly where Kame left him, naked and in bed, and that he won’t think anything stupid, like going to check the hallway and see if Kame is on his way back.

That would be awkward.

Where to even begin with all the explaining…

“I’m serious, Kamenashi.” He doesn’t sound serious though. Pouting, yes. Mad, no. “Ryo has been sneaking around just five minutes ago. I’m pretty sure I know where he’s sleeping tonight. Or, you know, not sleeping.” Yamapi’s voice is lowered and he ostentatiously gestures towards the door of Meisa’s room.

“I can assure you I’m not joining that party,” Kame says, holding back laughter.

Yamapi’s eyes roam all over the packets in Kame’s hands. “Hey, are those strawberries?”

“Yep.”

Yamapi purses his lips, naturally pouty and probably really soft to kiss. Not that Kame ever thought twice about it.

He’s been always too busy perving over Jin, and consequently also laughing at himself for all the torture that could’ve been avoided if he’d had more self-control. Good thing he doesn’t need to torture himself anymore.

Yamapi is doing the torture job quite well right now, anyway.

The last thing Kame wants right now is for whatever he and Jin do in their free time to become a public business like Ryo and Meisa. He’s seen the crew whisper whenever Ryo and Meisa enter the kitchen before filming, he knows the look Yamapi gives both of them. He can’t tell for sure, but sometimes it seems like Takizawa knows, too.

“Maybe if you paid more attention to cooking and less to the other chefs, you wouldn’t have made a beginner’s mistake.”

“That’s not what I did, sir.”

“You sure cared about something other than the vegetable, because this thing is overcooked, soggy, and gross. Just throw it away.”

“I hope there’s more of them left for tomorrow,” Yamapi says, pointing at the strawberries. “I have plans with them, and your midnight appetite won’t fuck it up for me.”

“I’m sure there’s more.”

Kame has a plan with the strawberries too, he thinks, now that Yamapi mentioned it. Though Kame’s plans could hardly be shared on a family friendly TV channel.

Yamapi leans against a wall, poking the floor with his toe. He’s barefoot. What the hell is he doing outside his room at this hour is a mystery. Unless he’s simply spying on everyone else’s night activities. Gathering info that could be used against them later. “I shouldn’t tell you, but rumor has it the next round will be tough as hell.”

They don’t always know what to expect to come next, but there are always rumors about the upcoming rounds. Sometimes it’s easy to guess from the new contents of the fridge. One time someone heard some of the staff talking about sushi, and the following day Takizawa made them cooperate and prepare a feast of traditional Japanese dishes. Ryo loved that part, and crowned himself the head chef of the day, much to everyone else’s annoyance.

“It’s only five of us left, everything will be hard from now on.” It’s been hard for a while now.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Yamapi shrugs. Then he nods towards the snacks. “For real though, where are you taking all that?”

“Nowhere. I’m just hungry.”

“Huh-uh,” Yamapi hums a doubtful sound.

“What? You asked. Now, if you excuse me, I’ll take all this to my room and stuff my face.” He takes two steps before he realizes the mistake. He’s walking in the wrong direction. He’s walking towards Jin’s room, because that’s where he sleeps tonight. Just like he slept there the night before, and a couple of other nights as well.

However, while he does spend there quite a lot of time, it’s not his room.

There’s another sound coming from Yamapi, an amused one this time.

“Oops, wrong direction,” Kame grimaces.

“Unless you’re also getting Akanishi’s late night delivery, I’d say it indeed is the wrong direction.”

No one’s left but Jin on that side of the floor. One after another the others have been leaving the show and the original group of ten has shrunk to half.

Kame gives Yamapi a strained grin, twists his hips to align his body with the new direction, feeling Yamapi’s eyes on him. If the other suspects something, there’s no immediate sign of it.

“Good night, Pi,” Kame tosses over his shoulder while walking slowly down the hallway. Going back to his room has never felt so wrong.

“Night,” Yamapi chuckles and waves before turning back to his own door.

It feels like forever, like Kame has gone a couple of miles down the longest hallway in the history of architecture, and it’s such a relief when he finally hears the door closing behind Yamapi. He’s almost made it to his own door, reluctantly shuffling one feet after the other, but once the air is clear and no one’s around anymore to see his real destination, he’s at the other end of the hallway in a second, carefully balancing the load of food.

He needs to improvize a little and carefully knocks on the door with his elbow, because he doesn’t have the key card and even if he had the right one, he’s lacking a free hand to use it.

That’s how he walks directly into Jin the moment the door opens.

“Whoa, careful,” Jin laughs.

The space just behind the door is narrow and small for one person, let alone two people and an armful of food. Kame is pressed against the wall and Jin leans into his personal space even further in an attempt to close the door with as little noise as possible.

Kame rests his head against the wall. “That was close,” he sighs.

Jin looks at him funny.

“Just run into Yamashita outside,” Kame sighs again. “That shit stood there like he was waiting to see me enter my room for real.”

Jin’s studying him up close, focused on Kame, maybe just Kame’s moving lips. Suddenly self-conscious, Kame licks his lips. Jin’s eyes unmistakably follow the move.

In the limited space around them, the smell of sex and sweat is suddenly clear and sharp, and Kame inhales a little stronger. Jin’s unique scent is somewhere in there, too.

Kame might never enter a kitchen and not think of Jin again.

“And did you?” Jin leans in, rests his forehead against Kame.

As Jin pulls away a moment later, another scent takes over the room. Sweet and fresh; strawberries.

Kame shakes his head. “That’s not where I was heading to.”

Jin takes one of the strawberries and puts it into his mouth. “Did he see you come back here?”

“I don’t think so.”

They finally move further into the room and Jin helps Kame unload everything on a small table next to a TV set.

“Don’t worry, I was careful.”

He was careful because it makes things easier for now. Kame knows firsthand how bad things can get when an affair with a colleague goes downhill. A busy service can be stressful enough without personal issues hanging heavy and menacing over the place.

Jin nods his head, but it’s an automatic reaction, not an approval. “Being careful all the time is overrated.”

“Things get ugly when you aren’t careful though.”

Jin’s hand is around Kame’s waist, pulling him closer, until Kame collides with Jin’s warm body and the bare minimum of clothing covering it. Jin has only put on a pair of thin sweats while Kame was gone.

“Things aren’t ugly now,” Jin says simply.

Kame likes simple. Even though he hasn’t had much of that in his life so far. The recent months have been anything but simple. And Jin’s warmth helps nothing right now.

“No, they aren’t,” he agrees.

Jin kisses him. On the contrary of everything Kame is afraid of, that is simple. And they are getting really good at that. Lips and tongues, and sometimes teeth, too. Jin likes it when Kame’s teeth gently tug on his bottom lip, or ear. And Kame likes the noises Jin makes when he does that.

With every next kiss, the warning voice inside Kame’s head grows weaker, too.

Jin takes Kame’s face in his hands, palms warm on Kame’s cheeks holding him still as the kiss turns deeper. Kame arches into Jin, craving the touch and heat and contact, and it doesn’t take long before something snaps and they’re grinding against each other, Kame pulls Jin in while Jin struggles to slide his hands down and between them, because Kame is still wearing too much clothes.

