notes: my attention span couldn't handle an actual fic so i wrote these down as they came. i guess it's like those 50 sentence things, except there's only 10, i p much wrote whatever, and technically these are more than one sentence

but let's not dwell on that

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i

Whenever Souma cooks him Italian, Takumi either reacts in two ways: one, with a smug smile, saying, "I've made better," or, two, with a small pout, grumbling, "I'll beat you next time, so don't think this means you've won!" but regardless of which it is, he always makes sure to follow it up later with a soft, "It was really good though, Yukihira. Thanks," and a smile Souma finds much sweeter than any victory.

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ii

Takumi is heavier than he looks, Souma muses, adjusting his hold so that the other doesn't slide off his back, though now he wonders whether that's due to his own exhaustion from being in the kitchen all day, or the godforsaken distance between the school buildings and actual living areas; either way, his aching legs beg him to consider between just slapping Takumi awake (light taps and nudging his shoulder do not work—he's tried) or stealing his phone and calling Isami over to take care of the rest, when Takumi mumbles something against his shoulder, a fleeting "Yukihira" amidst a dream, and Souma sighs, figuring walking a bit further won't hurt.

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iii

"I can handle a little rain," is what Souma says when Takumi shoves the umbrella into his hand, turning away as he replies, "D-Don't get the wrong idea. It's just that Isami already went ahead, so I'm allowing you to accompany me on the way," then, quietly, "Besides, if you get sick, then you can't cook properly, stupid," so Souma smiles, tugs Takumi closer to him, ignoring the scowl and complaint forming at his lips, and says "Wouldn't want you getting wet either now, do we?"

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iv

Souma refuses to go easy on Takumi in any of their culinary "showdowns", minor as "who can spread butter on toast the most evenly" they may be—a sentiment he's certain Takumi shares, on their pride as chefs—but he's willing to be lenient on others, like "who can hold their breath the longest" or "who can finish a jumbo slushie the fastest", if only because he considers that look of pure glee on Takumi's face his win, anyway.

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v

Going to karaoke involved a lot less singing than Souma imagined—partly because snacks and chitchat was deemed more fun (something Souma found ironic considering they already did that nearly every night in Marui's room), but mostly because Takumi wouldn't stop hogging the mic—something Souma wasn't complaining about, really; if there was anything he's learned from song after song in an apparent attempt at a new world record for "Most Songs Sung in a Single Night", it was that Takumi had a lovely singing voice.

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vi

Souma isn't sure if it's because he's only ever seen Takumi wear pants, but the skirt exposes his legs in a way that Souma could only deem "indecent", prompting him to make a mental note of asking Megumi if their school uniform had always been this revealing, before Takumi cuts into his thoughts with an annoyed "S-Stop staring so much... Idiot" to which Souma shrugs "I wasn't the one who said the loser had to crossdress", making Takumi huff in that way of his, the skirt hiking up even higher than Souma thought possible, slowly uncovering—"Alright that's it I'm changing now!" Takumi yells, walking back toward the restroom, hands tugging down at the hem as hard as he can, making Souma regret not putting in that time limit when he had the chance.

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vii

Bus rides were always uneventful—this was something Souma had learned ever since he first rode one, and he found it comforting to see it was still true now—the initial buzz among the students having died down to a few idle conversations, left to those who had not succumbed to sleep, or, for the unfortunate, motion sickness; Takumi, he found, after he had grown tired of his rant on why he had sit next to Souma again, belonged to the former, breaths coming in even one-twos, the ends of his hair brushing against Souma's neck with every bump and turn; bus rides were always uneventful, Souma thinks again, nudging Takumi's head onto a less precarious spot on his shoulder, but he doesn't mind.

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viii

Takumi has a tendency to lapse into Italian when he's deep in thought, but it isn't until he's flushing, half-embarrassed, half-annoyed Souma didn't tell him, that Souma even realizes, the words having slipped out so smoothly, so naturally, that he doubted anything was amiss.

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ix

Isami had warned him about this, Souma recalls, about Takumi's tendency to become overinvested in board games—but to actually see it happen, to see real tears form in the corner of his eyes as he reluctantly places the plastic dog in front of Souma's hotel, lip quivering as he hands him the paper bills—Souma is honestly incredulous and also somewhat worryingly aroused; he'll definitely have to schedule these games more often.

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x

"Have you ever thought about growing your hair out like your father?" was a question Takumi had asked him, once—at the time, Souma had simply shrugged and said, "I don't really think much about my hair to begin with. Why do you ask?"; Takumi hadn't answered him then, but now, Souma thinks he understands why, watching as Takumi gently combs his hands through the strands, easing his way where his spikes had settled, fingers lingering on skin now covered—like this, Souma decides, to see how far he could get with another inch or two.