Chapter Text
Souma slid in and took a seat beside Hayama. “Does it ever just hit you that Takumi’s a guy?”
Hayama didn’t often make any effort to interact with Souma unless there was cooking involved, a debate or a shokugeki he was certain to win, but this time he couldn’t help lifting his head up. “What?”
“His voice,” Souma expagorated. He waved a hand around his neck, and then waved it towards the front of the class where Takumi was making a presentation. “It’s so deep.”
Hayama turned his head over. Takumi cleared his throat and clicked to the next slide, and then began detailing the various species of the tomatoes he’d based his assignment on. To this day, he’d never understood why Food Science was a requisite for second years, when half the time no one listened, and then bullshitted enough to pass its only assignment. Half the full marks came from making a pretty colourful powerpoint, anyway. Its only benefit was that they could fix their circadian rhythms.
Hayama tucked back his head into the hollow of his crossed arms, and went back to catching up on some much needed sleep. He shut his eyes. “Go away.”
“It’s weird, right?” Souma continued. “Most of the time he’s squawking at me, and screaming—”
“Have you ever considered that maybe you are the problem?” he mumbled.
“—and then he turns around,” Souma said, lowly, “and sounds like that.”
“Normal?”
“Not what I mean—”
“Like he isn’t annoyed?”
“Okay, funn—”
“Like no one is bothering him?”
“No,” Souma sighed. “Like that.”
The sigh was uncharacteristically uncharacteristic. A whisper of a breath, unlike the usual Souma sigh that came in with singsong laughs embedded in the voice. Hayama opened an eye. He looked at Souma from the side of it. Souma’s head was fixed towards the front, eyes narrowed, but not with suspicion or frustration or anything of the sort.
His face was the face of contemplation. Both hands were under his chin in concentration. His whole body leaned foward, poised and taking in everything that Takumi was saying, for clarification.
Souma looked like he was listening.
Hayama narrowed his one eye. He’d been daydreaming about what he would do when the class ended, maybe go hang out with his mom Jun, or start his assignment (yea, right), or preferably drown himself in a pool to escape a tedious school day gone too long.
But now it looked like he was going to be hard up on money soon.
Souma’s hand jolted up. His face broke into a grin. “Ah, sensei?”
There was a moment of silence, before Takumi’s short crisp voice broke through, tinted with exasperation. “No.”
“I have a question.”
“You’ve asked four times already,” Takumi’s voice said, annoyed. “Wait until after the presentation.”
“Well, it’s more of a request. Do you mind going back to the last slide?” Souma leaned forward, and resumed position with his hands below his chin. “I didn’t really hear what you said.”
“Then maybe you should stop talking to Hayama,” Takumi snapped. Hayama frowned. When did he get into this? “Pay attention.”
“He’s the one sleeping.”
Hayama sat up, stifling a hiss. He lifted his pencil, “This is how I take notes!”
Takumi nodded. “Good for you, Hayama. Yukihira, I suggest that you do the same.”
“I was,” Souma reached over to snag a piece of paper from Hayama and lifted it up. “But I missed the last slide.”
Takumi’s eye twitched. He turned back to the whiteboard, and flicked back to the slide. For a moment, he debated with himself, opening his mouth and closing it. Then he smiled, dug into his pocket and took out his phone. He took a picture.
“I’ll send it to you after.” He turned back to the class, made a very pointed gesture of looking at everything and anything else. He beamed at the class. “Does everyone else have any questions?”
A hand at the front slowly rose up, trembling. It belonged to a random classmate that Hayama was sure he’d gone to middle school with. Couldn’t be too sure. “Um, Takumi-kun? Could you… elaborate your last point again? On this slide? Please?”
Takumi stilled. Even without either of them looking at Souma, Hayama knew he was smirking.
With a great amount of effort, Takumi kept his easy smile. “Yes, of course. As I was saying…”
As he launched back into his presentation, his manner was professional, succinct, and clear. A huge part of it came from his hands, Hayama noted. They moved only when they needed to, elaboration and emphasis, not just to ward off nerves. Hayama had to admit, he was more than slightly impressed. Takumi’s entire body was tuned into the room, turned towards the person he was speaking to, straight and focused, not fidgeting.
But Souma was right.
Takumi’s voice… that was what sold everything.
He had a deep voice, sonorous, pitched low but still full and loud enough to fill the room. It commanded everyone who wasn’t to pay attention, and even Hayama found himself following Souma in his pose, listening.
Well.
For two minutes straight, Hayama found himself listening to the aphrodisiac nature of golden tomatoes like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
When Takumi flicked to the next slide, he felt the urge to ask him to repeat himself again.
He slowly turned towards Souma, stomach tripping as he saw the state of his classmate.
Souma’s eyes were half-lidded, face held in his chin, the smirk on his face now gone as he bit his lip.
Hayama fought another sudden urge to pull his hair out. At this rate, he was going to go broke.