“That’s my hoodie, by the way,” Jin mumbles as his lips trace Kame’s jawline. The zipper is finally all the way down, and Jin can touch Kame again.

An alarm in Kame’s head doesn’t get a chance to go off. It’s cut off by a moan.

Jin has his fingers work on Kame’s pants next, every now and then teasingly palming Kame’s growing erection straining against the front.

Under any other circumstances, Kame would quickly spin into a panic mode right now. Yamapi saw the hoodie and chances are he recognized it. And now he knows—or suspects. Something.

But there’s no panic.

No time for that.

Jin drops onto his knees, tugs Kame’s pants down over his rocking hips, and the world spins a little faster.

“Fuck—”

Kame stares down as Jin’s lips close around the tip of his cock, wet, hot, tight, making Kame’s hips jerk forward, pushing deeper into the eager mouth. Jin groans around him, but doesn’t pull back. He looks up though, dark eyes huge and inviting Kame to move and do as he pleases. Kame staggers, overwhelmed, stumbles backwards until the back of his thighs hit the table and his hands grip the edge.

He needs to keep his eyes open. Needs to see everything Jin does, adding a visual sensation to the drag and pull of Jin’s lips up and down his cock.

“Jin,” Kame whimpers.

No wonder there’s no panic. As the grip of long, sure fingers around his cock tightens and the bobbing of Jin’s head becomes faster, Kame’s brain turns into an incoherent mush. He tries to speak, tries to tell Jin to go harder, faster, to suck more, to make him come, but it all comes out as a low groan from deep in his throat.

He grabs Jin’s hair in one last attempt to take control over the situation; he likes control, control is great, Kame hazily thinks in a quickly passing flicker of conscious thought, but then it’s too late.

Kame gasps, his hips jerk involuntarily and his cock hits the back of Jin’s throat just before Jin pulls back to taste Kame on his tongue.

Jin swallows and pulls all the way away. He sits down on his heels.

Kame’s shaky knees give up and then he’s on the floor, too, still a little breathless. The mush in his head starts slowly making sense again though.

Grinning, he grabs the back of Jin’s head and pulls him in for a kiss.

“I’ve brought strawberries.”

Jin nuzzles Kame’s cheek. “Later.”

“So, for real now, what’s the plan after this whole mess is over?” Jin asks, wondering.

His head moves as he speaks and his hair tickles Kame’s chest. They’re lying on Jin’s bed, on top of crumpled sheets; Kame propped up on pillows, Jin sprawled on his back, resting his head on Kame instead of a pillow. Every now and then Kame threads his fingers through Jin’s hair.

After the blowjob earlier, they moved back to bed and Kame played with Jin until he reached his orgasm, too. Then it was time to look into the pile of goodies Kame had so unceremoniously dumped on the table, and spent the following hour or so feeding each other strawberries, whipped cream directly from the spray, and slices of banana, effectively making even a bigger mess of the already ruined bed.

Neither of them minds.

“Depends.” Kame slips his fingers back into Jin’s hair. He likes the smooth slide of those thick strands over his skin. “Am I the winner, or not?”

Jin shifts his head to see Kame’s face. “You tell me. Are you?”

Kame pretends to think.

Then shrugs.

And then thinks for real. Does he want what’s practically a dream job in one of the best restaurants in the city? Does he want the fame and money that would inevitably come with it? Not just the victory, but the job, too. He’d be a celebrity of sorts. Or at least that’s what they were told before the show started.

Kitchen Wars is meant to change their life forever.

Make them famous.

It would be Paris all over again, only this time the one in the center of attention would be him, if something went wrong. He’d be the one to deal with nosy reporters, the one expected to answer their invasive questions.

Jin senses there’s something more into Kame’s silence. He rolls onto his side to get a better look at Kame’s face.

“You don’t want to win?”

“Do you?”

Jin snorts. “Now you’re avoiding my question.”

“Fine. I want to win because I hate losing. But after that? The job, the publicity… I don’t really want that.” He closes his eyes, sighing. It all goes back to Paris and how things got screwed over there. So much that he wouldn’t even know where to start explaining.

“Publicity sucks,” Jin says simply. “I mean, I obviously don’t know that firsthand, right? But I imagine it’s mostly people talking shit about you and acting like they know you and that you now owe them shit.”

“That’s pretty much how it is,” Kame nods. And then, maybe he could try. Maybe Jin would understand. He wants Jin to understand. “When I was in Paris—”

“Oh, your famous Paris gig. Were you, like, a celebrity there?”

Takizawa definitely made it sound that way on a couple of occasions.

But no, Kame wasn’t a celebrity.

“I was a sous chef. That’s hardly a celebrity.” That… sounds like a good way to start. “But the guy I worked for, he was one. A really famous one. A lot like Takizawa here.” Kame closes his eyes. No wonder he agreed to be on Kitchen Wars; he totally has a thing for famous chefs.

Had. Right. He had had a thing for famous chefs, but now he’s over that shit.

“He has a show and people pay real money to get into the limited course he runs occasionally.”

“That does sound like Takizawa. It must have been cool to work for someone like that.”

Kame scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, rolling it into his mouth. “It was more than work,” he admits quietly.

“Oh.”

“We were… involved. Two years, give or take, and we lived together for a while before the press found out. He… He wasn’t out, so when our pictures appeared on the front page of every tabloid, things got ugly.”

“Shit, Kame.”

Jin holds him, presses his lips to the hollow of Kame’s throat and to his shoulder, then squeezes a little tighter. Like a hug could make things better.

In a way, it does. It reminds Kame that all the bad stuff is in the past. He’s left it at the other side of the world.

It’s not here with him anymore.

Jin is.

“‘Shit’ is nowhere near what the situation evolved into, and he didn’t take it well. Suddenly no one wanted to talk about cooking and everyone was interested in his sex life, which put a strain on our relationship. People would camp in front of the restaurant or wait under our window to get more pictures. To get a picture of me. It wasn’t comfortable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jin mumbles.

“We argued because he didn’t know how to handle the situation—and to be fair, I didn’t know either. In the end I left. Not my strongest moment in life, but it was the best I could do. I left the kitchen, our apartment, and then the country, too. I was lucky the tabloids never found out my name and my face wasn’t clear on any of the pictures they got, so I’m relatively safe.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath, and as the air leaves his lungs, relief simmers to the surface. He didn’t think he’d want to talk about it. Ever.

“Joining Kitchen Wars doesn’t sound like the best way to maintain privacy though.”

“I was back in Japan and didn’t know what to do next. My mom thought I should try getting on the show, because it could help with kicking off my career again, and I couldn’t explain her why it was a bad idea. So here I am.”

“And here I thought it was Kusano who got here by accident,” Jin chuckles.

“He probably did, though. In my case, it’s more for the lack of objection on my side when my mom told me to apply.”

“Well, whatever, I’m glad you’re here.”

Kame kisses him and feels like a part of the weight he’s been carrying around on his shoulders is gone.

