Chapter Text
Kazuya grabs another tasting spoon, dips it in the sauce, and places it on his tongue. It’s missing something , but he can’t put his finger on what. There’s enough salt, yes, enough garlic, yes? Yes. He frowns, rolling the flavour around his mouth until he can figure it out.
No, it’s not ready, but—
“Stop frowning,” Youichi says, and Kazuya turns his head to see Youichi hunched over the dessert bench, looking up at him.
“I’m trying to figure this out. Let me live,” Kazuya says. They’ve been here for hours already, fine-tuning elements of the spring/summer menu. Well, Kazuya had intended on sequestering himself in the kitchen, but because Youichi had offered his company and his palate, Kazuya had relented. Despite his initial concerns about not being able to focus with just the two of them in the space, as they tend to go off on way too many food-related tangents to be productive, the morning has gone very well. To Youichi’s credit, he had come on several of these tasting ‘experiences’ already, and helped Kazuya work through problems, as well as acting as a sounding board for ideas.
Today, he is off in his own dessert world, playing around with several variations of a fraisier that Kazuya looks forward to putting on the new menu, too. It may be a bit early for strawberries at the release of the menu, but June will come quickly and they can use local produce instead of the imported fruit. Secretly, Kazuya just wants an excuse to have the fraisier around for him to eat, because somehow Youichi has managed to make this dessert appealing to him. He toned down the sugar and introduced basil in for a unique twist that left Kazuya cleaning the plate in the least classy way possible.
So, Kazuya might be dating a dessert genius, who might have changed Kazuya’s entire outlook on all things sweet. Has he admitted this out loud? No. He may yet do that, but—
“Do you want me to try it?” Youichi offers, peeling the plastic film from the cake now that it’s set.
“Yeah. I can’t figure out what’s missing,” Kazuya admits, eyeing the fraisier casually.
“Give me a sec. I’ll come help you.”
As always, he does.
Sachiko rolls in at her usual time, which Kazuya learned is at least 30 minutes prior to everyone else, and she stops dead in the middle of the kitchen, whistling trailing off.
“You’re here again?” she asks, scandalized, then turns to Youichi. “And you’re here, too. Dunno why I’m still surprised by it.”
“We’re friends,” Youichi says, despite the three of them all knowing what time it is.
“Uh huh,” she says. “How’s the menu coming?”
“We’re going to be doing a tasting for everyone in maybe, two weeks?” Kazuya says, throwing a glance over to Youichi.
“Have you run everything by your dad?” Youichi asks.
“Yeah, we have the green light, provided the whole kitchen tasting works out.”
“Hey, that’s cool. Can’t wait to try shit.” Sachiko grins, plugging her phone into the speakers. “How are we feeling about some stupid pop garbage today?”
“Sounds great,” Youichi says, at the same time as Kazuya yells, “Kill me.”
“Perfect,” Sachiko chirps, and she makes a huge show of pressing play on one of her many Spotify playlists.
Two weeks later, Kazuya stands in the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron as he watches his staff descend on the plates that he’s set out on the bench. His father makes his appearance as well, wearing his contemplative face from start to finish, lingering at each dish for twice as long as everyone else. Kazuya sweats more than he imagined he would be, but his father’s approval still means a lot to him. He’s still the final hurdle for this menu to go out.
Youichi approaches Kazuya then, having done his rounds, and puts a hand on the small of his back.
“It’s a great menu, man,” he reassures Kazuya. “You did a hell of a job.”
“I had a bit of help,” Kazuya says, only then turning to smile at Youichi, melting from the force of Youichi’s grin. “And besides, it’s not like I did the desserts.”
“Yeah, who did those, eh? Must be a genius.”
“No idea. I just showed up one day and they were in the fridge,” Kazuya responds, shrugging. They share a chuckle, watching the gaggle of focused, thoughtful faces prodding at dishes with tiny spoons. Despite knowing he’s done the best job that he could have, and that he’s proud of his work, Kazuya’s stomach is still in knots as he waits.
Matt gives a thumbs up once he’s done with his tasting, and says, “I want to drink that butter sauce on the fish. Just, right in a mug. Fantastic.”
“Agreed!” Sachiko calls. “I am amped for this menu.”
