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It’s unusual for Reigen’s mother to email him out of the blue like this.
At first, he’s sure somebody must have died. It’s the only reason he can imagine her talking to him outside of his birthday, and even that’s been hit or miss ever since the press conference. Then, once it’s obvious that’s not the case, he considers just ignoring it. It’s not like he has a great track record with her, after all, and things have been going so well lately that he doesn’t want to risk it. But the subject line - simply labeled “from my mother” - piques his interest just enough that he opens it anyway, bad idea or not.
Your grandmother wanted me to pass these along to you.
That’s the only line of text in the whole message. Attached is a file labeled “2000s”. It’s much bigger than he expected, and he manages to get up and get some water before it’s finished downloading. It doesn’t take much longer than that, though, and he opens it immediately upon sitting back down with no small amount of eager curiosity.
Inside is a collection of recipes. There are hundreds of them; some are recipes he’s never seen before that don’t seem like good combinations of flavors, but there are just as many that he remembers eating as a kid. As he scrolls and scrolls, a tidal wave of memories washes over him. There’s the first recipe he made in his own apartment when he nearly burned the place down, though he has it memorized and can make it without tripping the alarm now. One he made with his grandmother that he realizes now would probably taste disgusting, but it’s written in full detail in the same scratchy, scanned-in handwriting as everything else. The easy stew his mother made so often, bland but nutritious.
Finally, about two-thirds of the way down, he comes across a recipe he has only ever tasted once.
The handwriting is different; his sister’s neat penmanship replaces his grandmother’s hurried scrawl. He separates it from the rest immediately, flying out of his seat to turn on the printer he never uses. It’s only once he’s holding the sheets of paper in his hands that he realizes there’s no way he’s going to be able to make it. It’s far too complicated, uses far too many ingredients, takes too much time. There’s no way he’d be able to justify putting in that much energy for himself - not when there are jobs to do and, more importantly, bills to be paid.
He turns off his computer and sits at his desk, turning the recipe over and over in his hands until the edges are crinkled and worn and the ink is starting to crack and flake off on the fold lines of the paper. Unsure what else to do with it, he tucks it into his pocket.
+
Reigen always seems to have one hand in his pocket but, somehow, the same habit feels different today. His hand catches on the fabric every time he pulls it out to gesture, like he’s forgetting to let go of something slightly too big for the opening. He seems distracted, too. It’s actually good for business - he doesn’t jump at every accusation of fakery because his mind is elsewhere - but it has you all the more concerned.
“Everything okay?” you try. There’s a lull in clients, and the two of you are enjoying a well earned sitting break while Serizawa wraps up an exorcism. “You’re extra fidgety.”
“Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t sleep well, I guess.” He laughs and waves his hand dismissively. The effect is ruined by his thumb catching on his pocket again.
Well, that’s about the answer you expected, at least.
“Mm. Alright. I guess that means you’ll be too tired to finish our movie marathon tonight, then.”
“If anything, that will help wake me up.”
“Oh, please.” You lean over to elbow him, but you miscalculate and end up toppling face first into his side. He laughs and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “You always fall asleep the second the first movie ends. I know you insist that you’re awake, but I can only watch the same movie because you ‘forgot what happens’ so many times.”
“Just one movie, then.”
“Hmmmm.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead before he stands, just in time for Serizawa to come back through the door.
“One.”
+
“You don’t always have to cook, you know. It’s not like I don’t know where things are in your kitchen by now.”
“I know.” Reigen picks up a mass of noodles with his chopsticks and drops them into a bowl. More toppings follow, then a hearty spoonful of extra broth. “I want to.”
“My food is that bad, huh?”
“No,” he laughs. You take the bowl and lean against the counter, waiting for him to serve his own. “That’s not it. I just like doing it.”
“Well, you are insanely good at it.” You grab another set of chopsticks from the drawer and stir your soba. Steam billows up toward the ceiling, and your face warms from the sudden heat of it. Reigen breathes out a laugh as he watches, then turns back to the stove.
“My sister taught me.” The lid clangs as he sets it back on the skillet. Unoccupied, his hand falls to his side. “When we were younger.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm.”
Reigen doesn’t talk about his family much. You’ve never met them, and you get the impression you never will if he has anything to say about it. You’re fine with that. You’ve always been curious, though, and you don’t think you’ll get a better chance to ask about it.
“Like, when you were kids?” you press. “Or just younger than now?”