“Does it mean the plan for after the show is over is to keep a low profile and never go back to Europe again?”

“That was the plan from the moment I boarded the plane back home,” Kame admits, and it must be the first time he doesn’t feel bitter about it.

Jin wriggles a little, but to Kame’s relief doesn’t roll away. Jin’s warmth feels nice where he’s pressed to Kame’s side.

Pressing his lips to Kame’s shoulder, Jin mumbles, “Did you love him? The French guy?”

“We wanted the same things. We were good together.”

Jin looks up. “That’s not an answer.”

It’s the only answer Kame has, though. “We built a life together, a nice life, with work we both loved, friends who supported us, but then he let it shatter into pieces. He locked me out and acted like he was the only one who had to deal with consequences. We could’ve done it together—it’s not like he’s been forsaken after the truth came out. He still has his show and his snobby cooking course. The storm has passed and reporters found another sensation to write about. Meanwhile, I am the one who has to collect the pieces and start over.”

Jin raises his head, then props himself on his elbows. He want to see Kame and wants Kame to look back at him.

“Well, he’s an idiot. I’d never push you away if you wanted to stay.”

“That’s good to know,” Kame mutters. He doesn’t know what else to say because Jin’s talking about a future that’s not here for now. Plenty of time to think of pushing away and staying, and making decisions.

This is just fun.

“What about you?” Kame changes the subject, pointing the limelight of the conversation on Jin, even though he hasn’t answered the actual question himself yet.

“What about me?”

“What is your plan after this?”

“I’m not quite sure yet, but I definitely do want to keep cooking. You were right. I’ve made it this far on the show, so chances are, someone will want to hire me.”

Kame grins. Jin’s words are warm and full of hope, of plans that may not have a specific direction or shape, but it’s more than what Jin mentioned three weeks ago. Kame runs fingers through Jin’s hair.

“You know what I think?” Jin asks after a while.

“About?”

“I think we would be great at running a restaurant together. You’d cook all that fancy stuff that would bring people in and make them come back over and over again, and I’d help. You could teach me, too. I’m not a bad cook—”

“You’re a great cook,” Kame blurts out while his brain is trying to process what Jin is saying.

Or how serious he is about this plan of his.

“—oh, okay, I’m a great cook, but I could be better, with a little help.”

With a little help, Jin could be probably better than anyone. He already is. It’s just his head messing with him after a long time of no one believing in his skills and not letting him put them in use. But Kame has been watching Jin these past weeks, watching him more closely than any other person on this show, and he knows what Jin is capable of.

Jin can turn even the most simple dish into something magnificent, and during public events, he knows how to entrance people with his cooking skills. And the best part is, Jin doesn’t even try too hard most of the time. While Kame or Yamapi need to focus on giving the best performance, Jin scowls and hardly says a word, and people love him anyway.

“Just imagine it,” Jin keeps going, getting more excited as he lets the originally random idea grow and shape. “It could be a small, cozy place. With the best food and maybe live music. We probably wouldn’t hear much of it back in the kitchen, but guests would love it.”

Kame’s eyelids flutter as he tries to wrap his head around the sudden, and unexpected, explosion of future plans. A restaurant? Run by the two of them? What the hell?

Kame wriggles and sits straight, the shift of his body forcing Jin to roll off him.

He remembers another night, quite similar to this one, and another man making plans for both of them.

“—what do you think we should call it?” Jin asks.

Kame hears the question like it’s coming from behind a wall. Dull and distorted. It doesn’t sound like Jin.

“You should go out there, they want to compliment to the chef.”

“They want to stare at me like I’m a fucking monkey in the zoo. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course I know! It’s the same shit like yesterday and the day before. Like every single day since the pictures came out.”

“That’s not—”

“Really? Then why don’t you go out there and tell the whole restaurant that you’re the other man?”

“Is it what you want?”

“I want this nightmare to be over and for the next person asking me to come out of the kitchen to fucking choke on their grilled asparagus.”

“Jin, wait.” Kame needs to catch a breath.

Jin can’t be serious.

“Just imagining my Dad flip over the idea that I’d cook in a restaurant makes me want to do this for real. It’s weird because I’ve never thought of having my own restaurant before. I mean, I have, but never as something that could really happen. It was this big, big and impossible dream. All I wanted was to prove to my Dad that I can cook.”

Kame’s jaw clenches.

The night started so good, but now it’s taking a really wrong turn. “You don’t need me to open your own place,” he says carefully. He doesn’t want to sound like an asshole, stomping Jin’s plans into the ground while Jin looks and sounds so genuinely excited.

Jin nudges Kame’s leg.

“Aren’t you listening to me? I do need you. I’ve just told you that without you I would’ve never considered doing it in the first place. You make me want to make something of myself. Meeting you is the best part of Kitchen Wars. It’s better than winning this show.”

“Winning the show would open all the doors for you. Meeting me does not.”

“Well, screw that,” Jin huffs. “I don’t care about winning. I… care about you.” There’s a hint of a blush in his face.

It could be anything and Kame tries really hard to ignore it. Jin has no idea what he’s talking about.

Kame shudders.

“Jin, stop it. I’ve just told you why being involved with someone you work with is a terrible idea. Have you listened at all?” Kame’s voice shakes.

Jin hesitates, taken aback by Kame’s accusation, then shakes his head vigorously. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

Right.

It wasn’t supposed to go to hell before either. But no one knows what’s written in the future for them. “You don’t know that,” Kame argues, his words an echo of the past.

“Sure I do,” Jin says with confidence. “You don’t have to be scared of scandals. I’m not. First of all, I’m no celebrity. I clean kitchens and hand out flyers, remember? No one will care if someone sees us hug for a little longer. There will be no front page scandals.”

Kame shakes his head. Is it possible that Jin doesn’t see it? “We’re on this damn show and the longer we stay here, the more people will want to know about us after we’re out. You’re not your father’s bus-boy anymore. In a way, you are a celebrity now. What if someone finds out—?”

Shit. Now it rushes back to him; crystal clear memory of his encounter with Yamapi earlier. The hoodie and the awkward moment when Kame walked in the wrong direction. It grows into a much bigger problem than it probably is, because Kame isn’t capable of seeing it rationally.

With the previous conversation still freshly prodding his memory, all he can see are strangers jumping out of nowhere to snap a picture of the two of them, because someone would pay a fortune to get proof of what kind of relationship has evolved between some of the participants of this year’s Kitchen Wars.

Jin shrugs. “I don’t care. How many times do I have to repeat that I’m not your famous French guy—whatever his name was—”

“Luc.”

“Whatever. I don’t care if people know who I am with.”

“You don’t care now because as you said yourself, you have no idea what publicity is like. What about later when you realize it’s not something you can switch off? When you get annoyed because you can’t take a step without someone making up shit about your life?”

Jin sits up, too, and while they’re still occupying the same bed, there’s a gap between them now.

A gap that Kame keeps digging deeper, unable to stop himself.

“Then we deal with it when it comes instead of running away? Geez, it was just an idea.” Jin pick on the sheet folded up under his bent knee. He’s not wearing pants now, so he can’t nervously play with those. “You obviously don’t know what to do next and I don’t want to go back to cleaning Dad’s mess, and we’re good together.”

