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ninoexchange2020-06-21 01:19 am
nino_mod) wrote in ninoexchange2020-06-21 01:19 am
Entry tags:
fic for selvage!
For: selvage
From: :3.
Title: Idiot Sandwich
Pairing/Focus: Matsumiya
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 8,137
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Jun’s a much sought-after celebrity chef; lately he’s turned his skills to helping restaurants that are on the brink of destruction and ruin. One day, the restaurant where he received his start is included in his list of possible candidates to save and he’s desperate to figure out how the restaurant got to where it was. Along the way, he meets the snarky and well-meaning grandson of the restaurant’s previous owner - will they find a way to fix the restaurant, and their hearts?
Notes: Hi recipient! I hope you enjoy this fic; it’s actually the third one I’ve written for you in this period, but my magical realism just couldn’t cut it this go around. :) I hope you will enjoy some well-meaning-but-gruff Jun with some evil-but-understanding Nino.
Nino stretched languidly, the popping in his shoulders sounding large in his small office. Music thumped from the bar on the other side of his walls, causing him to roll his eyes in practiced agony – he had inherited the restaurant two years ago, but he still hadn’t managed to convince the guy next door to play better music. He thumped back – once, twice – before leaning back over his laptop, brows drawn in tight and worry lines etching deeper into his forehead. Even though he had spent more on advertisements this month than any other previously, the daily receipts for the restaurant were totaling less and less each day. He chewed on his lip, glancing over the neat columns of numbers one more time, before releasing a heavy sigh. Unless he drastically changed something (and he wasn’t sure what was left to tweak), he only had about two more months of his own savings left to prop up payroll.
He rubbed his face slowly, letting out a small growl of frustration. He peered at the clock, noticing that the midnight hour had long since passed. He stood, twisting to loosen up his lower back, before grabbing his flannel off the back of his chair and heading out the door into the back of the kitchen proper. The staff had closed up a few hours ago, the last dishes drying in a rack over the large wash bin. Ohno, his head chef and best friend, always left a small TV on for Nino, so that he wouldn’t be “lonely.” As always, the thoughtful gesture had Nino’s lips tilting up at the corners as he reached to switch it off. Just as his fingers touched the button, he paused, tilting his head contemplatively. The cheerful newscaster chirped the last of her segment, mentioning that Matsumoto Jun was often the last hope for failing restaurants, and weren’t the residents of Amethyst Falls so lucky that he was choosing a restaurant in their town. He frowned; considering. Usually, he was the last person to ask for help – but the recent contemplation of his current financial state underlined that, without said help, they would be dead in the water. Nino desperately wanted to turn it around; he missed putting money into his bank account rather than taking it out. He scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket as the newscaster recited how to express interest, mumbling the digits out loud until he opened the phone’s app, typing in the digits and hitting “dial.”
~*~
Unbeknownst to most, Jun hated everything. He hated the fact that he had been born, hated the fact that he was alive, hated the fact that he had this (stupid) job doing (stupid) things at (stupid) early in the (stupid) morning. He barely bothered to nod his head at Toma as his assistant slid a cup of coffee in front of him, choosing instead to use that moment to savor the fragrance rising from the cup. This early, the coffee would be too hot, and then he’d spend the rest of the day being mad that he had burnt his tongue out of desperation. Frowning, he tapped his fingers against the tabletop, willing to move past his morning struggle. He gave himself a few minutes to wonder, as he did every morning, if he had been born in the right time zone, before slowly dragging the cup forward, bracing himself before taking a slow sip of the slightly cooled coffee. He fortified himself and met Toma’s eyes. Toma’s eyes, which were crinkled in happiness, made Jun glare – just a little bit more. He wasn’t quite sure what had ever prompted him to hire a morning person as his personal assistant… but then again, the interview had been in the afternoon.
Then the caffeine hit, and Jun was once again able to speak like a human. He cleared his throat, questions whirling in his mind.
“So, Amethyst Falls? What are our options?”
With Jun’s words, Toma pulled out his tablet, briefly summarizing the responses they’d received after the news broadcast of the past couple of days. Most of the stories he relayed were what Jun had heard a million times before; he hated to be jaded, but most people had no business running a restaurant and, television fame or not, Jun was getting tired of rescuing them from their poor decisions.
Suddenly, one of the names Toma mentioned caused his entire body to stiffen.
“Wait, what? Did you just say Idiot Sandwich?” The remainder of Jun’s morning stupor vanished instantly upon Toma’s nod. For a brief moment, he was overcome with memories and a bit of unwelcome betrayal at the world. If Idiot Sandwich needed help, nothing in Amethyst Falls was as he remembered. He shook off that thought, returning his attention to Toma and the list, even though his mind was made up. Toma read the last request – another waiter-turned-chef/owner in over his head – and Jun huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Call Idiot Sandwich,” Jun shoved his chair back, calling over his shoulder as he left the room. “Tell the owner we’ll be there tomorrow.”
Jun left Toma to make telephone calls, heading to the television station’s gym to work out a few things weighing on his mind. The physical activity left his mind free to think, clearing out what was unimportant and really giving his all to the matter at hand. And, right now, it was Idiot Sandwich.
A smile graced his face as he stepped onto the treadmill, his mind casting back to his fondest childhood memories after… He abruptly shepherded his thoughts, directing them to the small, white-haired woman who had settled herself into a booth across from him that chilly November day two decades prior.
He had been a wise-cracking teen, grief turned into fury, body held tense and filled with adrenaline. Black hair dyed with stripes of blonde, fingernails painted black, he had glared with the rage of a thousand empty suns as she dared to invade his space with her gentle smile.
The grandmother’s eyes turned into the softest of all half moons as she slid a plate across the table to him, the simple turkey sandwich with chips calling like a lighthouse; a beacon of safety in a very dark night. Without his conscious decision, his fingers crept towards the plate, pulling it to him while eyeing the old woman suspiciously. But, being that his last full meal had been before he slipped out the window of his group home several days ago…
As Jun bit down, pure flavor burst inside his mouth and he closed his eyes with a moan. The noise surprised him and his eyes flew open to see the old woman titter, hand in front of her mouth, joy sparkling in her eyes.
“Welcome to Idiot Sandwich,” mirth flavored her voice husky, and Jun decided he could trust her – for now. “We could use a strong pair of shoulders around here.”
Jun shook off the memories of his misspent youth, bringing his hands up to pop the muscles in his neck, shaking out the rest of his body. While he’d been reminiscing, his body had gone through the motions, and he was now sore enough – and physically tired enough – to apply his mind to the problems that awaited him downstairs with Toma and Idiot Sandwich. He owed her that much.
~*~
Nino reeled so hard when he got the call that he expected to be on the end of Ohno’s hook. When he expressed that feeling, there was a warm chuckle on the other end of the line, followed by an assurance that although the caller, Toma, did not know this Ohno, there was no fishing to be had. Did Idiot Sandwich specialize in fresh fish, by chance? That line had made Nino laugh, and the pair of them had finished going through a long list of repetitive questions about the restaurant and its problems. As they hung up the phone, Toma had insisted that they would be able to help, and the complete confidence in the other man’s tone had helped Nino feel like maybe he had done the right thing in calling the program.
However, Nino still felt unbalanced when he unlocked the door for the camera crew the next morning. The sky was bright, the sun shining fierce, making a mockery of Nino’s tousled hair and habitual scowl. For mid-June, the temperature was mild, and a brief, long-buried part of Nino contemplated taking the day off to do something outside. He glanced up, noting there were no clouds in sight, and then shuddered, shaking himself and locking the idea back into its closet. He turned and followed the cameramen into the dining room.
Frowning, eyes adjusting to the dimness, Nino took a moment to view the interior as an outsider would. It had been Nino’s home away from home for as long as he could remember; the booth in the corner had once housed his small body, fingers clicking on his Gameboy’s buttons, as his grandmother kept him after school until his mother finished at work. He couldn’t even count how many times he had stubbed his toe on the corner of the host station, arms full, as he helped his grandmother by bussing tables in the restaurant after school when he was in middle school. He blinked away the memories, taking in the faded upholstery and scratched sides of the booths. The wallpaper was ancient, at least as old as Nino’s 30-odd years, and the lighting fixtures had seen better days (and, if he was completely honest, could use a more thorough dusting). He blinked away a vague memory of his father replacing them, standing on a ladder, his mother’s quiet teasing making his father laugh.
The voices of the crew bounced brassy off the metal hostess station and Nino’s hesitation ran down his spine. The uncertainty he’d felt ever since the lawyers had read Grams’ will manifested itself in his slumped shoulders and semi-permanent scowl. When Gram was alive… Well. They definitely didn’t have the problems they had today. Idiot Sandwich had seen constant traffic, steady customers – not too many that they needed an overabundance of staff, but a nice (‘profitable’ the voice in Nino’s head clarified) and consistent source of revenue. But... that traffic was of a certain generation, and it seemed that his face wasn’t the same draw as his grandmother’s elephant memory and unsolicited, but always welcome, advice. At least, after many a restless night, that’s the explanation he had.
Nino had just finished showing the crew the restaurant’s tiny restroom and explaining the finicky old light switches when the front door squeaked open again. Nino turned to watch a man, around his age, with broad shoulders and a tiny waist, enter the dining room with confidence. There was a level of sophistication to his clothing that almost made Nino self-conscious about his own jeans and flannel, but Nino quickly shoveled that back with the rest of his problems – the man wasn’t here to fix his wardrobe. The man’s assessing gaze ran across those same blemishes Nino had tried hardest not to catalog, knowing that they were all dollar signs in the end. The knowledge in the gaze and his determined bearing told Nino exactly who the man was; even if his sharp cheekbones and austere eyebrows hadn’t been plastered all over town. Nino stiffened his spine and crossed the distance separating them, reaching out his hand. The man turned to greet him, and the pair shared a brief and firm shake; Nino doing his best to ignore the shiver of awareness that traversed his body at the warmth, a quiet, traitorous voice in his mind stating that the pictures hadn’t done the man justice.