“Both. Although, maybe ‘taught’ is the wrong word.” He sets his bowl down and places his palms on the counter, leaning back so his shoulders come up toward his ears. His head falls to one side. “Right after I quit the office job, she… I guess she was worried about me. She just showed up one day with groceries and demanded I let her into the kitchen. She tried to give me a refresher crash course with this super complicated recipe she came up with, but…”
His eyes go a little blurry.
“She’s not exactly the patient sort, so she ended up making the whole thing herself.”
His laugh is bitter and fond.
“It was nice to have her around for those two days, though. She made a better mother than my mother, at least.”
When you wrap your hand around his wrist, Reigen lets his arm slide off the counter to lace his fingers through yours.
“Didn’t hurt that it was the best ramen I’ve ever had.”
He pulls in a deep breath and rolls his shoulders. He threads his free hand between you to grab his bowl and drags you out toward his bed. You eat with your backs against the wall, your legs out in front of you tangled at the ankles, and your sides pressed together, elbowing each other occasionally as you eat mouthfuls far too big to be polite. The movie plays quietly in the background. For once, you’re the first one to drift off. He slips the empty bowl from your hands and sets it in his own on the table beside him. He traces the edge of his pocket, feeling the ridge of paper just below the surface, and glances back to his kitchen. He considers your face, slack with sleep. Through the haze of twilight consciousness, you feel his thumb brush up the back of your hand and his lips pressed to your temple.
+
A folded piece of paper sits, unassuming, under a stack of folders.
You know it’s the thing that’s been in Reigen’s pocket. It’s an instinct you can’t refute. Something about it calls to you, radiates an energy that makes it both the source of and solution to whatever problem he’s having.
You also know you shouldn’t touch it. Anything could be on that piece of paper, and it’s a huge violation of privacy, but you have to know what has him so out of sorts lately. Serizawa whispers your name questioningly as you walk, as if in a trance, over to Reigen’s desk and slide the paper out from under the stack. Unfolding it reveals that it’s actually two sheets of paper, held together by the deep fold lines running across them. You pull them apart and flip them both over. Serizawa whispers your name again, a bit more concerned.
“Hey, Serizawa.”
He hums.
“How are your cooking skills?”
+
Serizawa isn’t very good at cooking - unsurprising, you suppose, given the fact that you’ve only ever seen him eat food prepared by somebody else. What he is good at, though, is subterfuge.
After Reigen’s early return to the office left you hastily shoving the recipe back under the stack of folders you pulled it from, Serizawa was the only one you could count on to get you the details. Sure enough, a few hours later, he comes through for you. A picture of each page and some zoomed in shots where the creases had obscured the writing appear in your messages. You thank him profusely and get planning.
You definitely have your work cut out for you.
+
Your first attempts to make the recipe fail before they even begin. Reigen’s sister was apparently very particular, noting specific brands to use for the right flavor blends, and it’s becoming extremely disheartening trying to find some of the more obscure ingredients.
The biggest hurdle is the stock. Compared to everything else on the page, the warning to not use a pre-made base is massive. There’s an impassioned explanation of flavor profiles and nutrition underneath it that instantly reminds you of Reigen on one of his know-it-all streaks, but the language is so dry that it’s equally as hard to believe the two are even related. You know homemade stock is better and you’d love to comply but…
When the hell are you supposed to get 18 free hours to watch a stock pot?
The problem follows you throughout the week. It haunts you as you hunt down the last of the dry ingredients. It weighs on you as you buy the perishable supplies, not sure when or how you’re going to actually use them but unwilling to admit defeat. It presses on your shoulders. It settles into the dark circles under your eyes that have you nodding off at your desk. It hovers over you so thickly that you’re almost convinced the ESPers can see it in the air.
The answer walks in Friday night, dressed horribly and smiling widely at Mob.
+
“Thank you so much, Hanazawa. You have no idea how much this has been bothering me.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.” He laughs and hands you a long spoon to stir with. “You had me worried it was something more serious.”
“I guess I was being a little dramatic. It’s just… important.”
He smiles too knowingly, but he says nothing. “You can pay me back by offering me some when it’s done.”
“That seems fair. Even cut down, this makes a ton.” Your pinky traces over your own typed copy of the recipe, covered in notes and measurements written in the margins after printing. You carefully tie a piece of twine around the bag of seasoning and drop it into the pot. You give the mixture a few brisk stirs. “Ah, maybe I should invite Serizawa. He helped, too.”
“And Kageyama?”
“Of course.”
“I just meant a container to bring home, but,” Teru stifles a laugh, clearly remembering something funny. “I think he’d like that better.”