Kame sighs.

“Things will be different when this is over.”

“You don’t know that,” Jin replies, giving Kame a taste of his own words. Kame hates the sound of each one of them.

Outside the window, first lights of a new day are slowly coming up. The night seems so much longer suddenly; like Jin on his knees and then Kame reciprocating a moment later happened weeks ago, in a different world.

This is exactly why Kame should have listened to the voice warning him that getting involved with Jin might be a bad idea.

If only sitting next to Jin in the quiet kitchen or kissing him didn’t feel so damn right…

“I can’t do this,” he says quietly.

And before Jin can move or say something, before there’s time for any reaction at all, Kame is on his feet, moving around the room and gathering his clothes and shoes. They are all scattered all over the place and he can’t find his T-shirt… What did his T-shirt look like, anyway? Was it the turtle one? It’s been ages ago when he wore it last time.

He’s being irrational and he can’t find the damn T-shirt, and Jin’s not saying anything. Or maybe he is, but Kame can’t hear him over the loud buzz in his ears.

He wants to sit down and do the last ten minutes all over.

He would find a way to make it right.

The loud voices in his head now shout in French, and Kame closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“Kame, wait.”

Long fingers hesitantly lock around his wrist. That makes Kame snap his eyes open again. The voice fades into an unintelligible murmur. He stares at Jin’s hand at first, holding him. Jin doesn’t want him to leave. Jin wants him to stay and for them to open a restaurant together and live a happy life—after what?—after knowing each other for a month? Ridiculous.

People can’t be together and work together, because then everything falls apart.

Jin looks… hurt. “I didn’t mean to…”

A shrill sound cuts off Jin’s attempt to talk to Kame, to perhaps explain himself and make it clear that he wasn’t being serious, or to give Kame a reason to realize it really wasn’t more than a reckless idea and that Kame doesn’t have to sign up to follow through for the rest of his life.

Regretfully, Jin lets go of Kame’s hand and reaches for his phone.

“Reio?”

He looks up at Kame, pleading him to wait, so they could sit down and clear this obvious misunderstanding.

Kame can’t do it now, though.

On his way out of the room he snatches the same hoodie he wore just a couple of hours ago on his sneaky adventure downstairs to the kitchen. He pulls it over his head and is walking out of the door while Jin’s still listening to whatever made his brother call him before dawn.

Kame is still half asleep when he drags his sleep deprived ass down for breakfast less than two hours after he left Jin’s room. He didn’t really make it all the way to bed and he is currently wearing a couple of dark circles under his eyes as a proof. He took a shower and spent an hour sitting on the edge of the bed, staring numbly into a wall. The whole night with Jin ran on replay in his head, and the longer the memory feed went on, the more like an idiot Kame felt.

By the time his phone signaled 7AM, Kame couldn’t wait to see Jin at breakfast and ask him if they could meet after today’s filming and talk.

Kame doesn’t always admit when he’s wrong, but he definitely over-reacted and Jin deserves to know.

However, when he enters the kitchen, Jin’s nowhere to be seen. Yamapi, Meisa, and Ryo are sitting around the table that usually serves for presentation. There’s coffee and bowls of salmon rice, and it’s a rare sight the cameras will never be allowed to film, because the three of them don’t look like they’re trying to kill each other. No utensils being hurled across the room. The scene is… peaceful. Suspiciously so.

Meisa laughs at something Yamapi said.

Kame looks around again, but there’s no one else in the kitchen. Jin must’ve fallen asleep then. Lucky him.

“Good morning!” Yamapi spots Kame first, waves at him and hollers to bring him over to the table. “Come and join the feast. Ryo’s treat.”

Ryo dips chopsticks into his bowl and stuffs his face with a slice of salmon and a big chunk of rice.

“He doesn’t want recognition, but fully expects you to acknowledge what a cooking genius he is,” Meisa informs him while Ryo glares at her across the table.

Kame walks to the table, eyeing Ryo with suspicion.

There were talks before when someone would suggest cooking breakfast or dinner together, so they could get to know each other, but until now no one took it seriously. It was always just a possibility hanging over them. With all the tension between them and the cameras seemingly always just around the corner, the show doesn’t exactly create a friendly atmosphere.

“What’s going on?” Kame asks and pours himself a cup of coffee. It’s freshly brewed. Smells like heaven.

Ryo mumbles something around a mouthful of rice that Kame doesn’t understand.

“We’re celebrating,” Yamapi explains then. “There’s no Showdown this week.”

“Huh?”

“Yamapi’s secret source says so,” Meisa grins. It’s kind of strange to see her so relaxed; strange, but in a good way.

Ryo looks up, still chewing. “Secret source, my ass. He has a thing with that cute production assistant.”

“Which one?” Did Kame miss something?

Meisa purses her lips until they form an almost perfectly round O, and widens her eyes, blinking fast and unnaturally. “The one that looks like a manga heroine?”

“Shut up, she doesn’t look like that,” Yamapi groans. “I don’t even like manga.”

Not that Kame cares about Yamapi’s taste in girls. He’s more interested in the information Yamapi gets that way.

It kind of explains how he always seems to know what’s to come next.

“Whatever you say,” Meisa chuckles.

Kame blinks and sits down on one of the two empty chairs around the table. He’s sitting with his back turned to the door and the position makes him itchy. He’d much prefer a seat where he could spot Jin the moment the other walks in.

He needs to know the two of them are fine, despite Kame’s momentary insanity earlier.

“So, what happened?” He tries to act casually. Mingle in. Engage in whatever conversation was going on before he got down here.

He’s so busy arranging and rearranging his salmon and rice, and thinking of what to tell Jin when he gets a chance to speak to the other in private, that he almost misses it.

Almost.

“You don’t know?” Yamapi sounds surprised. “Jin left this morning. The whole production has been freaking out since five, because apparently he just walked in and said he was done. Had more important things to do. Whatever. Anyway, to even out the numbers, they won’t be sending anyone home this week.”

“Let’s be real, he would be leaving this week anyway.” Ryo shrugs.

“You’re an asshole,” Meisa mumbles in between two sips.

“What? I like Jin, but he wasn’t a winner material.”

Kame hears himself say a weak, “You don’t know that,” but defending Jin’s cooking skills or his chances to get smoothly through another Showdown is nowhere near the top of his mental list of priorities.

He’s too busy understanding that the reason why Jin’s not sitting at the table with them right now is simply because Jin’s not here.

“Did he… did he say why?”

Yamapi shrugs. “Don’t look at me, that’s all I know.”

It’s still a hell of a lot more than Kame knows, and he was the one who spent the night with Jin. He was there and Jin was making plans for the time after the show; he didn’t sound like someone who was planning to just walk out of the door without a fight. Unless—

Kame quickly hides his face in the mug, almost burning his upper lip with coffee.

Jin didn’t leave because of him, right? That would be stupid.

His stomach twists and Ryo’s breakfast suddenly doesn’t look so appealing. There’s no way Kame could eat anything without getting sick.