“Ah, you must be Jun. Welcome to Idiot Sandwich, I’m...” Nino broke off his sentence as the look of dismay in the newcomer’s eyes confirmed immediately that the restaurant was worse than he had thought.
“We don’t have time for this.”
Nino was a bit taken back by the blunt statement, but couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Yes… Running a failing restaurant that is then immortalized on television as a failure is definitely how I want to be remembered.”
Nino smirked as Jun’s eyes widened. Internally, he did a little dance of delight at having disturbed the cool outward demeanor, but immediately regretted it as Jun’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowing, and Nino came to the realization that a lesser man would be fighting the urge to hide behind the host station.
“We’ll see how we can affect your… standing.”
“I’d be glad to show you my standing...”
*~*
Jun practiced every single breathing exercise he knew.
He counted to ten.
He recited the alphabet, backwards.
He imagined that his breath was a bubble and that he had to breathe out slowly and steadily so that the bubble wouldn’t pop.
After the fifth rotation, he allowed himself to take notice of the room again. The proprietor, who Toma had informed him went by the all-too-casual Nino, was leaning against the host station, watching him as if he knew just how his rebuttal had affected Jun.
Jun cleared his throat and used his hard-earned willpower to pull his gaze away from the other man. There had been an invitation in that statement that he was struggling to not accept; Jun was very aware that he had a job to do and that renovating this restaurant did not mean he’d be checking out the contents of the man’s jeans. Even if those jeans did fit very snugly across his backside.
Jun used the excuse of checking out the restaurant to discreetly continue his perusal of the owner; a little on the short side, hair that looked like it had never met a comb, a physique that looked like maybe it spent a couple of days a week thinking about the gym but really spent all of its time playing video games on the floor instead. Nino’s presence was much more than the physical space he held – he seemed to take up most of the expanse of the dining room. Jun would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t already been charmed.
The restaurants’ booths needed to be reupholstered. Jun walked to a booth, shaking it – it held firm, confirming that the repairs here were cosmetic in nature. He continued walking through the dining room, taking mental notes on all of the minor details he needed to address. When he reached the host station, Nino was still leaning against it.
“So? I could tell you some of it; everything is as old as the dinosaurs, and could use upgrading, but it’s structurally sound.”
Jun was surprised that Nino recognized even this much.
“Well, yes, but sometimes it’s cheaper to replace than to retouch. The floors, for instance; we could make a big impact just by replacing the linoleum.”
Jun watched Nino take in that idea – it was at this point that those who had approached the show just for free upgrades started balking at the idea of not just replacing everything. Nino’s eyes narrowed for a second as he assessed the room, and then – surprisingly – met Jun’s directly.
“I’m good with that; I know that I’d rather the light fixtures be replaced entirely, but I hadn’t been sure what else would be better off going.”
Jun nodded, a measure of respect added to Nino’s apparently infinite physical attributes in his mind.
“Would you mind showing me the kitchen?”
The rest of the morning passed in similar fashion; Nino leaning unobtrusively against some fixture while Jun did his job, Jun being way too aware that his eyes tracked Jun’s movements. He didn’t find anything wrong in the kitchens; no decrepit, poorly stored food or unclean work surfaces. The restaurant, at least on the surface, looked like any small restaurant with a surfeit of customers could be expected to look. He considered, scowling, until Toma tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, startled – he hadn’t even noticed Toma’s arrival.
“Jun, the chef is here.”
Ah, this is where things usually went poorly. Jun cracked his knuckles, an anxious habit that went back decades. Chefs were notorious for being hot-headed and stubborn; he knew, he was one.
“Ohno Satoshi, this is Matsumoto Jun. Jun, this is Ohno, Idiot Sandwich’s chef.”
As Toma performed the introductions, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. A hand touched his shoulder, pulling him down, and Nino’s whisper sounded like it was running over gravel.
“I’ve seen enough of these shows, and I am telling you now, the problem is not my chef. If you intimate that it is...”
Jun had to give it to him – the growl that delivered the last sentence was well-designed to intimidate; and it worked much better than if the threat had been quantified.
“Why, is he your boyfriend?” The sharp elbow into his gut made him rethink the wisdom of asking that question, even if he was pretty sure he knew the answer. The sleepy-eyed chef, with his shy smile and deep tan, was no match for the proprietor’s quick wit and evil charm.
Jun turned his attention to Ohno, who was busy telling Toma about the dishes he made every day.
“Ah, yes, I got the recipes from Kazu-chan.” Ohno pulled a battered spiral-bound notebook out of the back pocket of his jeans, dusting it off and unfolding it with a single motion before handing it to Jun.
Jun took the notebook, leafing through it and noticing intricate, step-by-step recipes, but written in a style more akin to someone taking notes in a class. There were bulleted action items, but no listing of necessary ingredients. Alongside some of the more intricate steps were small, and adorable, diagrams where sandwiches had smiley faces and gloved hands. Jun frowned and handed the notebook back to the chef.
“Kazu-chan?” The question seemed innocuous, but he felt Nino stiffen next to him. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to catch the practiced look of nonchalance on Nino’s face.
“Yes, Kazu-chan, Nino-kun’s grandmother.” Ohno smiled beatifically as Jun’s mind worked to put together what he knew of the restaurant, and what they would need to do to make it successful again.
“Thanks so much,” Toma said as he and Ohno continued to make their way through the kitchen. Jun turned to see Nino’s face, still blank. He tried to effect a similar level of casual indifference, but a chord of excitement was growing as he leaned his hip against the wall, crossing his arms to increase the effect.
“So, what do you think we need to do to make the restaurant a success, if it’s not your chef, then?” Jun decided to try the deliberately obtuse route, skirting around the question of Nino’s grandmother. They didn’t have time right now for him to pursue his own interests… even if the man next to him was newly added to his list.
“Well, I’m pretty sure that’s why I called you.” Nino did not back down, and Jun straightened up to face him directly. “I’ve tried a lot of things – I’ve run advertisements, I’ve had Ohno adjust some of the recipes, I’ve tried calling up old patrons and seeing if they’d like to come back! I’ve run specials, I’ve started carry-out, and, most importantly, I’ve completely drained my savings. I don’t know what went wrong.”
Jun shuffled, a few steps here and there. In the background, he could hear the banging of pots and pans that meant Toma had instructed Ohno to create some dishes. In a few, he’d go and have the camera shoot some footage of him “ordering” from the menu – Toma knew his likes and dislikes enough that this scene didn’t have to be entirely authentic. The puzzle in front of him was more emergent than intimidating the wait staff into spilling some drama.
“Do you have a timeline?” Jun considered before asking the question; he personally knew how long Idiot Sandwich had been in Amethyst Falls, but Nino’s management might very well be the problem.
Nino shrugged, raising his shoulders just a little and not quite touching his ears. He scratched at the side of his nose before looking past Jun’s head at the wall behind him, unable to meet his eyes.
“Things were fine for a really long time. Even the first six months or so of me being here, nothing changed. Same clients, same staffing, same menu. About a year ago, things became unsteady. We made some changes, but… nothing seems to be helping.”
Jun watched as Nino flopped back against the wall, uncharacteristic defeat rolling off of him. Suddenly, his desire to help the restaurant had less to do with the past and more to do with the present; he’d rather a smirk, even at his own expense, than this lump of dejection and despair. He straightened, calling out to Toma – he had a job to do.
~*~
Nino watched in awe. He wasn’t often impressed, but this was the most he could remember in recent memory. In a single hour, Matsumoto Jun had completely flipped the morale of his restaurant – the sweet high school waitresses that subsidized their income at Idiot Sandwich were now giving him genuine smiles and exhibiting excitement. Ohno was speaking in low terms to his prep cook, a taller young man named Fuma, who was nodding along with Ohno while simultaneously winking at the waitresses. The energy in the air was suddenly brisk, some urgency in their steps, instead of the maudlin plodding of just yesterday.
Actual awe.
When Nino was finally able to pry his chin up off the floor, he walked over to Ohno, bumping into him with his shoulder. Ohno grinned, bumping back, and Nino pretended that it had been strong enough to fling him across the kitchen. His heart warmed up as Ohno laughed. He turned to head into the dining room and ran directly into a wall.
His heartbeat sped up as he considered. He didn’t remember there being a wall here. He squeezed his eyes shut and used his hands to examine the surface of the wall; it felt like cotton stretched taut over…
He groaned a little, deep inside. He was definitely feeling up the celebrity chef. Nino took one more half-second to himself, breathing the cedar-and-citrus scent deep, before stepping away and smiling up.
“Sorry, you were in the way.”
Jun grunted, and Nino laughed, ducking around him and heading into the dining room to check on the lunch rush. The adrenaline from his faux pas made him giddy, and he was chattier than usual as he welcomed people into the restaurant and bustled between tables.
The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same fashion – the number of diners had increased as word got out about Jun’s visit, but, unfortunately, did not open their wallets with the same amount of urgency with which they craned their necks to see the celebrated chef. Nino stepped in several times to help the waitstaff, and popped in the kitchen to help expedite orders as need arose. Even the dinner service ran as expected, although Nino also felt the pain of his waitresses as they counted their dismal tips.
As usual, the day ended with him tucking himself into his small office and pulling the night’s receipts out of his pockets. Nino took a few moments to curse Matsumoto Jun – the uptick in visitors corresponded to an uptick in tickets, and he had started the day so early…
An hour passed before the kitchen noise quieted, voices fading away; it sounded like Ohno had left him with a fishing program this evening, and Nino rolled his eyes as the successful fisherman talked about the size of his fish. A moment later, the thumping started up from next door; tomorrow, Nino told himself. Tomorrow, he’d talk to Aiba-san about the quality of his music. He closed his eyes, trying to rub the tenseness out of his neck and failing for several moments before he felt the weight of someone’s gaze.