You wash your hands and shake the water off them before shrugging on your coat. “I’ll be back after work to take over and add the rest. If anything comes up, just call. I’ll figure it out.”
“Sure.”
+
“Good afternoon, Mob. No, no, you don’t need to come in, don’t worry. I just wanted to ask you something. Do you remember when you and Reigen went hunting for a tsuchinoko? I wanted to ask where that was.” You uncap your pen and rummage through your drawer for a notebook. “No, I’m just-”
The office door clicks open. Seeing that you’re on the phone, Reigen settles for a wave as he passes you.
“Well, I can’t say, actually. But, no, that’s not it.”
Reigen raises an eyebrow. You drag your notebook closer and tap your pen against it as you struggle to make out the mumbling on the other end. You can faintly hear Teru’s voice in the background. Mob makes a noise of recognition before he finally responds.
“Right…. Right, the- yes! That’s it! Do you remember how you got there? …No, that’s fine. Anything helps.”
You make a series of hums as you write down Mob’s vague directions to the stash of mushrooms. Reigen is clearly trying to peek at what you’re doing, but the distance from his desk means all you have to do is cover them with your hand. He pouts and sinks back into his chair, crossing an ankle over his other leg.
“Private property? ….Alright, I won’t wander too far without checking first.”
Reigen’s foot bounces in the air.
“Yes, I’ll take- Yes, I- Mob, I’ll be fine.”
At Mob’s name, Reigen perks up. He stands and wanders back over to your desk, forcing you to flip your notebook over and press a hand over it. He frowns.
“I believe you! I’ll be careful.” Reigen makes a grabby motion for your phone, but you cradle it with your shoulder and hold up a finger. He seems annoyed when you don’t use the hand that was on the notebook. You squint at him. “Seriously, it’s our job to worry about you, not the other way around. ….Okay. Oh, Reigen wants to talk to you. …I don’t know. …Sure. Bye, Mob.”
You lean forward and let Reigen take the phone himself so you can put the cap back on your pen. He whirls around quickly, talking animatedly about the job he just got back from. The second his back is turned, you tear the page from your notebook and fold it in on itself. It slides into your pocket, next to the recipe.
+
“Again?” Reigen gripes. It’s the second time you’ve cancelled on him to work on the ramen, so you understand his frustration. Ordinarily you would have been swayed into giving up on your original plans long before now, but it’s not like you can go back in time and not start the stock. The time limit of when you get off work versus when you’re supposed to add the second batch of ingredients is tight enough already without him meddling. “What are you doing that’s so important?”
“I promised Teru I would help him with something.” Really, Hanazawa is the one helping you, but saying so would just complicate things. “He asked me about it yesterday.”
“Ah, so that’s what you two were talking about.” He hums a long, drawn-out hum. You’re worried he’s going to press you for details that won’t be convincing enough to satisfy him, but he just sighs and pops another takoyaki into his mouth. “Well, that’s fine, I guess. He is Mob’s friend.”
Your alarm goes off, startling both of you. You hurry to shut it off and gather your things.
“Shit, I’m already late. Sorry, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Mm.”
He leans into you when you kiss his cheek but doesn’t turn to meet your lips.
+
When you finally make it back to Teru’s place, it’s already dark outside. Teru is awake as promised, tapping away on his phone next to the stove. He moves away when he sees you come inside, giving a quick wave and muttering a quiet “good night.” You match his volume to avoid waking Mob, sound asleep on the couch.
A bag of matsutakes waits for you on the table in front of him.
+
“Um. My place isn’t really fit for company right now.” You survey the assortment of vegetables on your counter in various states of prep. Your hand is already starting to cramp up from chopping, and you hiss as you swap your phone to your other side so you don’t have to keep holding it. “Sorry.” You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for the noise or the fact that you’re about to turn him down again.
“It hasn’t been that long since I was there. What happened?”
“No, it’s not- I’m just kind of in the middle of something.” As if on cue, one of the cobs of corn slips off the pile and rolls toward the front of the counter. You manage to catch it without stabbing yourself, but you let out a curse under your breath that Reigen clearly hears. “There’s- I have stuff everywhere.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, no, I know, but-”
“I miss you when you don’t work.” You run your hand through your hair, not caring that you’re getting little bits of peel and spice stuck in it. “Now I can’t see you after work either?”
Ouch.
“I want to see you too. I really, really do.” You glance at the clock and swear again, this time in your head. It’s already getting late, and you still have to prepare the marinade. “I just have to take care of this before tomorrow. But I’ll be free then?”