He needs to know what happened, but he can’t ask anyone at the table. If Yamapi with his connections doesn’t know, the others wouldn’t know either. Asking them would only draw suspicion towards him.

He doesn’t touch his breakfast and doesn’t join the conversation that quickly goes back to whatever the three of them were talking about before Kame got there. It’s clear they don’t need him anyway.

They leave him be for most of the morning.

After breakfast they have an hour of personal time and then they’re called back into the kitchen. So far no one has mentioned anything about Jin’s sudden departure, and it’s killing Kame. He tried to find Takizawa or one of the production assistants, but it’s almost like everyone has disappeared. It’s strange, considering that just yesterday it was difficult to get a moment alone without cameras or someone following them like a shadow.

He doesn’t even have Jin's phone number—he didn’t think he would need it. He and Jin shared the same kitchen, the same hotel. Hell, most of the nights, they shared the same bed. You don’t need a phone number for someone who you see every damn day.

Takizawa joins them minutes after they all gather around the front counter.

“Good morning,” he greets them. He looks tired, too. Possibly the for the first time, Kame notices his ashen skin and dark circles under his eyes that not even a thick layer of make up can conceal. It looks like Jin’s departure caused troubles all over the place. “As you probably noticed, Jin is not joining you today.”

“What happened, sir?” Meisa asks. “Is he alright?” She didn’t seem like the type ofperson to care, but maybe she just didn’t have a reason to.

“Akanishi asked to be removed from the show due to personal reasons,” Takizawa explains.

The explanation isn’t enough.

Ryo’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “What reasons?”

Meisa smacks his shoulder. “Personal reasons.”

“What? I’m just asking. ‘Personal reasons’ can be anything from his sister needing his kidney to him being scared shitless and leaving of his own accord instead of being kicked out later this week during the next Showdown.”

“He doesn’t have a sister,” Kame mumbles without thinking. His mouth just runs without any ties to his brain.

Now it’s official. Jin’s gone. He asked to leave.

Takizawa clearly hesitates a bit, considering what he can and cannot share, then speaks. “His father was hospitalized last night. According to what Jin told us before leaving, his family needs him and he can’t keep going on with the show. It’s understandable. With this unexpected situation, there won’t be a Showdown this week—”

Yamapi’s face is all smug, because he was right earlier.

Ryo ignores him, while Meisa rolls her eyes and for most part also pretends she saw nothing.

It’s almost like Kame is the only one affected by the news. His stomach is tight. Good thing he didn’t eat breakfast.

“—we’re currently preparing an alternative plan and you’ll learn about the new schedule as soon as it’s finalized. Other than that, nothing, and I repeat, nothing, changes. Today will go as has been planned,” Takizawa keeps explaining, but Kame catches only every other word.

Nothing changes.

Bullshit.

He makes it through the day, pushing himself to focus on cutting and chopping and mixing, the right temperature and intensity of flame, measuring ingredients; step by step instructions roll inside his head and all he needs to do is read them and follow. Anything to keep himself busy and not glance over his shoulder every five minutes only to see Jin’s usual spot empty, clean, unused.

He works on autopilot, and after three or four attempts to interact with him, the others simply give up and let him brood in his corner of the kitchen. He might be thankful, if he were aware of their actions, or the lack of any.

Locking himself up in his chef mode has helped him before, and maybe, maybe if he stays like that long enough, it will push him all the way to the end of Kitchen Wars, too.

Now when Jin is not here, Kame wouldn’t even feel bad about winning.

Cooking is all he has left, so why shouldn’t he prove to everyone that he is the best?

The thing is… winning this stupid show has always been just a second thought, and Jin’s sudden departure didn’t change that. It only made Kame less interested in staying.

The kitchen is quiet.

Kame has almost forgotten how quiet the place could get at night. With its shadows and dim lights and the quiet buzz of the fridge. Was it so quiet before? He should know; he should remember. It hasn’t been so long since he was hiding in there to clear his head and recharge after a busy day. It’s been only a few weeks…

However, he can’t remember.

What he can remember, is Jin sitting on the floor by his side. The sound of Jin’s voice in the big, empty room. Jin’s fingers fiddling with nonexistent dust on his pants when he was thinking too hard or was nervous. The taste of Jin’s lips. The precision of Jin’s moves when they cooked the scallops—they were good together. Moving around the counter and the stove in sync, like they had years of practice and could read each other’s body language, predicting the next move with unbelievable accuracy.

And if their hips accidentally bumped against each other anyway, it was a welcome collision, not a distraction, not a problem.

Kame can imagine working with Jin again.

The images come to him so easily now that he can’t believe he didn’t see them before. Maybe he just didn’t want to see them.

Closing his eyes, that’s all he can see these last couple of days since Jin left, though. His imagination draws vivid pictures of the two of them running a kitchen together. A kitchen built and organized according to their requests. Kame has never had a chance to have a place like that—not even in Paris, because that was Luc’s place more than anything else, and while Kame was supposed to be a part of it, he was never the one to make important decisions. Strangely, he couldn’t remember complaining. Not until things started falling apart.

Now the future is open again.

And from the corner of his eye, Kame can see it clearly.

Jin with his hair pulled back and that tight apron tied around his hips, dancing around the stove and doing something he loves. It’s amazing to watch it. And Kame, Kame is a part of it.

He wants to be a part of it.

He rubs his face with both hands, leans back into the counter, and listens to the sounds around him.

Tomorrow is a filming day. According to the new plan, they’re supposed to prepare and present desserts. The fridge is fully stuffed with cream and fruits from all over the world, chocolate bars are piled up in the pantry, wedged between bags of flour, cocoa powder, and grained gelatin.

Kame’s grocery list for this round was pretty simple, while Meisa, on the other hand, had some very specific requests and eventually got into an argument with a production assistant who wanted her to cut the needed supplies to at least two thirds of the original list. Kame caught only the end of the fight when the poor guy agreed to have things her way.

Arguing with chefs usually doesn’t end well for the other party.

He and Jin would probably argue about something silly.

And suddenly Kame wants to know.

“Ten more minutes,” Takizawa announces.

A camera is following Kame’s every move, taking a close-up of his hands decorating the almost finished red berry trifle he’s been working on this afternoon. It’s gotten easier to act like his every move is not recorded now—though the cameras still give him the creeps; but he doesn’t want to mess up anyway. It’s a different kind of anxiety. He adds a few chocolate chips and a whole, deliciously looking strawberry at the top.

He hasn’t paid much attention to what the others have been doing. Meisa is the one working with the gelatin he saw in the pantry last night, and Ryo and Yamapi… who knows. It will be a surprise.

Satisfied with the final look of the trifle, Kame pulls his hands away and wipes his palms on the apron wrapped around his hips, leaving dark, chocolate smears all over the white fabric.

One last, critical look at the dessert.

“Two minutes. You should be just about done by now.”

In the row in front of Kame, Ryo curses, and in the flurry of last minute additions likely ruins what has been already a perfect dessert.

Kame takes a breath.