Nino counted to ten before opening his eyes, mentally cataloging all of his routes of escape only to be met with the warm brown eyes of the celebrity chef. The damn man was lounging insouciantly against the door frame, and Nino struggled to meet his eyes. He took the long way from Jun’s belt loop, tightly encasing his hips, to the tuck of his waist, across the broad expanse of his shoulders and up to his eyebrows, one cocked up knowingly. Damn the man.
He’d been distracted, rightly so, and thus hadn’t noticed the drinks in Jun’s hand. He blinked at the clunk of glass lighting upon the table, and cautiously took it.
“What, you think you have to drug me, now?”
Jun smiled briefly, and Nino’s heart clenched. He wondered at himself; yes, he often made people smile, it was the thing he did, but those smiles didn’t usually have the same effect on him.
“May I sit down?”
Nino nodded and gestured to the chair on the other side of his small desk. It didn’t get much use, and he flinched a bit as Jun manipulated a stack of old documents off the chair and made a neat pile next to it on the floor. He didn’t often have to take his employees to task, and nobody had ever kept him company during closing before.
“I thought you’d have left with everyone else,” Nino started, straightening up his side of the desk and marking in his ledger where he was leaving off; he had plenty to do, but nothing that couldn’t wait.
“Ah, well. We haven’t had time to talk, off camera, about what you’re doing here.”
Nino was surprised, distracted from his straightening.
“I’m not sure I get what you mean.”
“Well, I know we talked on camera about turning a profit, that sort of thing. But we didn’t talk about what the restaurant means to you. Sometimes that’s a little personal, and I don’t want to discuss it on camera if it’s sensitive.”
Nino wasn’t quite sure why he was so surprised – he thought that the entire idea of reality TV was that the person’s (victims, his internal monologue supplied) reactions were as personal and invasive as possible. His posture locked up, and Jun was good at reading body language – he reached across the desk and nudged Nino’s drink closer. Nino met his eyes and smiled – nothing like a good time for a drink – before tossing his drink back and rolling the glass in his fingers, considering. He finally settled on a cursory, albeit truthful, explanation.
“I grew up here; this was my grandparents’ restaurant. But, it was more than that – after my grandfather died, it felt like this was my grandmother’s home. It was an extension of how she took care of us, her family – and I don’t want her legacy to go to waste. That’s all.”
Across from him, Nino watched as Jun tossed his own drink back, shaking off images of dragging his tongue down his adam’s apple… and elsewhere.
“That still doesn’t explain what it means to you.”
Jun’s statement underlined something that Nino knew; he knew that he didn’t care, he knew that his grandmother’s restaurant meant much less to him than it had to her. He also knew that he went through the motions with it; but how to explain this to the celebrity chef he had called in to rescue the restaurant… and his grandmother’s legacy?
“I haven’t figured that out, yet,” Nino decided honesty was the best policy. Silence, other than the thumps from next door, descended, and he felt no urgency to respond quickly. The two of them settled comfortably as Nino watched as Jun’s fingers drummed against his crossed knees. Nino slumped deeper into his chair.
“I ate at Idiot Sandwich before today,” Jun broke the silence, his voice a bit guttural. Nino was shocked, eyes darting up to meet Jun’s before tracking away to the wall behind him, willing him to continue, knowing instinctively that making too much out of that simple sentence would have Jun turning silent.
“My, well. Let’s say my upbringing was a bit unique.”
~*~
Jun wasn’t sure why he was diving into this story here, now, with this man he was so attracted to (against all professional obligations). He wasn’t even sure he wanted to share it at all, let alone in this moment – but the lost look in Nino’s eyes, shining only briefly in that moment after he stated his reasons for running the restaurant, spoke to him and who he had been, who he still was late at night. And, he admitted to himself, it was late.
“I was a bit, rebellious, you might say.” He chuckled nervously, fingers clenching tight around his empty glass, the rhythmic tapping against his knee speeding up and belying his anxiety. “I was probably twelve, maybe thirteen, when my mother decided I was too much for her. I was definitely thirteen when my mom dropped me off in the middle of Amethyst Falls.”
Internally, Jun’s satisfaction at making Nino bolt upright warred with the frustration he still felt.
“I thought, for a couple of days, that I had just missed the bus. That I imagined she hadn’t watched as I ran alongside, gesturing at the driver to keep driving. That insistence that it was wrong, that it was a mistake, kept me at the station for over a week.” Jun breathed in deep, closing his eyes, not wanting to see the pity cross Nino’s face.
“After that week, the authorities picked me up. They tried foster homes, group homes, but… my despondence had turned to rage. But, as they say, the third time’s the charm, and after the third time I left a home, they brought me to Kazuko-san.”
Jun opened his eyes, looking across the table with eyes so full of ancient pain that Nino shifted, and Jun could tell that he was aware of how uncomfortable it was to share such a personal story with a near stranger. But those feelings were nothing compared to how much Jun wanted to share this story, how much Jun wanted Nino, this near stranger, to understand.
“She was the most generous person I ever met… but I didn’t realize that until later. What I realized first was that she made a damn good sandwich.”
Nino’s laugh broke the suspense, and Jun grinned, happy to hear it.
“Ah, I remember when I was in high school, she kept trying to get me to skip; something about some new sous chef she hired. But she called him, or, I guess, you?” Nino’s head tilted, questioning, and Jun nodded - he had been the sous chef.
“She called you Atsujun, like - what was I even supposed to take from that?” Nino chuckled, and Jun joined in, a bit embarrassed by such a nickname, but mostly just so grateful for the chances the old lady had provided.
“So, you can probably understand - she helped me, Nino. For three years, I came here nearly every day; until I was an adult, she taught me the intricacies of food preparation, the joy that came with watching someone you love eat something delicious. She not only gave me a job, but she gave me structure and affection. Then I turned 18, and like all kids, I discovered a desire to escape the town I had known, and somehow I lost touch. I was going to look her up, that’s the entire reason the show is in Amethyst Falls. I saw Idiot Sandwich on the list, and I had to help. I never expected that she’d be gone.”
~*~
Nino was used to hearing stories about his grandmother. He was used to people getting emotional about her, but, generally those people were also octogenarians with wrinkled skin and smiling eyes. He was pretty sure that this was the first time that the person he heard the story from was also someone he found attractive, and he wasn’t sure what to do about that.
Jun’s face had fallen as he reached the end of his tale. Nino knew what that felt like, too. His grandmother had been a large force in his life, and he wasn’t sure what to do now, that he was without her.
“I’m supposed to be carrying on her legacy,” he said, quietly. “But I really just feel like I’m fucking it all up.”
Jun reached across the desk, picking up Nino’s glass and taking his own. Holding them both with one hand, he reached out his other, gently caressing the side of Nino’s face, wiping away a tear that Nino hadn’t been aware had fallen. He leaned down suddenly, capturing Nino’s lips, all too briefly, before turning and leaving the room. Nino watched, stunned, as Jun pulled the door closed behind him with a slight thump, leaving him alone with his heart beating staccato in his veins.
This just wouldn’t do.
Nino raced after him, slamming through the kitchen door and catching Jun at the back exit. He grabbed his arm, spinning him around, pushing him back against the door as he stretched up to claim his lips. His arms snaked around Jun, pulling him closer, and he felt Jun’s body relax and give in to the kiss. Jun’s hands tugged, fingers fisting in his hair, mouth nibbling against his lips and seeking the entrance that Nino was all too happy to provide.
Jun took control, smoothly switching their positions, using his leverage to great success as he continued to devour Nino’s mouth. Nino ran his hands up Jun’s back, pulling him closer… closer… The hard length of Jun’s attraction pressed into the softness of Nino’s belly, and he broke their kiss to smirk before melding into it once again.
Jun pulled his mouth away, moaning, the sound shivering through Nino, making his own dick stiffen as his hips thrust forward of their own accord. Nino’s lips travelled down Jun’s jaw as he licked and nibbled at the base of his throat. Jun’s breathing was rapid as Nino used his teeth at the sensitive spot under his ear, using just enough pressure that he was sure there’d be a slight redness tomorrow.
Nino’s hands shifted to the hem of Jun’s shirt, tugging upwards, when Jun’s hands stopped them.
“We can’t,” Jun’s voice was strained. “I can’t. Nino, I want you, but…”
“No one needs to know,” Nino’s hands fisted on Jun’s shirt, pulling upwards. “Actually, just don’t do anything. Plausible deniability, or whatever.”
As Jun groaned his assent, Nino wrested the shirt over Jun’s head, tossing it across the kitchen as his mouth resumed it’s trek down Jun’s torso. He flicked his tongue over Jun’s nipple, feeling Jun’s breath hitch even as he moaned. Nino’s own body, his breath, was growing impatient; he unbuttoned his trousers as he dropped to his knees and pulled out his cock, wrapping his fingers around it tightly and fisting it once, twice. His tongue played along the edge of Jun’s waist, skillfully snapping open the buttons. Jun’s slight thrust forward was all the permission he needed. He freed Jun’s dick, taking a moment to wish that there was more light. As it was, his impression was of a normal length but a satisfying girth as he ghosted his lips across the head, enjoying the uncontrolled movements as Jun’s hips worked in slow circles, the voiceless vocalizations coming from above spurring him on.
He chose to take his time, hand slowly moving along himself as he held the base of Jun’s cock in his other hand, licking the entire length before taking it fully into his mouth. Jun gasped and his hands came down to Nino’s head, holding him in place as he thrust deeper into his mouth. Nino’s tongue danced along the sides as he thrust, breathing through his nose to take him deeper each time.