“You don’t sound very sure.” Despite the obvious annoyance, there’s still a teasing lilt to Reigen’s voice that has you collapsing with relief into the wall behind you. “Maybe I should make plans with Serizawa instead.”
I already made them for you, you think.
“You’re going to be my only priority tomorrow,” you say. Reigen clears his throat loudly. “Making other plans would be a waste.”
“Alright,” Reigen sighs. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’m sorry. It’s really important that I don’t mess this up.”
Hopefully, you haven’t already.
+
Reigen calls you before you have a chance to hit dial. You frantically call Ritsu into the kitchen to keep an eye on Ekubo and Teru to keep an eye on the stove before dashing out to the living room and picking up the call. You don’t even get a chance to say hello.
“All my employees left early today and I just had to deal with the worst client I’ve had in a while so I don’t care if you’re busy, you’re listening to me complain.”
“Sure.” You survey the group of people in your living room, comprised entirely of the employees he’s now apparently mad at. “Ah, well, actually-”
“Are you serious?” Reigen has the edge in his voice that he gets when the occasional cigarette craving still hits him, tense and sharp in a way that’s different than the way you usually find attractive. He clicks his tongue and scoffs into the receiver.
Well, maybe not that different.
“I was just about to call and invite you over,” you offer.
“What?” He pulls in a slow breath that comes out grainy over the phone. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”
“I’m not.”
I have six witnesses that can vouch for me, you want to say.
“Maybe you’d rather vent in person?”
Reigen grumbles, and you can hear a tapping on the other side of the phone. You’re not sure if it’s his shoes clicking down the stairs or his fingers drumming on his desk.
“I did say yesterday that-” You press the phone closer to your face and make your way down the short hall to your bedroom. You don’t particularly care about the others listening in, but you don’t want the noise from the kitchen to end up making it to Reigen. “Look, I- I know I’ve been blowing you off lately, and I’m sorry.”
Reigen hums.
“But it hasn’t just been for fun. I’ve been working on something and, well, it’s- I probably could have just told you but I thought it would work better as a surprise and it’s ready now, so-” You pull in a breath and sigh sharply. “I’d love for you to see what I’ve been busy with.”
He hums again, long and dramatic. You can practically hear the hand on his chin.
“Fine. But if I’m not impressed, you owe me all the dates you made me miss out on.”
You laugh, and Reigen sighs affectionately into the receiver.
“Deal.”
+
After everything, you’re not the one to answer the door.
Even with the miraculously small number of people you managed to keep it to, you’re not really equipped to feed so many people at once, and you find yourself even less prepared than you thought to host them all. The biggest problem is just the space required to seat everybody. Ritsu, Mob, Tome, and Teru are each set up with their own side of the tiny table in the center of the room, leaving Serizawa to perch himself awkwardly on your desk chair. You and Reigen are just going to have to sit on the floor somewhere, but you’re not exactly sure where. None of the spoons or cups match each other; all of them are odd gifts from friends you don’t talk to anymore or leftovers from sets you’ve long since broken or lost the rest of. You also didn’t think about the fact that Ekubo could - or would even want to - eat. So, when the knock on your door comes, you’re too busy rummaging through your cupboards for one more bowl or cup or something that will stop Ekubo from trying to eat directly out of the pot to hear it.
You ignore the shuffling out in the living room in favor of grabbing for Ekubo’s arm.
“Hey, keep your ghost fingers out of the broth, will you? I’m working on it.”
“Serizawa?” Reigen’s voice filters through the apartment. “You said you had somewhere to be, what are you-? A-All of you?”
You grab the handle of a mug and pull it forward, shoving it into Ekubo’s hands and dashing out of the kitchen.
With such a practiced poker face, not even you can tell what Reigen is thinking as he surveys the scene. Everyone waits with bated breath as he takes his shoes off and steps up into the apartment.
He crosses his arms and closes his eyes. His eyebrows slowly pull together. His mouth tilts into a frown. The glare he levels you with when his eyes finally open again has you sweating bullets. Your grip tightens around the ladle in your hand. Curry drips onto your floor.
“This isn’t exactly what I was hoping-” Reigen’s gaze locks onto something over your shoulder. His arms slide apart, dropping limply to his sides as he walks past you into the kitchen. Ekubo floats out of the way as he pads forward, hand coming slowly up to press against the recipe you have taped to the cupboard. He slides his fingers up, tracing the note about the homemade stock now in neatly spaced print, and glances at the dishes on the stove.