He should be happy about Ryo’s nervous mistakes. Or about Meisa’s struggles with the right consistency of the gelatin. Those are the things that could bring him closer to winning. Yamapi sure looks pretty pleased whenever someone groans in frustration.

They are getting close to another Showdown again.

And this time it won’t be easy.

If Kame was still playing the tactic game, this would be the best time to start thinking of ways to get rid of Ryo.

There are no team games anymore and everyone is on their own. People with skills that used to be an advantage and made them welcome team members have turned into enemies. Ryo and his tactic to nominate someone during Showdown simply because they are too good, might now be as well the best tactic.

Kame doesn’t play anymore, though.

He didn’t realize it until today, and now that the thought settled in, he can’t remember when it happened.

The time is up.

Meisa and Yamapi present their desserts first, and Meisa must’ve done something right, after all, because she gets Takizawa’s approval, while Yamapi’s plate earns a lecture about everything that has been done wrong. It’s all clear in his face as he turns around and returns to his station, that this is not how he imagined the day to end. Meisa glares at Ryo with triumph.

It’s difficult to guess what the relationship between the two of them is at the moment.

Whatever is happening, it only makes Kame wonder if his and Jin’s behavior around each other would also be so suspicious. Would Yamapi put two and two together and make the connection between Kame wearing Jin’s hoodie in the middle of the night and Jin and Kame being… friendly?

And most importantly—would Kame care if Yamapi, or anyone else, did find out?

Would Jin?

No, of course not. Jin wouldn’t give a damn if someone knew. He said so. Jin wouldn’t care if people knew. With Jin, there would be no hiding, because Jin hates playing games and acting like he’s something he’s not. And if someone had a problem with them… Jin would glare and scowl and maybe, maybe Jin would hold Kame’s hand in public just to piss people off.

And Kame would let him.

The thought makes Kame grin, forgetting about where he is.

Until a familiar voice hits him with a reminder.

“Anything funny you’d like to share with the rest of us?” Takizawa asks.

The sound pierces through Kame’s thoughts and he’s back. Sitting at the table with Ryo on his left and Takizawa watching him curiously from across.

Kame shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Good. So we can agree that Ryo’s red velvet molten lava cake looks nice, correct?”

Kame’s eyes drop to the plate lying on the table in front of Ryo. The sponge textured cake looks soft and puffy, with the right dark shade of red, warm and not too sweet. Kame’s mouth waters. It’s a funny instinct, really, because he doesn’t usually salivate over his own cooking. As soon as someone else is added to the equation, though, he needs to swallow hard to stop drooling.

Like when he and Jin made the scallops—

He closes his eyes. Not the best moment to think of that.

“It looks amazing.”

Takizawa picks up a fork and slides it through the cake. The liquid filling, thick and darker than the sponge enclosing it, drizzles out, like a gush of actual lava from a crack at the side of a volcano. It smells strong of chocolate and sugar and sweet raspberry liquor. Takizawa takes a bite, and somehow Kame can practically see the moment the tastes melt on his tongue and flood his senses with something magical.

Kame licks his lips. The temptation to have a taste, too, is there again.

It’s easy to imagine trying to recreate the cake with Jin later, late at night when the kitchen would once again belong to just the two of them.

But Jin is not there, and sneaking around and midnight cooking isn’t much fun anymore when Kame is on his own.

“This—this is perfect,” Takizawa nearly moans, pointing at the plate with the fork. “I don’t use the word often, because I don’t often meet people who are capable of reaching perfection, but this…” He looks behind Kame and Ryo. “Come on, people, give him applause. And you, take the plate and let your colleagues have a taste. When someone in a restaurant finishes their dinner with this, you can bet they won’t remember a single problem that may have occurred with any of their previous courses.”

Ryo’s face is beaming with that smug, self-satisfied grin of his. He offers the cake first to Kame who is the closest, and goddamn, the cake tastes just as good as Kame has imagined a moment ago, maybe even better.

It’s pretty simple to make, but as it often happens in the kitchen, when the simple things are done right, they become something extraordinary.

The melted chocolate filling is thick and creamy, like a touch of velvet against Kame’s tongue. It leaves a rich aftertaste on his palate; a trap for his tongue that keeps chasing the taste like an addict.

The others get a taste, too, and then Ryo is back in his chair and Takizawa is pulling Kame’s trifle closer. The presentation is spotless. After weeks of doing this, Kame can already read the tiny clues Takizawa’s seemingly expressionless face offers as an insight of what’s going on behind the indifferent façade.

“The layers look nice,” Takizawa comments thoughtfully, studying the glass standing in front of him. It’s filled with precise layers of cake, vanilla cream, and different kinds of berries, topped with chocolate chips and a strawberry. There’s a trick in the dough that makes the cake layers really soft, plus a few drops of strawberry juice prevents it from becoming too dry. Kame remembers his grandmother making the berry trifle in a big bowl so all her grandchildren could enjoy some sweets every time they visited.

Later on Kame changed a few things in the recipe to accentuate the berry flavor, but the base is still the same.

Desserts aren’t Kame’s forte, but he can honestly say he’s done his best.

Yuya would’ve nailed this round, with his years of experience, but there is no way he could’ve got this far.

As far as Kame can tell, none of the remaining participants has a background that would give either of them an advantage in this round.

He’s curious about what Jin’s dessert of choice would be. Perhaps something with lots of chocolate. Rich and heavy, and delicious.

“The berries mix quite well with all the vanilla,” Takizawa says.

Kame must’ve missed something, because the trifle has been dug into and Takizawa is already putting the fork down.

“Thank you, sir,” Kame says quickly.

Takizawa looks at both desserts, hesitating. He can’t decide right away. Which is a good thing. It means that Kame’s work, while not having been praised as ‘perfect’, is at least worth a moment of doubt before the final decision is made.

A moment of anticipation…

“Ryo.”

… the verdict doesn’t come as a surprise.

Ryo whoops, jumps up of the chair, hands in the air and the grin on his face so wide it threatens to split his head in two.

Kame isn’t disappointed. He expected the result.

A part of him doesn’t really care. It’s one step closer to the end of all this.

“The trifle was amazing, too,” Takizawa assures him, while the cameras are chasing Ryo’s little victory dance. “Set up against either Yamapi, or Meisa, you’d have won.”

Kame reacts with a weak smile. “Thanks.”

Kame knocks on the door and waits, not aware of the breath he’s holding. After a moment Takizawa’s voice invites him to enter, and only then Kame takes the doorknob and walks in. The room isn’t much different from the one he currently lives in, but unlike Kame whose contract clearly states he’s expected to stay on the filming location during the run of the show, Takizawa is free to come and go and his room is merely a place to crash on days when he films his evening segments.

Takizawa is sitting in a chair, a laptop open on a coffee table in front of him.

“Kamenashi. Come in. Good job today.”

“Thank you, sir.” It’s not what Kame wants to talk about. He lowers his head. “Ryo was better, though.”

“Not necessarily. Look, Kamenashi, you’re an amazing chef. I’ve read your application and done some digging. You’ve worked hard and you’re still willing to improve. You’d be surprised how rare that is. In my career I’ve met people who stopped trying to get better after the first compliment they got. That’s not your case.”