Jun pulled Nino up off of his knees, pushing them together and using both of his hands to hold their cocks, grinding against him. Nino almost felt like he could cum from the incoherent gasps Jun was making alone. He wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, whispering his own pleasure against Jun’s naked shoulder. The pleasure built, cresting over him, and he was unable to restrain his bellow as he shuddered hard, cumming over Jun’s fist and cock. Barely moments later, Jun finished with a yell of his own. Jun covered Nino’s face with kisses, smiling against his lips as he claimed them one more time. Nino laughed, grimacing as he took in the state of his shirt.
“It’s a good thing this isn’t dry-clean only.”
He stumbled to the dishwashing area, legs struggling to hold him, grabbing a towel, only to hear the quiet snick of the door closing. He turned, his heart falling to the bottom of his stomach, only to be greeted with an empty hallway and a closed door.
~*~
It was for Toma’s sake, really.
It was the third day since Jun had arrived at Idiot Sandwich, and he hadn’t seen Nino since their… private meeting the evening of the first day he was here. That didn’t mean that Jun hadn’t imagined him touching him, or relived the sweet sighs that he was sure Nino wouldn’t remember making. Not that Jun would be hearing those sounds again, not with the way he had walked out. He hadn’t even found his shirt, had barely remembered to zip up when he was in the alleyway. He just knew he couldn’t let it continue, not while he was filming. Not while Idiot Sandwich, and in effect Nino, were a job.
He was actually morbidly happy Nino hadn’t shown up, because that way, he wouldn’t have to see the disdain and hatred on his face.
But Toma, on the other hand, wouldn’t let up.
“I just don’t understand, Jun! This is his restaurant! Why isn’t he here?”
“I don’t fucking know, Toma!” Jun slammed his fist on the counter, knowing full well he was taking anger out on his assistant that was better directed on himself. He stormed into the kitchen, pushing aside Fuma and liberally attacking the onions that needed to be diced for the evening’s roux. Fuma, sensing his rage, left him there to wage war with the root vegetables as he pulled down ingredients for a marinade.
At this point, Ohno sidled over, right hand full of butcher knife, steely anger in his usually-sleepy eyes. Jun shivered, a previously unknown terror ricocheting down his body to his spleen.
Ohno narrowed his eyes, glaring. He brought the butcher knife down right next to Jun’s hand holding the onion, and Jun jumped, startled.
“I know what you did,” Ohno’s low growl was extremely menacing. “But I also know you’re smart enough to fix it.” Jun nodded, terrified, and Ohno slapped a folded piece of paper down on the counter.
“Do it, now.”
Jun did not hesitate in picking up the paper and relinquishing the spot to Fuma. He stepped aside into the dining room, leaning against the host station and spending a moment being thankful that they were not yet open. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, thinking hard, rubbing his thumb over Nino’s LINE contact.
He breathed in deep, forcing his shoulders to relax, before he typed.
CookingWithJ: I’m an idiot. Come back?
Jun made himself wait until after the lunch rush before he checked his phone. He could’ve waited longer; he had new messages from his producer, his best friend, Toma texted him like four times from the kitchen when he was in the dining room, but nothing from Nino.
He made himself wait until after dinner, too. The waitstaff had finished the dining room to his expectations, Ohno had properly corralled the kitchens into sanitary order. He helped with back stock, just because he was there and available. Finally, Ohno was chasing him out the door so he could lock up. Ohno left with a small wave, and Jun headed out the now familiar path into the alleyway, discord hanging unhappily upon his shoulders. Finally, his phone buzzed.
PazuDoraNeen: Get out of my alley so I can work on my books.
Jun whipped around, but couldn’t see him anywhere. His phone buzzed again.
PazuDoraNeen: You’re such a dork; I’m going to change your name to WhalePenis. You act like I would let you see me if I didn’t want you to.
CookingWithJ: Come down, so we can talk
PazuDoraNeen: Yeah, no.
Jun rubbed his hand across his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing his breath, frustrated. He knew he should have walked out, even after Nino had caught up with him. He hadn’t wanted to, and his thoughts were still filled with the remembrance of Nino’s mouth. His heart hurt - he had never been filled with this level of regret before. Most people he encountered in his line of work were the one-and-done types that wanted the notoriety inherent with bedding a celebrity. He was generally able to avoid them, unwilling to be a notch on their post, but Nino had been different, was still different.
But, the little voice in his head reminded him, that’s probably something you should have said.
He leaned against the wall and settled in to wait. His phone buzzed and he ignored it. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, only aware that the night had grown darker and the music from the club next door had finally stopped its dull thud. The brick against the palms of his hands left imprints that he could feel. He was just happy that it was summer, so at least he wasn’t shivering or cold. Every couple of minutes his phone buzzed, and he continued to ignore it.
Eventually, quiet footsteps alerted him that he was no longer alone. Nino appeared, a recognizable shape in the darkness, and took him by the hand. He was grateful for the warmth of Nino’s palm against his, and he stumbled slightly as they started to walk back down the alley, turning on to the main street. Jun was surprised when they turned right back around, Nino digging in his pocket with his free hand and pulling out a key. Nino unlocked the small door set to the far right of the front of Idiot Sandwich, and they ascended the stairs inside together.
The top of the stairs opened into a small living room, and Nino flung his keys into a small bowl by the stairwell. He nodded towards the couch against the opposite wall, and Jun thought about how much he missed Nino’s voice. Ridiculous, having only heard it for a single day, but the realization made the pain in his heart grow. He sat down on the couch, misery in his posture, and waited for Nino to speak.
~*~
Nino knew it was cruel to keep him waiting. But, it wasn’t as cruel as leaving him, pants at his ankles, without even a word. As such, Nino didn’t feel bad in the slightest.
Not that Nino’s heart was crushed. He was mad, livid, but he wasn’t angry enough to not realize the position he had put Jun in. He had heard enough shitty stories about power and entitlement from his waitresses to know that the pair of them were walking a thin line - and, even though he had been hurt, he also knew that it was a line he wanted to walk, for Jun.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching the man suffer at the end of his hook for a little while longer. He smirked as he remembered his own reeling pun to Toma at the beginning of this saga and, leaving Jun to stew on the couch, headed into the kitchen to buy himself some time and gather his thoughts. He grabbed a tray, adding a few glasses of water and some crackers his mother insisted he keep around for “company.” Best not to let Jun think he went to too much trouble.
As he headed back, Nino paused in the doorway to take in the scene in front of him. Jun was sprawled across his couch, head back against the cushions. Nino hated to admit it, he really did, but somehow over the past several days Jun had wormed his way into his heart. Living above the restaurant, he had snuck down the back stairs to listen at the door as Jun had discussed so many things with the people who worked for him - why they were there, how they had met his grandmother, and his heart squeezed to remember the empathetic responses and gentle encouragement Jun had provided.
“Part of me hates you, so much.”
Jun sat up, startled, and Nino walked towards him, smacking the tray down on the coffee table with more force than he had really intended. Maybe he was more put out than he thought, too.
Jun was slow to respond, and Nino watched the emotions flicker across his face. He was easy to read, Nino thought. Especially if you mostly paid attention to his eyebrows.
“I shouldn’t have left that way,” Nino rolled his eyes - of course he shouldn’t have. “My attraction to you kind of got the best of me, and I needed to make sure that it was me, rather than Jun-The-Chef or Jun-the-Savior…”
Jun trailed off then, unable to meet Nino’s eyes.
“I’m glad you were honest with me,” Nino let the anger drift out of his voice; Jun was here, Jun had reached out to him, Jun was being honest with him. These were the words he needed to hear. However, he wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
“But, how do you know that I’m not after you for your eyebrows?”
Jun growled, low, and Nino laughed as he dashed away, Jun in close pursuit. He laughed as he leapt over the recliner, skidding to the right and heading towards his bedroom. He had just reached the door when Jun’s long legs caught up to him, slamming them both into the doorframe, panting.
“Gotta admit, I wanted you out of breath, but not sure this is the way I wanted it.”
Jun laughed, capturing Nino’s lips as he pulled Nino through the door. Nino pulled him towards the bed, tugging off his clothes along the way.
~*~
A week later, Jun’s time at Idiot Sandwich had come to a close. At least, in his role as advisor and contractor. It was a very unique case for him; for once, fault lay nowhere other than aging design and modified foot-traffic patterns. With Nino’s input, they’d redesigned the public space, creating a unique and modern setting.
With a grunt, Jun shifted the final piece - a portrait of Kazu-chan - into place above the new seating area. He and Ohno had gone over the menu with a fine-tooth comb, adding some delicious new dishes and cleaning up the flavor palette that Kazu-chan had left them. He was excited - more excited than he’d been in a long time for the soft re-opening of Idiot Sandwich.
The ladder jiggled beneath him, and he caught on with both hands. He sighed, lightly, as he looked down at the tousled black hair of his boyfriend. Sure, the last bit of time had been busy, and they hadn’t been able to find much time alone, but their days had been full of lingering touches and texts pinging back and forth. He had already, against his better judgement, let Toma know he was taking the next several weeks off - and his luggage had mysteriously disappeared.
He rolled his eyes as he climbed down off the ladder, smiling at Nino as he reached out to embrace him in a one-armed hug. Nino wrapped his arms around Jun’s torso, and Jun placed a kiss at his temple.
“What do you think?”
Jun watched as Nino perused the portrait, breathing a sigh of relief as Nino nodded his acceptance.
“What do you think she would think, about this?” Jun made no mistake as to what he was talking about, gesturing between the two of them, smiling as Nino tossed his head back with laughter.
“Well, Jun-kun, if I had known you were the boy she kept telling me to skip cram school for… well… let’s just say I probably wouldn’t have graduated high school.”