“How did,” he swallows thickly, “you get this?”
“I’m so sorry, sir! I-It was me.” Serizawa bows deeply. When Reigen doesn’t respond, he continues, “I found it on your desk.”
“Ah.” Reigen’s other hand slips into his pocket. You can see the corner of the folded papers poking out against his palm. “I did leave it there, didn’t I?”
“I shouldn’t have-”
“No.” Reigen holds a hand up. Serizawa finally straightens back up. “It’s fine.”
“When you told me…” You trail off, not sure how much you should say. Your original intention was just to make him a recipe he loved but, now that you’re finally thinking about it, you’re realizing how much you’ve toed the line of overstepping. “I thought maybe it was the same recipe.”
“It is. Honestly, as good as it was, it was too spicy for me when she made it. But…”
He pulls the paper from the cupboard and flips it over. His eyes scan over the notes you’ve made on the back: measurements of sugar and salt and chocolate and peppers fine-tuned over a week’s worth of taste tests to bring the spice level closer to where you thought he might be able to handle.
Tears well in the corners of his eyes.
“Don’t you dare.” You grab his shoulders and pull him toward you, forcing him to take a step back from the open pot. “If you contaminate that, I will never forgive you.”
A chorus of giggles erupts from the table outside, and Reigen jolts.
“Now,” you say, louder than strictly necessary, “let’s get you away from the pepper vapors so you can actually enjoy the food, hm?”
“Right, the pepper vapors! M-My eyes are so sensitive, I can’t-” Reigen faints dramatically against you and shakes a fist in the air. “How could you?”
“Bit much, darling,” you whisper. You spin him around and steer him out to the living room where he can sniffle and blow his nose as dramatically as he wants without the risk of snot getting in the food. “Kay, everyone come get food.”
You scoop a serving into each bowl presented to you, then a spoonful into Ekubo’s mug, and finally into two more bowls for you and Reigen. When you carry them out into the living room, you find your table pushed against the wall so everyone can sit in a circle on the floor. You scoot around the edge of it until you can squeeze in next to Reigen.
“Thanks for the food,” everybody chimes in, and smaller conversations break out around the circle.
You watch carefully as Reigen takes his first taste. It’s still extremely warm - he fans at his mouth and curses his impatience under his breath - but he breaks into a smile as he swallows.
“My god.” He leans over and presses his forehead into your upper arm so hard it starts to hurt. You pat his thigh until he lets up. “So good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” You take your first taste, too, blowing on it to cool it first, and savor the results of your hard work.
“But, you know, you could have just used store bought stock,” Reigen says around a mouthful of food.
“Hmm, I don’t know. There was this really insistent note telling me not to do exactly that.”
“Yeah, but who has the time? How did you have the time?”
“I didn’t.”
It doesn’t take Reigen long to figure out what you mean.
“I can’t believe you would exploit child labor like that.”
“Oh, shut up, mister 300 yen.”
Reigen snorts and shovels more food into his mouth.
Tome stands slowly and announces she’s going to get seconds.
“Go for it,” you tell her, and she shuffles into the kitchen. Everybody else, no longer waiting for permission, stands to follow her. When Reigen does the same and asks if he should bring more for you, you shake your head. “We get it to eat it later.”
The tips of his ears flush pink.
“You’re all super lucky, you know,” Reigen announces loudly as he marches toward the kitchen. “Only two other people in the whole world have eaten this. It’s a top secret family recipe.”
“Not anymore,” Ritsu points out.
“Sure it is,” Reigen says. “Eating it doesn’t mean you know the recipe.”
“Uh, it’s sitting on the counter for any of us to steal,” Ritsu counters.
“I’ll delete the pictures!” Serizawa sets his bowl down by his feet and fumbles for his phone. He stops when you shake your head, glancing nervously between you on the floor and Reigen in the doorway.
“It’s fine, Serizawa,” Reigen laughs. “Keep them.”
“So you admit it,” Ritsu says. “It’s not a family recipe if you’re just giving it away.”
“No, you’ve got it wrong.”
Reigen sits with a solid thump that, to your surprise, doesn’t manage to send his ramen sloshing over the side. He’s much closer to you this time; his arm is pressed solidly against your side and his legs, crossed widely, spill over into your lap. He scoops another huge section of noodles into his mouth and slurps loudly. Several people around the circle grimace. You roll your eyes and hide a laugh behind your hand.
“It definitely still is.”