“It’s not, you’re right.”

Kame’s hard earned confidence in his skills never stopped him from trying to be better.

“Why didn’t you stay in Paris?” Takizawa asks.

The question shouldn’t come as a surprise. It’s not the first time someone has looked at Kame’s resume and couldn’t see past the gaping sharp end of his last job. A job people might be willing to kill for—he didn’t go as far, but he did feel like he was sweating blood sometimes at the beginning, when he just got to Paris without knowing much of the language, or anything at all, but he was eager to work and get better, to start at the very bottom and little by little crawl up the ladder of a kitchen hierarchy.

Kame shuffles his feet, mumbles, “Personal reasons.” He needs to find a better excuse for the future. The chances that people might stop asking someday are slim.

Takizawa quirks a brow. “Must have been a hell of a reason if you let go of a job many people can only dream about.”

A shrug. “It was a job.” What else is he supposed to say, anyway.

Paris doesn’t matter anymore. It’s a closed chapter now. Kame didn’t think it would be when he arrived to the filming location for Kitchen Wars; a few weeks ago it was hanging heavy on his leg like a weight, but he can let it go now.

“I can get another one.”

Takizawa watches him with a spark of interest. Then he reaches for the laptop, closes it, to shut down any potential distraction.

“Is that what you expected from this show? Another job?”

“I… My family thought it would be a good place to start over after I came back to Japan. But if I can be honest, sir, I don’t think it was a good idea.”

“Oh. That’s certainly not something I’ve ever heard from someone who has made it this far in the contest.” Takizawa is leaning back into the chair, but something Kame’s said, or the tone of his voice, something, makes him change his mind and he stays leaning forward. “You could win, you know that?”

“I don’t think that—”

“I’ve been watching you from day one.” Takizawa stands up. “And I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you have the potential.”

For a moment, Kame forgets to breathe.

He could win this. He could make it through this week’s Showdown, and if he didn’t fuck up too badly the next week, he could really make it till the very end… If he wanted to.

It’s only a few more weeks, after all, and he’s put his life on hold for over a month now, so what’s a couple more weeks, right?

He licks his lips, giving himself one last chance to grab what’s being offered and hold on to it.

Then the chance is gone.

“Sir, I don’t think I can continue on the show.”

“What?”

“I understand that Jin’s abrupt departure caused troubles and I wouldn’t want to put you, or my colleagues, through similar situation, so I’d like to ask you to send me home in the Showdown this week.” He thought it would be more difficult to say that.

But then, the hardest things are often easy to say aloud once you finally open your mouth.

“What is this? Kame? Why are your things in boxes? What’s going on?”

“I’m going home. I need to catch a flight at 5:30 and someone will come collect the boxes tomorrow. If you could make sure they will get them… that would be great.”

“I… I don’t understand—wait, is it about yesterday? I’m sorry, the reporters—”

“It’s not about yesterday. Not only. It’s about the day before and last week, and I’m not doing this again. It’s better for everyone if I catch the flight. You can have your life back. And I’ll find something for myself, too.”

“Are you sure?” Takizawa asks carefully, giving Kame one last chance. A chance Kame doesn’t want.

“You think it’s a mistake.”

Kame can almost hear his father the day Kame announced he’d be going to Paris. And while things there didn’t end the way Kame imagined, he doesn’t regret getting on the plane back then and going to a strange country where he didn’t know anyone. He also doesn’t regret coming back home; not anymore.

Hopefully, he won’t regret this either.

“I think you could do great things.”

“Just hearing you say that is an honor, sir.”

He’d still love to get a chance to cook with Takizawa someday, even though it’s not on the top of his priority list anymore. There’s someone else Kame would like to share a kitchen with.

When Takizawa doesn’t say anything for a while, Kame musters courage to ask for one more favor.

When the taxi pulls up at the curb, Kame pays the driver and gets out on the sidewalk. People are rushing up and down around him, most of them so engrossed in their own personal bubbles of thoughts and phone calls that no one pays particular attention to him. It’s a relief; a part of him will probably always cautiously glance over his shoulder to double check that no one tries to stalk him and get clear pictures of his face.

Cooking should’ve been a safe career.

And it could’ve been—if Kame had chosen a small restaurant like the one in front of him, instead of associating himself with a famous chef with a life under constant scrutiny.

He walks towards the door of the restaurant at the address Takizawa scribbled down on a piece of paper for him. He threads his way through the crowd of people moving in different directions. If anyone recognizes him, they don’t let it show.

It’s a simple place, with colorful decorations and signs in the big front windows, and a small bell chiming above Kame’s head when he pushes the door open and walks in.

The place is bright and clean and surprisingly packed with a lunch crowd of what could be office workers from the neighborhood.

Kame finds an empty table and takes a seat. Waiting for someone to notice him and come over to take his order, Kame skims a simple menu, even though he’s not here for lunch.

Finally, a young man in dark pants and a white shirt approaches his table.

And Kame’s breathing hitches.

The guy looks almost like Jin; the same messy hair, nose, full, kissable lips… His face lacks the sharp angles that could make Kame’s knees weak though; his features are softer, less prominent, but the overall resemblance is amazing.

“Welcome, sir, what can I get you?” Reio mumbles, not even trying to sound like he doesn’t want to be anywhere but here in the restaurant, serving people food and cleaning tables after they leave. He keeps his eyes low, boring a hole into the small notepad he carries around to write down orders. When he finally does look up and gets a better look of the newcomer, something snaps, and Kame can see the realization dawn on him. Reio’s eyes go wide. “You are— You are the guy from TV.”

Kame grimaces, but then quickly remembers things could be worse.

Being the guy from TV means being the guy from Kitchen Wars. Nothing else. He should get used to it, because as annoying it is, things could be much worse. Instead of a reality show star, he could be known as someone’s dirty secret.

He can live with people occasionally recognizing him as the face of a chef who can cook a mean fried shrimp.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he grins at Reio. “Though I’m not on TV anymore, and I was hoping I’d catch your brother here?” He turns it into a weird question at the last moment; for no reason in particular.

“Oh. Jin’s in the kitchen. Dad is—”

“I’ve heard he was taken to the hospital. I’m sorry about that.”

“They haven’t released him yet. Mom’s there with him, so Jin and I…” He makes a weak gesture around himself. “It’s a lot of work.”

Kame can see two tables in the close proximity that are clearly getting impatient because no one has come to take their orders yet. Another tables needs cleaning. A group of six is walking in the door and looking around for a table to sit down.

“Maybe I could help?” he hears himself offer in the next moment.

“You want to help?” Reio repeats, shocked.

Kame is already on his feet, tearing off a half of Reio’s notepad and rummaging through his bag to find a pen. He tosses his bag behind a small bar counter by the kitchen door before slipping into a waiter role. It’s been years since he did this, worked the front of the house. His few first jobs in Paris were doing anything but cooking. He cleaned tables, worked behind a bar, washed dishes. When they finally let him do the prep, it was a day worth celebrating.

It’s funny how easily he slips into the role after all this time.