Jun laughed, his heart happy. They had a long way to go, but now, they were going - together.
selvageFrom: :3.
Title: Idiot Sandwich
Pairing/Focus: Matsumiya
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 8,137
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Jun’s a much sought-after celebrity chef; lately he’s turned his skills to helping restaurants that are on the brink of destruction and ruin. One day, the restaurant where he received his start is included in his list of possible candidates to save and he’s desperate to figure out how the restaurant got to where it was. Along the way, he meets the snarky and well-meaning grandson of the restaurant’s previous owner - will they find a way to fix the restaurant, and their hearts?
Notes: Hi recipient! I hope you enjoy this fic; it’s actually the third one I’ve written for you in this period, but my magical realism just couldn’t cut it this go around. :) I hope you will enjoy some well-meaning-but-gruff Jun with some evil-but-understanding Nino.
Nino stretched languidly, the popping in his shoulders sounding large in his small office. Music thumped from the bar on the other side of his walls, causing him to roll his eyes in practiced agony – he had inherited the restaurant two years ago, but he still hadn’t managed to convince the guy next door to play better music. He thumped back – once, twice – before leaning back over his laptop, brows drawn in tight and worry lines etching deeper into his forehead. Even though he had spent more on advertisements this month than any other previously, the daily receipts for the restaurant were totaling less and less each day. He chewed on his lip, glancing over the neat columns of numbers one more time, before releasing a heavy sigh. Unless he drastically changed something (and he wasn’t sure what was left to tweak), he only had about two more months of his own savings left to prop up payroll.
He rubbed his face slowly, letting out a small growl of frustration. He peered at the clock, noticing that the midnight hour had long since passed. He stood, twisting to loosen up his lower back, before grabbing his flannel off the back of his chair and heading out the door into the back of the kitchen proper. The staff had closed up a few hours ago, the last dishes drying in a rack over the large wash bin. Ohno, his head chef and best friend, always left a small TV on for Nino, so that he wouldn’t be “lonely.” As always, the thoughtful gesture had Nino’s lips tilting up at the corners as he reached to switch it off. Just as his fingers touched the button, he paused, tilting his head contemplatively. The cheerful newscaster chirped the last of her segment, mentioning that Matsumoto Jun was often the last hope for failing restaurants, and weren’t the residents of Amethyst Falls so lucky that he was choosing a restaurant in their town. He frowned; considering. Usually, he was the last person to ask for help – but the recent contemplation of his current financial state underlined that, without said help, they would be dead in the water. Nino desperately wanted to turn it around; he missed putting money into his bank account rather than taking it out. He scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket as the newscaster recited how to express interest, mumbling the digits out loud until he opened the phone’s app, typing in the digits and hitting “dial.”
~*~
Unbeknownst to most, Jun hated everything. He hated the fact that he had been born, hated the fact that he was alive, hated the fact that he had this (stupid) job doing (stupid) things at (stupid) early in the (stupid) morning. He barely bothered to nod his head at Toma as his assistant slid a cup of coffee in front of him, choosing instead to use that moment to savor the fragrance rising from the cup. This early, the coffee would be too hot, and then he’d spend the rest of the day being mad that he had burnt his tongue out of desperation. Frowning, he tapped his fingers against the tabletop, willing to move past his morning struggle. He gave himself a few minutes to wonder, as he did every morning, if he had been born in the right time zone, before slowly dragging the cup forward, bracing himself before taking a slow sip of the slightly cooled coffee. He fortified himself and met Toma’s eyes. Toma’s eyes, which were crinkled in happiness, made Jun glare – just a little bit more. He wasn’t quite sure what had ever prompted him to hire a morning person as his personal assistant… but then again, the interview had been in the afternoon.
Then the caffeine hit, and Jun was once again able to speak like a human. He cleared his throat, questions whirling in his mind.
“So, Amethyst Falls? What are our options?”
With Jun’s words, Toma pulled out his tablet, briefly summarizing the responses they’d received after the news broadcast of the past couple of days. Most of the stories he relayed were what Jun had heard a million times before; he hated to be jaded, but most people had no business running a restaurant and, television fame or not, Jun was getting tired of rescuing them from their poor decisions.
Suddenly, one of the names Toma mentioned caused his entire body to stiffen.
“Wait, what? Did you just say Idiot Sandwich?” The remainder of Jun’s morning stupor vanished instantly upon Toma’s nod. For a brief moment, he was overcome with memories and a bit of unwelcome betrayal at the world. If Idiot Sandwich needed help, nothing in Amethyst Falls was as he remembered. He shook off that thought, returning his attention to Toma and the list, even though his mind was made up. Toma read the last request – another waiter-turned-chef/owner in over his head – and Jun huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Call Idiot Sandwich,” Jun shoved his chair back, calling over his shoulder as he left the room. “Tell the owner we’ll be there tomorrow.”
Jun left Toma to make telephone calls, heading to the television station’s gym to work out a few things weighing on his mind. The physical activity left his mind free to think, clearing out what was unimportant and really giving his all to the matter at hand. And, right now, it was Idiot Sandwich.
A smile graced his face as he stepped onto the treadmill, his mind casting back to his fondest childhood memories after… He abruptly shepherded his thoughts, directing them to the small, white-haired woman who had settled herself into a booth across from him that chilly November day two decades prior.
He had been a wise-cracking teen, grief turned into fury, body held tense and filled with adrenaline. Black hair dyed with stripes of blonde, fingernails painted black, he had glared with the rage of a thousand empty suns as she dared to invade his space with her gentle smile.
The grandmother’s eyes turned into the softest of all half moons as she slid a plate across the table to him, the simple turkey sandwich with chips calling like a lighthouse; a beacon of safety in a very dark night. Without his conscious decision, his fingers crept towards the plate, pulling it to him while eyeing the old woman suspiciously. But, being that his last full meal had been before he slipped out the window of his group home several days ago…
As Jun bit down, pure flavor burst inside his mouth and he closed his eyes with a moan. The noise surprised him and his eyes flew open to see the old woman titter, hand in front of her mouth, joy sparkling in her eyes.
“Welcome to Idiot Sandwich,” mirth flavored her voice husky, and Jun decided he could trust her – for now. “We could use a strong pair of shoulders around here.”
Jun shook off the memories of his misspent youth, bringing his hands up to pop the muscles in his neck, shaking out the rest of his body. While he’d been reminiscing, his body had gone through the motions, and he was now sore enough – and physically tired enough – to apply his mind to the problems that awaited him downstairs with Toma and Idiot Sandwich. He owed her that much.
~*~
Nino reeled so hard when he got the call that he expected to be on the end of Ohno’s hook. When he expressed that feeling, there was a warm chuckle on the other end of the line, followed by an assurance that although the caller, Toma, did not know this Ohno, there was no fishing to be had. Did Idiot Sandwich specialize in fresh fish, by chance? That line had made Nino laugh, and the pair of them had finished going through a long list of repetitive questions about the restaurant and its problems. As they hung up the phone, Toma had insisted that they would be able to help, and the complete confidence in the other man’s tone had helped Nino feel like maybe he had done the right thing in calling the program.
However, Nino still felt unbalanced when he unlocked the door for the camera crew the next morning. The sky was bright, the sun shining fierce, making a mockery of Nino’s tousled hair and habitual scowl. For mid-June, the temperature was mild, and a brief, long-buried part of Nino contemplated taking the day off to do something outside. He glanced up, noting there were no clouds in sight, and then shuddered, shaking himself and locking the idea back into its closet. He turned and followed the cameramen into the dining room.
Frowning, eyes adjusting to the dimness, Nino took a moment to view the interior as an outsider would. It had been Nino’s home away from home for as long as he could remember; the booth in the corner had once housed his small body, fingers clicking on his Gameboy’s buttons, as his grandmother kept him after school until his mother finished at work. He couldn’t even count how many times he had stubbed his toe on the corner of the host station, arms full, as he helped his grandmother by bussing tables in the restaurant after school when he was in middle school. He blinked away the memories, taking in the faded upholstery and scratched sides of the booths. The wallpaper was ancient, at least as old as Nino’s 30-odd years, and the lighting fixtures had seen better days (and, if he was completely honest, could use a more thorough dusting). He blinked away a vague memory of his father replacing them, standing on a ladder, his mother’s quiet teasing making his father laugh.
The voices of the crew bounced brassy off the metal hostess station and Nino’s hesitation ran down his spine. The uncertainty he’d felt ever since the lawyers had read Grams’ will manifested itself in his slumped shoulders and semi-permanent scowl. When Gram was alive… Well. They definitely didn’t have the problems they had today. Idiot Sandwich had seen constant traffic, steady customers – not too many that they needed an overabundance of staff, but a nice (‘profitable’ the voice in Nino’s head clarified) and consistent source of revenue. But... that traffic was of a certain generation, and it seemed that his face wasn’t the same draw as his grandmother’s elephant memory and unsolicited, but always welcome, advice. At least, after many a restless night, that’s the explanation he had.
Nino had just finished showing the crew the restaurant’s tiny restroom and explaining the finicky old light switches when the front door squeaked open again. Nino turned to watch a man, around his age, with broad shoulders and a tiny waist, enter the dining room with confidence. There was a level of sophistication to his clothing that almost made Nino self-conscious about his own jeans and flannel, but Nino quickly shoveled that back with the rest of his problems – the man wasn’t here to fix his wardrobe. The man’s assessing gaze ran across those same blemishes Nino had tried hardest not to catalog, knowing that they were all dollar signs in the end. The knowledge in the gaze and his determined bearing told Nino exactly who the man was; even if his sharp cheekbones and austere eyebrows hadn’t been plastered all over town. Nino stiffened his spine and crossed the distance separating them, reaching out his hand. The man turned to greet him, and the pair shared a brief and firm shake; Nino doing his best to ignore the shiver of awareness that traversed his body at the warmth, a quiet, traitorous voice in his mind stating that the pictures hadn’t done the man justice.
