The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

The Proof is in the Pudding


Proof that Yata loves Saruhiko: he’s making pudding without any fruit or vegetables for the third time in a row, while muttering about immature picky eaters.

“Oh?” Saruhiko asks, with his most annoying, sideways smile and glittering eyes. “I’m the immature one?”

Yata just glares at him. “You can’t go shopping right now because you did in your leg,” he reminds Saruhiko, pointing with the stirring spoon.

Saruhiko scowls.

“Because you were reckless. And that’s the only reason I’m cooking for you.” Yata huffs.

Lying. He’d cook for Saruhiko anyway, does cook for him. He just adds fruits and vegetables.

No Reason at All


They had lived together before. Yata had seen Saruhiko clothed and unclothed, half asleep with his hair sticking up or neatly put together in formal wear. There was really no reason on the first night they were rooming together again that he should be gobsmacked by the sight of his best friend wandering out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel.

Saruhiko ran a hand through his hair absently, new scars and new muscle visible on his lean frame, and he looked good.

Saruhiko blinked at him. “Are you burning dinner?”

Yata swore and snatched it off the burner.

Meet Immovable Object


Shiro was enjoying the peace of Kuroh making dinner and good smells filling the air when a sudden thwack from a cooking utensil sent Neko howling and hissng across the room.

“You spanked the cat?” Shiro stared between an indignant Kuroh standing guard over his foodstuffs and an even more indignant cat, white fur all standing on end.

Neko apparently hadn’t been in human form all afternoon, preferring to sneak her paws into Kuroh’s cooking.

Kuroh stared back unrepentantly. “Dinner will be ready soon.” He made a shooing motion at both Shiro and Neko and turned back to the stove.

Eat Up


“What are you making?” Saruhiko suddenly asked, sounding highly alarmed and less than enthused.

“Shut up. You’ll like it.” Yata shot him a grin over his shoulder.

Saruhiko only looked more alarmed. Possibly because of Yata looking ever so slightly sniffly (he wasn’t crying, it was onions, okay?), possibly because the smell wasn’t the kind that was easy to mistake.

“I don’t like onions.” Saruhiko frowned as he pushed up his glasses and even ignored the pinging of his computer.

Yata waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ll survive one meal a week with vegetables.”

And like it too.