In a moment he has collected orders from three tables, sent Reio to cash up another two, and he’s so busy thinking of what else needs to be done, that he hasn’t realized he’s entered the kitchen until he’s there.

And Jin is staring at him from his spot by the stove.

A spot that was like a forbidden area not so long ago; a spot Jin admitted he wanted to take, but wasn’t allowed to. Now the kitchen is all Jin’s. A playground where he is the boss.

There’s another guy standing by the sink and roughly washing dishes before putting them into an open washer, one plate after another.

Jin clears his throat. “Kame? What are you doing here?”

“Hi,” Kame grins, and there’s so much he wants to tell Jin right now, but there’s the other guy and also about ten orders that need to be delivered to the tables. Kame quickly tears off the top paper with his order notes, hoping his handwriting makes sense. He hands it to Jin. “Lots of hungry people out there. I’ll need some fried shrimp rice, and beef ramen, and a full table of soup—”

Jin instinctively skims over the paper, then looks up at Kame again. He’s still confused, understandably so.

The last time they talked, Kame must’ve sounded like seeing Jin in a kitchen ever again might set off some kind of apocalypse.

“I’ll see if Reio needs more help out there and then will come back here,” Kame says.

It’s a midday rush hour and Jin’s working the kitchen all alone? That simply can’t do.

But before Kame can move, the door bursts open and Reio peeks inside. “There’s, like, fifteen people. Can we do it?”

Jin looks at Kame. “What do you think?”

“I’ll need an apron, though.”

Jin finds him one and ties it behind Kame’s back himself. When the knot is done, Jin’s hands linger just a little longer, then smooth the apron down Kame’s hips, sending a rush down Kame’s spine.

It doesn’t feel wrong, or like a distraction, at all.

He smiles at Jin, and then they get to work. Kame was right—the restaurant is full of hungry people and everything else needs to wait.

“I’m headed home, if you don’t need me anymore.”

“Sure thing, Yu. Thanks for your hard work.” Jin waves the guy off and Yu disappears into the falling dusk of the evening.

The restaurant is empty, the kitchen is clean, just waiting for one last load currently in the washer. Reio left ten minutes ago after finishing at the bar and taking care of the till. Now with Yu also gone, it’s only Kame and Jin.

The washer beeps and Kame starts taking out plates and glasses. After just a few hours, he more or less remembers the right shelves and cabinets where to put those things.

He reaches for another glass—and Jin catches his hand to stop him.

“I’m almost done,” Kame says.

Jin doesn’t seem to care about cleaning anymore. “Hey, it’s fine. Thanks for today.”

Kame steps aside from the machine, because it’s tempting to reach for another glass and pretend to be busy. He’s not busy though.

Jin lets go of his hand, leaving warm tingling around Kame’s wrist.

“You needed help… I mean, I can’t believe you were here all alone.”

“To be fair, I had Reio and Yu.”

Kame raises a brow. “Three people taking care of a full restaurant?”

Jin grins.

Kame rolls his eyes.

“What are you doing here? Except making sure people get their lunch,” Jin asks then in all seriousness. He takes off his dirty apron and tosses it into a bin in the back of the room. That’s where all used cloths go.

“It’s an important mission though.”

“Well…” Jin’s eyes narrow in suspicion as he tries to figure out what’s going on. Kame recognizes the expression because it must be mirroring his own. “I thought you didn’t want to work with me. You said—”

“I was wrong,” Kame says quickly, rolling the glass between his hands nervously. When you’re afraid to say something, just keep talking and don’t think about it too much. Right. He inhales a long, calming breath. “When you suggested we could run a place together, I panicked. I was thinking of all the things that went wrong in Paris and it wasn’t fair to you. Or me.”

Jin nods. But stays quiet.

“I was afraid and I didn’t really listen when you said it would be different… but I heard you. It took me a moment to realize the difference and I… I wanted to apologize the very next morning but you were gone—”

“Dad was taken to hospital.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“And Mom needed me. Someone had to be here and take care of the restaurant.” It could be the first time when Jin talks about the restaurant without sounding strained. It piques Kame’s curiosity. Is it possible that Jin doesn’t hate the place as much as he made it sound before? Jin sighs. “Reio is good and he works hard, but this is not his world. He’d be perfectly fine if he didn’t have to set foot in the kitchen ever again.”

Kame remembers and asks, “What about that theatre gig?”

“Pushed onto a side-track,” Jin grimaces. He doesn’t like it either. “I want to let him go soon, though. He deserves to do what makes him happy.”

“And your father?”

Shaking his head, Jin restlessly leans against the counter behind him, them pulls away and sways on his feet. “He’s not coming back.” Kame gasps and Jin quickly adds, “He’s going to be fine, but the doctor warned him about stress. Mom will hold him at home with all the strength she has.” Jin chuckles.

“So the restaurant…?”

“… is mine.” It’s simple and definite. Jin’s had time to think about it and come to terms with what it means for his future. He’s not fighting it.

Kame smiles. “That’s great.”

“It’s gonna be a lot of work. I have a plan though. I want to change things around here. It will take time. And money.” Jin blushes. “First of all, I’ll kick Reio out so he can go and be an actor. I’ll hire people to help me—I’ve already brought in Yu, he’s a good guy. That way Mom can stay home with Dad.”

It’s a good plan. Kame likes the genuine joy in Jin’s voice when he’s talking about it, about how things will be different, the way Jin wants them, not his Dad.

Kame looks around and sees the kitchen in a new light. It’s a place holding potential to become something more. A dream to come true.

“Jin, that’s amazing.”

Jin bites his lip and looks away. “I guess.”

There’s something he’s not saying.

Kame doesn’t realize he’s put the glass down and is moving forward, one slow step after another, until he almost collides with Jin. His eyelashes flutter when he waits for Jin’s eyes to meet his.

“I was thinking,” he says quietly, “maybe I could apply for a position here.” He’s itching to touch Jin.

“You—”

Kame’s hands go almost immediately to Jin’s hips then. He’s got no control over them. He’s tried to give Jin space, because that’s what Kame himself would want, but with Jin so close, Kame can’t risk losing the closeness again.

“I told you I was an idiot.” He leans in, feels Jin’s breath on his face. “Working with you in one kitchen was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” He wishes he sounded more confident. It’s ridiculous that he can’t make his voice deliver the determination, the wish, he feels. “Being with you… feels right. And I’d like to know where it all could go.”

There must be something he could say—

Then he can’t talk at all, because Jin’s mouth is covering his and they are kissing, lips pressed to lips. Jin’s hands frame Kame’s face and Kame’s fingers dig into Jin’s hips. They hold each other close.

Kame moans, and Jin’s lips curl upwards into a smile.

“You’ve got the job,” Jin mumbles, pulling away only for the short moment it takes to form words, and then his tongue is licking into Kame’s mouth again with eagerness.

Kame presses himself against Jin. “What job?” He feels a little light-headed.

And also like someone who just won the first prize in life.

“Whatever job you want around here.”

Kame brings a hand to Jin’s face, strokes a thumb up and down Jin’s jaw, and kisses him again. “Best offer I’ve got.”