“Ah, you must be Jun. Welcome to Idiot Sandwich, I’m...” Nino broke off his sentence as the look of dismay in the newcomer’s eyes confirmed immediately that the restaurant was worse than he had thought.
“We don’t have time for this.”
Nino was a bit taken back by the blunt statement, but couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Yes… Running a failing restaurant that is then immortalized on television as a failure is definitely how I want to be remembered.”
Nino smirked as Jun’s eyes widened. Internally, he did a little dance of delight at having disturbed the cool outward demeanor, but immediately regretted it as Jun’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowing, and Nino came to the realization that a lesser man would be fighting the urge to hide behind the host station.
“We’ll see how we can affect your… standing.”
“I’d be glad to show you my standing...”
*~*
Jun practiced every single breathing exercise he knew.
He counted to ten.
He recited the alphabet, backwards.
He imagined that his breath was a bubble and that he had to breathe out slowly and steadily so that the bubble wouldn’t pop.
After the fifth rotation, he allowed himself to take notice of the room again. The proprietor, who Toma had informed him went by the all-too-casual Nino, was leaning against the host station, watching him as if he knew just how his rebuttal had affected Jun.
Jun cleared his throat and used his hard-earned willpower to pull his gaze away from the other man. There had been an invitation in that statement that he was struggling to not accept; Jun was very aware that he had a job to do and that renovating this restaurant did not mean he’d be checking out the contents of the man’s jeans. Even if those jeans did fit very snugly across his backside.
Jun used the excuse of checking out the restaurant to discreetly continue his perusal of the owner; a little on the short side, hair that looked like it had never met a comb, a physique that looked like maybe it spent a couple of days a week thinking about the gym but really spent all of its time playing video games on the floor instead. Nino’s presence was much more than the physical space he held – he seemed to take up most of the expanse of the dining room. Jun would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t already been charmed.
The restaurants’ booths needed to be reupholstered. Jun walked to a booth, shaking it – it held firm, confirming that the repairs here were cosmetic in nature. He continued walking through the dining room, taking mental notes on all of the minor details he needed to address. When he reached the host station, Nino was still leaning against it.
“So? I could tell you some of it; everything is as old as the dinosaurs, and could use upgrading, but it’s structurally sound.”
Jun was surprised that Nino recognized even this much.
“Well, yes, but sometimes it’s cheaper to replace than to retouch. The floors, for instance; we could make a big impact just by replacing the linoleum.”
Jun watched Nino take in that idea – it was at this point that those who had approached the show just for free upgrades started balking at the idea of not just replacing everything. Nino’s eyes narrowed for a second as he assessed the room, and then – surprisingly – met Jun’s directly.
“I’m good with that; I know that I’d rather the light fixtures be replaced entirely, but I hadn’t been sure what else would be better off going.”
Jun nodded, a measure of respect added to Nino’s apparently infinite physical attributes in his mind.
“Would you mind showing me the kitchen?”
The rest of the morning passed in similar fashion; Nino leaning unobtrusively against some fixture while Jun did his job, Jun being way too aware that his eyes tracked Jun’s movements. He didn’t find anything wrong in the kitchens; no decrepit, poorly stored food or unclean work surfaces. The restaurant, at least on the surface, looked like any small restaurant with a surfeit of customers could be expected to look. He considered, scowling, until Toma tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, startled – he hadn’t even noticed Toma’s arrival.
“Jun, the chef is here.”
Ah, this is where things usually went poorly. Jun cracked his knuckles, an anxious habit that went back decades. Chefs were notorious for being hot-headed and stubborn; he knew, he was one.
“Ohno Satoshi, this is Matsumoto Jun. Jun, this is Ohno, Idiot Sandwich’s chef.”
As Toma performed the introductions, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. A hand touched his shoulder, pulling him down, and Nino’s whisper sounded like it was running over gravel.
“I’ve seen enough of these shows, and I am telling you now, the problem is not my chef. If you intimate that it is...”
Jun had to give it to him – the growl that delivered the last sentence was well-designed to intimidate; and it worked much better than if the threat had been quantified.
“Why, is he your boyfriend?” The sharp elbow into his gut made him rethink the wisdom of asking that question, even if he was pretty sure he knew the answer. The sleepy-eyed chef, with his shy smile and deep tan, was no match for the proprietor’s quick wit and evil charm.
Jun turned his attention to Ohno, who was busy telling Toma about the dishes he made every day.
“Ah, yes, I got the recipes from Kazu-chan.” Ohno pulled a battered spiral-bound notebook out of the back pocket of his jeans, dusting it off and unfolding it with a single motion before handing it to Jun.
Jun took the notebook, leafing through it and noticing intricate, step-by-step recipes, but written in a style more akin to someone taking notes in a class. There were bulleted action items, but no listing of necessary ingredients. Alongside some of the more intricate steps were small, and adorable, diagrams where sandwiches had smiley faces and gloved hands. Jun frowned and handed the notebook back to the chef.
“Kazu-chan?” The question seemed innocuous, but he felt Nino stiffen next to him. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to catch the practiced look of nonchalance on Nino’s face.
“Yes, Kazu-chan, Nino-kun’s grandmother.” Ohno smiled beatifically as Jun’s mind worked to put together what he knew of the restaurant, and what they would need to do to make it successful again.
“Thanks so much,” Toma said as he and Ohno continued to make their way through the kitchen. Jun turned to see Nino’s face, still blank. He tried to effect a similar level of casual indifference, but a chord of excitement was growing as he leaned his hip against the wall, crossing his arms to increase the effect.
“So, what do you think we need to do to make the restaurant a success, if it’s not your chef, then?” Jun decided to try the deliberately obtuse route, skirting around the question of Nino’s grandmother. They didn’t have time right now for him to pursue his own interests… even if the man next to him was newly added to his list.
“Well, I’m pretty sure that’s why I called you.” Nino did not back down, and Jun straightened up to face him directly. “I’ve tried a lot of things – I’ve run advertisements, I’ve had Ohno adjust some of the recipes, I’ve tried calling up old patrons and seeing if they’d like to come back! I’ve run specials, I’ve started carry-out, and, most importantly, I’ve completely drained my savings. I don’t know what went wrong.”
Jun shuffled, a few steps here and there. In the background, he could hear the banging of pots and pans that meant Toma had instructed Ohno to create some dishes. In a few, he’d go and have the camera shoot some footage of him “ordering” from the menu – Toma knew his likes and dislikes enough that this scene didn’t have to be entirely authentic. The puzzle in front of him was more emergent than intimidating the wait staff into spilling some drama.
“Do you have a timeline?” Jun considered before asking the question; he personally knew how long Idiot Sandwich had been in Amethyst Falls, but Nino’s management might very well be the problem.
Nino shrugged, raising his shoulders just a little and not quite touching his ears. He scratched at the side of his nose before looking past Jun’s head at the wall behind him, unable to meet his eyes.
“Things were fine for a really long time. Even the first six months or so of me being here, nothing changed. Same clients, same staffing, same menu. About a year ago, things became unsteady. We made some changes, but… nothing seems to be helping.”
Jun watched as Nino flopped back against the wall, uncharacteristic defeat rolling off of him. Suddenly, his desire to help the restaurant had less to do with the past and more to do with the present; he’d rather a smirk, even at his own expense, than this lump of dejection and despair. He straightened, calling out to Toma – he had a job to do.
~*~
Nino watched in awe. He wasn’t often impressed, but this was the most he could remember in recent memory. In a single hour, Matsumoto Jun had completely flipped the morale of his restaurant – the sweet high school waitresses that subsidized their income at Idiot Sandwich were now giving him genuine smiles and exhibiting excitement. Ohno was speaking in low terms to his prep cook, a taller young man named Fuma, who was nodding along with Ohno while simultaneously winking at the waitresses. The energy in the air was suddenly brisk, some urgency in their steps, instead of the maudlin plodding of just yesterday.
Actual awe.
When Nino was finally able to pry his chin up off the floor, he walked over to Ohno, bumping into him with his shoulder. Ohno grinned, bumping back, and Nino pretended that it had been strong enough to fling him across the kitchen. His heart warmed up as Ohno laughed. He turned to head into the dining room and ran directly into a wall.
His heartbeat sped up as he considered. He didn’t remember there being a wall here. He squeezed his eyes shut and used his hands to examine the surface of the wall; it felt like cotton stretched taut over…
He groaned a little, deep inside. He was definitely feeling up the celebrity chef. Nino took one more half-second to himself, breathing the cedar-and-citrus scent deep, before stepping away and smiling up.
“Sorry, you were in the way.”
Jun grunted, and Nino laughed, ducking around him and heading into the dining room to check on the lunch rush. The adrenaline from his faux pas made him giddy, and he was chattier than usual as he welcomed people into the restaurant and bustled between tables.
The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same fashion – the number of diners had increased as word got out about Jun’s visit, but, unfortunately, did not open their wallets with the same amount of urgency with which they craned their necks to see the celebrated chef. Nino stepped in several times to help the waitstaff, and popped in the kitchen to help expedite orders as need arose. Even the dinner service ran as expected, although Nino also felt the pain of his waitresses as they counted their dismal tips.
As usual, the day ended with him tucking himself into his small office and pulling the night’s receipts out of his pockets. Nino took a few moments to curse Matsumoto Jun – the uptick in visitors corresponded to an uptick in tickets, and he had started the day so early…
An hour passed before the kitchen noise quieted, voices fading away; it sounded like Ohno had left him with a fishing program this evening, and Nino rolled his eyes as the successful fisherman talked about the size of his fish. A moment later, the thumping started up from next door; tomorrow, Nino told himself. Tomorrow, he’d talk to Aiba-san about the quality of his music. He closed his eyes, trying to rub the tenseness out of his neck and failing for several moments before he felt the weight of someone’s gaze.
