Protection - Kei Tsukishima fanfiction

six

Warning, this chapter contains a bit of abuse

It's quite surprising how much of a heavy eater I can be when I have the delicacy of possessing the whole kitchen to myself--only when I have foolishly forgotten to pack my own bento box for school which is every single day. I have access to the limited amount of vegetables, rice and meats I keep in the cupboards and fridge, ones that I myself have been ordered to purchase, meaning that my possibilities are endless when it comes to making dinner for my mother--who normally comes home late--and myself.

I have some time before Tsukishima arrives with the study notes, and hopefully it won't take him long to pass them over and be on his way, so it is a perfect time to start by cooking up a suitable meal; I am self taught when it comes to food after my mother decided not to teach me more advanced dishes that don't involve the use of the microwave, but I can guarantee that I can stew up something that won't end in food poisoning. Something that is healthy and hopefully won't take long before both my two expected arrivals show up.

Ramen is always the first thing that comes to my mind when my stomach rumbles and it is a meal that I could cook up with my eyes closed, however I guess you could say that I make it the 'cheat' way as my method is rather quick and unprofessional. Boiling a stock on a large saucepan over a medium heat, I chop up some coriander stalks, accurately and finely, then I add it to the pan with only a few slices of red chilli as my taste for spice is not so eager; while all this is going on I have two skinless chicken breasts cooking on a separate pan next to it to save time. After that, I only add 200ml of water to the mix and wait for it to simmer for 10 minutes to let the vegetables infuse with the liquids. During the further two minutes, I repair the rest of the ingredients which, by choice, consists of mushrooms, baby pak choi and egg noodles which only need cutting and taking out of their packaging ready for use. Now, I just have some free time to take in the savoury smell that dances around the wooden kitchen and floods my submissive lungs. I could stand next the to cooker and intake these fumes all day, every day if I could.

"Seiren! Come to the door please!" This was an unexpected voice that made my small figure jump in shock; female, harsh and with a tinge of slight expected annoyance. It was my mother, she was early and I didn't even hear her walk through the door as I was clouded by my inner thoughts and the sound of the water heating up. Why is she yelling already? Did I forget to lock the door? Did I accidentally bring mud into the house? Did she trip on my school bag? All were possible accusations, but I don't remember doing any of that. With my heart still racing, I put on a brave smile for her arrival and walked to the sliding door.

"Coming!" I replied, sheepishly making my way to her in front of the open entrance door, an ominous light giving her a dark silhouette around her not-much-taller than my body.

My mother works as a normal company employee in one of the local food stores in Miyagi; uniform consisting of denim overall, a dress shirt and a pair of trousers or the occasional skirt. She commutes by train, taking a merely depressing 20 minutes there and back, always leaving a tired and irritated look to crawl across her face whenever we seem to talk. This doesn't help with the fact that she works every day, but with a 6 hour work time to make up for it and the moments she may lose on her possible days off. However, as she has explained, she takes time after stacking the shelves to socialise with her friends and possibly strangers to give her a level head and to balance home life and work. Incorporating all this means that I rarely get to see and or spend time with her as a normal independent family may do; not that I'm really complaining. Just knowing that she gets to spend time with people that make her happy and have a clear head gives me selfish satisfaction.

"Could you care to explain this?" My mother was holding something rather flimsy and thin in her right hand, overshadowed by her silhouette so I couldn't make out what it was. Her expression is cold and unamused, giving me the obvious conclusion that whatever it is mustn't be good or working in my favour. I prepared myself for the worst thinking about every possibility.