Nino counted to ten before opening his eyes, mentally cataloging all of his routes of escape only to be met with the warm brown eyes of the celebrity chef. The damn man was lounging insouciantly against the door frame, and Nino struggled to meet his eyes. He took the long way from Jun’s belt loop, tightly encasing his hips, to the tuck of his waist, across the broad expanse of his shoulders and up to his eyebrows, one cocked up knowingly. Damn the man.
He’d been distracted, rightly so, and thus hadn’t noticed the drinks in Jun’s hand. He blinked at the clunk of glass lighting upon the table, and cautiously took it.
“What, you think you have to drug me, now?”
Jun smiled briefly, and Nino’s heart clenched. He wondered at himself; yes, he often made people smile, it was the thing he did, but those smiles didn’t usually have the same effect on him.
“May I sit down?”
Nino nodded and gestured to the chair on the other side of his small desk. It didn’t get much use, and he flinched a bit as Jun manipulated a stack of old documents off the chair and made a neat pile next to it on the floor. He didn’t often have to take his employees to task, and nobody had ever kept him company during closing before.
“I thought you’d have left with everyone else,” Nino started, straightening up his side of the desk and marking in his ledger where he was leaving off; he had plenty to do, but nothing that couldn’t wait.
“Ah, well. We haven’t had time to talk, off camera, about what you’re doing here.”
Nino was surprised, distracted from his straightening.
“I’m not sure I get what you mean.”
“Well, I know we talked on camera about turning a profit, that sort of thing. But we didn’t talk about what the restaurant means to you. Sometimes that’s a little personal, and I don’t want to discuss it on camera if it’s sensitive.”
Nino wasn’t quite sure why he was so surprised – he thought that the entire idea of reality TV was that the person’s (victims, his internal monologue supplied) reactions were as personal and invasive as possible. His posture locked up, and Jun was good at reading body language – he reached across the desk and nudged Nino’s drink closer. Nino met his eyes and smiled – nothing like a good time for a drink – before tossing his drink back and rolling the glass in his fingers, considering. He finally settled on a cursory, albeit truthful, explanation.
“I grew up here; this was my grandparents’ restaurant. But, it was more than that – after my grandfather died, it felt like this was my grandmother’s home. It was an extension of how she took care of us, her family – and I don’t want her legacy to go to waste. That’s all.”
Across from him, Nino watched as Jun tossed his own drink back, shaking off images of dragging his tongue down his adam’s apple… and elsewhere.
“That still doesn’t explain what it means to you.”
Jun’s statement underlined something that Nino knew; he knew that he didn’t care, he knew that his grandmother’s restaurant meant much less to him than it had to her. He also knew that he went through the motions with it; but how to explain this to the celebrity chef he had called in to rescue the restaurant… and his grandmother’s legacy?
“I haven’t figured that out, yet,” Nino decided honesty was the best policy. Silence, other than the thumps from next door, descended, and he felt no urgency to respond quickly. The two of them settled comfortably as Nino watched as Jun’s fingers drummed against his crossed knees. Nino slumped deeper into his chair.
“I ate at Idiot Sandwich before today,” Jun broke the silence, his voice a bit guttural. Nino was shocked, eyes darting up to meet Jun’s before tracking away to the wall behind him, willing him to continue, knowing instinctively that making too much out of that simple sentence would have Jun turning silent.
“My, well. Let’s say my upbringing was a bit unique.”
~*~
Jun wasn’t sure why he was diving into this story here, now, with this man he was so attracted to (against all professional obligations). He wasn’t even sure he wanted to share it at all, let alone in this moment – but the lost look in Nino’s eyes, shining only briefly in that moment after he stated his reasons for running the restaurant, spoke to him and who he had been, who he still was late at night. And, he admitted to himself, it was late.
“I was a bit, rebellious, you might say.” He chuckled nervously, fingers clenching tight around his empty glass, the rhythmic tapping against his knee speeding up and belying his anxiety. “I was probably twelve, maybe thirteen, when my mother decided I was too much for her. I was definitely thirteen when my mom dropped me off in the middle of Amethyst Falls.”
Internally, Jun’s satisfaction at making Nino bolt upright warred with the frustration he still felt.
“I thought, for a couple of days, that I had just missed the bus. That I imagined she hadn’t watched as I ran alongside, gesturing at the driver to keep driving. That insistence that it was wrong, that it was a mistake, kept me at the station for over a week.” Jun breathed in deep, closing his eyes, not wanting to see the pity cross Nino’s face.
“After that week, the authorities picked me up. They tried foster homes, group homes, but… my despondence had turned to rage. But, as they say, the third time’s the charm, and after the third time I left a home, they brought me to Kazuko-san.”
Jun opened his eyes, looking across the table with eyes so full of ancient pain that Nino shifted, and Jun could tell that he was aware of how uncomfortable it was to share such a personal story with a near stranger. But those feelings were nothing compared to how much Jun wanted to share this story, how much Jun wanted Nino, this near stranger, to understand.
“She was the most generous person I ever met… but I didn’t realize that until later. What I realized first was that she made a damn good sandwich.”
Nino’s laugh broke the suspense, and Jun grinned, happy to hear it.
“Ah, I remember when I was in high school, she kept trying to get me to skip; something about some new sous chef she hired. But she called him, or, I guess, you?” Nino’s head tilted, questioning, and Jun nodded - he had been the sous chef.
“She called you Atsujun, like - what was I even supposed to take from that?” Nino chuckled, and Jun joined in, a bit embarrassed by such a nickname, but mostly just so grateful for the chances the old lady had provided.
“So, you can probably understand - she helped me, Nino. For three years, I came here nearly every day; until I was an adult, she taught me the intricacies of food preparation, the joy that came with watching someone you love eat something delicious. She not only gave me a job, but she gave me structure and affection. Then I turned 18, and like all kids, I discovered a desire to escape the town I had known, and somehow I lost touch. I was going to look her up, that’s the entire reason the show is in Amethyst Falls. I saw Idiot Sandwich on the list, and I had to help. I never expected that she’d be gone.”
~*~
Nino was used to hearing stories about his grandmother. He was used to people getting emotional about her, but, generally those people were also octogenarians with wrinkled skin and smiling eyes. He was pretty sure that this was the first time that the person he heard the story from was also someone he found attractive, and he wasn’t sure what to do about that.
Jun’s face had fallen as he reached the end of his tale. Nino knew what that felt like, too. His grandmother had been a large force in his life, and he wasn’t sure what to do now, that he was without her.
“I’m supposed to be carrying on her legacy,” he said, quietly. “But I really just feel like I’m fucking it all up.”
Jun reached across the desk, picking up Nino’s glass and taking his own. Holding them both with one hand, he reached out his other, gently caressing the side of Nino’s face, wiping away a tear that Nino hadn’t been aware had fallen. He leaned down suddenly, capturing Nino’s lips, all too briefly, before turning and leaving the room. Nino watched, stunned, as Jun pulled the door closed behind him with a slight thump, leaving him alone with his heart beating staccato in his veins.
This just wouldn’t do.
Nino raced after him, slamming through the kitchen door and catching Jun at the back exit. He grabbed his arm, spinning him around, pushing him back against the door as he stretched up to claim his lips. His arms snaked around Jun, pulling him closer, and he felt Jun’s body relax and give in to the kiss. Jun’s hands tugged, fingers fisting in his hair, mouth nibbling against his lips and seeking the entrance that Nino was all too happy to provide.
Jun took control, smoothly switching their positions, using his leverage to great success as he continued to devour Nino’s mouth. Nino ran his hands up Jun’s back, pulling him closer… closer… The hard length of Jun’s attraction pressed into the softness of Nino’s belly, and he broke their kiss to smirk before melding into it once again.
Jun pulled his mouth away, moaning, the sound shivering through Nino, making his own dick stiffen as his hips thrust forward of their own accord. Nino’s lips travelled down Jun’s jaw as he licked and nibbled at the base of his throat. Jun’s breathing was rapid as Nino used his teeth at the sensitive spot under his ear, using just enough pressure that he was sure there’d be a slight redness tomorrow.
Nino’s hands shifted to the hem of Jun’s shirt, tugging upwards, when Jun’s hands stopped them.
“We can’t,” Jun’s voice was strained. “I can’t. Nino, I want you, but…”
“No one needs to know,” Nino’s hands fisted on Jun’s shirt, pulling upwards. “Actually, just don’t do anything. Plausible deniability, or whatever.”
As Jun groaned his assent, Nino wrested the shirt over Jun’s head, tossing it across the kitchen as his mouth resumed it’s trek down Jun’s torso. He flicked his tongue over Jun’s nipple, feeling Jun’s breath hitch even as he moaned. Nino’s own body, his breath, was growing impatient; he unbuttoned his trousers as he dropped to his knees and pulled out his cock, wrapping his fingers around it tightly and fisting it once, twice. His tongue played along the edge of Jun’s waist, skillfully snapping open the buttons. Jun’s slight thrust forward was all the permission he needed. He freed Jun’s dick, taking a moment to wish that there was more light. As it was, his impression was of a normal length but a satisfying girth as he ghosted his lips across the head, enjoying the uncontrolled movements as Jun’s hips worked in slow circles, the voiceless vocalizations coming from above spurring him on.
He chose to take his time, hand slowly moving along himself as he held the base of Jun’s cock in his other hand, licking the entire length before taking it fully into his mouth. Jun gasped and his hands came down to Nino’s head, holding him in place as he thrust deeper into his mouth. Nino’s tongue danced along the sides as he thrust, breathing through his nose to take him deeper each time.
Jun pulled Nino up off of his knees, pushing them together and using both of his hands to hold their cocks, grinding against him. Nino almost felt like he could cum from the incoherent gasps Jun was making alone. He wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, whispering his own pleasure against Jun’s naked shoulder. The pleasure built, cresting over him, and he was unable to restrain his bellow as he shuddered hard, cumming over Jun’s fist and cock. Barely moments later, Jun finished with a yell of his own. Jun covered Nino’s face with kisses, smiling against his lips as he claimed them one more time. Nino laughed, grimacing as he took in the state of his shirt.
“It’s a good thing this isn’t dry-clean only.”
He stumbled to the dishwashing area, legs struggling to hold him, grabbing a towel, only to hear the quiet snick of the door closing. He turned, his heart falling to the bottom of his stomach, only to be greeted with an empty hallway and a closed door.
~*~
It was for Toma’s sake, really.
It was the third day since Jun had arrived at Idiot Sandwich, and he hadn’t seen Nino since their… private meeting the evening of the first day he was here. That didn’t mean that Jun hadn’t imagined him touching him, or relived the sweet sighs that he was sure Nino wouldn’t remember making. Not that Jun would be hearing those sounds again, not with the way he had walked out. He hadn’t even found his shirt, had barely remembered to zip up when he was in the alleyway. He just knew he couldn’t let it continue, not while he was filming. Not while Idiot Sandwich, and in effect Nino, were a job.
He was actually morbidly happy Nino hadn’t shown up, because that way, he wouldn’t have to see the disdain and hatred on his face.
But Toma, on the other hand, wouldn’t let up.
“I just don’t understand, Jun! This is his restaurant! Why isn’t he here?”
“I don’t fucking know, Toma!” Jun slammed his fist on the counter, knowing full well he was taking anger out on his assistant that was better directed on himself. He stormed into the kitchen, pushing aside Fuma and liberally attacking the onions that needed to be diced for the evening’s roux. Fuma, sensing his rage, left him there to wage war with the root vegetables as he pulled down ingredients for a marinade.
At this point, Ohno sidled over, right hand full of butcher knife, steely anger in his usually-sleepy eyes. Jun shivered, a previously unknown terror ricocheting down his body to his spleen.
Ohno narrowed his eyes, glaring. He brought the butcher knife down right next to Jun’s hand holding the onion, and Jun jumped, startled.
“I know what you did,” Ohno’s low growl was extremely menacing. “But I also know you’re smart enough to fix it.” Jun nodded, terrified, and Ohno slapped a folded piece of paper down on the counter.
“Do it, now.”
Jun did not hesitate in picking up the paper and relinquishing the spot to Fuma. He stepped aside into the dining room, leaning against the host station and spending a moment being thankful that they were not yet open. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, thinking hard, rubbing his thumb over Nino’s LINE contact.
He breathed in deep, forcing his shoulders to relax, before he typed.
CookingWithJ: I’m an idiot. Come back?
Jun made himself wait until after the lunch rush before he checked his phone. He could’ve waited longer; he had new messages from his producer, his best friend, Toma texted him like four times from the kitchen when he was in the dining room, but nothing from Nino.
He made himself wait until after dinner, too. The waitstaff had finished the dining room to his expectations, Ohno had properly corralled the kitchens into sanitary order. He helped with back stock, just because he was there and available. Finally, Ohno was chasing him out the door so he could lock up. Ohno left with a small wave, and Jun headed out the now familiar path into the alleyway, discord hanging unhappily upon his shoulders. Finally, his phone buzzed.
PazuDoraNeen: Get out of my alley so I can work on my books.
Jun whipped around, but couldn’t see him anywhere. His phone buzzed again.
PazuDoraNeen: You’re such a dork; I’m going to change your name to WhalePenis. You act like I would let you see me if I didn’t want you to.
CookingWithJ: Come down, so we can talk
PazuDoraNeen: Yeah, no.
Jun rubbed his hand across his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing his breath, frustrated. He knew he should have walked out, even after Nino had caught up with him. He hadn’t wanted to, and his thoughts were still filled with the remembrance of Nino’s mouth. His heart hurt - he had never been filled with this level of regret before. Most people he encountered in his line of work were the one-and-done types that wanted the notoriety inherent with bedding a celebrity. He was generally able to avoid them, unwilling to be a notch on their post, but Nino had been different, was still different.
But, the little voice in his head reminded him, that’s probably something you should have said.
He leaned against the wall and settled in to wait. His phone buzzed and he ignored it. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, only aware that the night had grown darker and the music from the club next door had finally stopped its dull thud. The brick against the palms of his hands left imprints that he could feel. He was just happy that it was summer, so at least he wasn’t shivering or cold. Every couple of minutes his phone buzzed, and he continued to ignore it.
Eventually, quiet footsteps alerted him that he was no longer alone. Nino appeared, a recognizable shape in the darkness, and took him by the hand. He was grateful for the warmth of Nino’s palm against his, and he stumbled slightly as they started to walk back down the alley, turning on to the main street. Jun was surprised when they turned right back around, Nino digging in his pocket with his free hand and pulling out a key. Nino unlocked the small door set to the far right of the front of Idiot Sandwich, and they ascended the stairs inside together.
The top of the stairs opened into a small living room, and Nino flung his keys into a small bowl by the stairwell. He nodded towards the couch against the opposite wall, and Jun thought about how much he missed Nino’s voice. Ridiculous, having only heard it for a single day, but the realization made the pain in his heart grow. He sat down on the couch, misery in his posture, and waited for Nino to speak.
~*~
Nino knew it was cruel to keep him waiting. But, it wasn’t as cruel as leaving him, pants at his ankles, without even a word. As such, Nino didn’t feel bad in the slightest.
Not that Nino’s heart was crushed. He was mad, livid, but he wasn’t angry enough to not realize the position he had put Jun in. He had heard enough shitty stories about power and entitlement from his waitresses to know that the pair of them were walking a thin line - and, even though he had been hurt, he also knew that it was a line he wanted to walk, for Jun.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching the man suffer at the end of his hook for a little while longer. He smirked as he remembered his own reeling pun to Toma at the beginning of this saga and, leaving Jun to stew on the couch, headed into the kitchen to buy himself some time and gather his thoughts. He grabbed a tray, adding a few glasses of water and some crackers his mother insisted he keep around for “company.” Best not to let Jun think he went to too much trouble.
As he headed back, Nino paused in the doorway to take in the scene in front of him. Jun was sprawled across his couch, head back against the cushions. Nino hated to admit it, he really did, but somehow over the past several days Jun had wormed his way into his heart. Living above the restaurant, he had snuck down the back stairs to listen at the door as Jun had discussed so many things with the people who worked for him - why they were there, how they had met his grandmother, and his heart squeezed to remember the empathetic responses and gentle encouragement Jun had provided.
“Part of me hates you, so much.”
Jun sat up, startled, and Nino walked towards him, smacking the tray down on the coffee table with more force than he had really intended. Maybe he was more put out than he thought, too.
Jun was slow to respond, and Nino watched the emotions flicker across his face. He was easy to read, Nino thought. Especially if you mostly paid attention to his eyebrows.
“I shouldn’t have left that way,” Nino rolled his eyes - of course he shouldn’t have. “My attraction to you kind of got the best of me, and I needed to make sure that it was me, rather than Jun-The-Chef or Jun-the-Savior…”
Jun trailed off then, unable to meet Nino’s eyes.
“I’m glad you were honest with me,” Nino let the anger drift out of his voice; Jun was here, Jun had reached out to him, Jun was being honest with him. These were the words he needed to hear. However, he wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
“But, how do you know that I’m not after you for your eyebrows?”
Jun growled, low, and Nino laughed as he dashed away, Jun in close pursuit. He laughed as he leapt over the recliner, skidding to the right and heading towards his bedroom. He had just reached the door when Jun’s long legs caught up to him, slamming them both into the doorframe, panting.
“Gotta admit, I wanted you out of breath, but not sure this is the way I wanted it.”
Jun laughed, capturing Nino’s lips as he pulled Nino through the door. Nino pulled him towards the bed, tugging off his clothes along the way.
~*~
A week later, Jun’s time at Idiot Sandwich had come to a close. At least, in his role as advisor and contractor. It was a very unique case for him; for once, fault lay nowhere other than aging design and modified foot-traffic patterns. With Nino’s input, they’d redesigned the public space, creating a unique and modern setting.
With a grunt, Jun shifted the final piece - a portrait of Kazu-chan - into place above the new seating area. He and Ohno had gone over the menu with a fine-tooth comb, adding some delicious new dishes and cleaning up the flavor palette that Kazu-chan had left them. He was excited - more excited than he’d been in a long time for the soft re-opening of Idiot Sandwich.
The ladder jiggled beneath him, and he caught on with both hands. He sighed, lightly, as he looked down at the tousled black hair of his boyfriend. Sure, the last bit of time had been busy, and they hadn’t been able to find much time alone, but their days had been full of lingering touches and texts pinging back and forth. He had already, against his better judgement, let Toma know he was taking the next several weeks off - and his luggage had mysteriously disappeared.
He rolled his eyes as he climbed down off the ladder, smiling at Nino as he reached out to embrace him in a one-armed hug. Nino wrapped his arms around Jun’s torso, and Jun placed a kiss at his temple.
“What do you think?”
Jun watched as Nino perused the portrait, breathing a sigh of relief as Nino nodded his acceptance.
“What do you think she would think, about this?” Jun made no mistake as to what he was talking about, gesturing between the two of them, smiling as Nino tossed his head back with laughter.
“Well, Jun-kun, if I had known you were the boy she kept telling me to skip cram school for… well… let’s just say I probably wouldn’t have graduated high school.”
Jun laughed, his heart happy. They had a long way to go, but now, they were going - together.
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