The praise pours in, and Kazuya feels that knot in his stomach start to loosen. It won’t be gone for good until he finds out what his father thinks, but he’s lighter. Next to him, Youichi radiates warmth, leaning ever so subtly into Kazuya. If he weren’t so stressed, Kazuya would be leaning right back.
Kazuya’s father walks over once he’s placed his spoons in the sink and stops before Kazuya and Youichi, lips curved gently.
“Well done, Kazuya,” he says, and the tension bleeds out of Kazuya’s body in one rush and he crosses his arms just to give them something to do.
“Thank you,” Kazuya says, feeling Youichi tap him gently on the back.
“I hear you have been helping quite a bit,” his father tells Youichi, whose eyes go round in surprise.
“Oh, not at all,” Youichi says, ducking his head. “Just helped out with the desserts.”
“I look forward to trying those, as well.”
“I’ll get them going now,” Youichi says quickly, his smile a bit wobbly from nerves.
Kazuya is left standing with his father, watching Youichi scurry to the fridge, and Kazuya smiles helplessly. He’s so nervous, and it’s cute. Kazuya might love him.
He freezes. Oh god. Nope. No, now is not the time to be having this kind of crisis. Not at all.
When he gathers all of his faculties again, he turns to his father, and finds him already looking at him.
“I am glad that you get along so well.” He laughs. “Maybe a touch too well.”
Kazuya stops breathing for a second, but lets the air out of his lungs in a measured way to hide the shock.
“He has great ideas,” Kazuya says, watching Youichi plate up three desserts at lightning speed and carefully bring them over to the bench.
“He does. He loves what he does, I could see that from the start, but he fits in well here.”
At that, Kazuya softens, unable to keep the fond smile off his face as he watches Youichi. His passion is almost contagious.
Youichi says, “It’s ready!”
And then it’s time for Kazuya to dig in and enjoy, and let Youichi sweat nervously for a change. Yet, Kazuya still feels some Youichi-adjacent nerves, watching Youichi’s gorgeous eyes flit over a dozen faces, assessing their responses to his food. Kazuya knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that they’re going to love it, because he does.
It’s a good thing that Kazuya’s father is here because the way Youichi’s cheeks dimple when he starts receiving praise makes Kazuya want to kiss him so badly. To curb that all-consuming need, Kazuya walks over to stand by him instead, and snags some more strawberry basil mousse when everyone is preoccupied.
Youichi catches him, like he always does, then smiles to himself, dimples popping in the most achingly charming way.
“How’s everyone feeling?” Kazuya asks.
There is a resounding chorus of pleased sounds, and Kazuya absolutely devours the joy radiating from Youichi.
He’s so close to reaching over, cupping Youichi’s face and planting a messy kiss wherever he reaches first.
SO close.
“I am pleased,” Kazuya’s father says later, slipping his arms into his coat. He ties his scarf around his neck and pulls out a pair of gloves while Kazuya watches, unsure of how to react. He’s elated that they’re going ahead with the menu; he feels like it’s a new lease on life, a breath of fresh air.
He has direction.
“Heading home?” he asks, knowing the answer but not knowing what else to say.
“I have some bookkeeping to do, and I would rather go before the slush freezes tonight.”
“Not a bad idea,” Kazuya says. They’re in the late winter phase where everything is wet and slushy, making it an absolute nightmare to commute anywhere. Kazuya has had perpetually wet feet for weeks now, though at least he gets to change shoes when he gets to the restaurant.
“You know,” his father says, on his way out the door. “I am looking forward to launch.”
Kazuya smiles. “I think it’s gonna be good. Might get us back in the fancy magazines again if it goes well.”
“As long as our food is up to our standards, that’s what matters.”
“It will be.”
Kazuya shoves at Youichi, the human heater, to give him a little bit of room in the bed. It’s too warm as it is, which—wait. It’s too warm. It’s too warm .
“Stoooooop,” Youichi whines, latching onto Kazuya’s waist and curling back in.
“It’s too hot!” Kazuya whines right back, laughing when Youichi nuzzles under his chin and his hair tickles him.
“Take a blanket off, then.”
“If I could use my arms…”
“Shhhhh.”
“Youichi,” Kazuya reprimands.
“Sleep.”
“We have to get up. Menu launch.”
“No alarm, no waking up,” Youichi informs Kazuya. So helpful.
Kazuya tries to roll out of the octopus grip. “I’m your alarm.”
“Terrible alarm.”
“I am such a charming alarm.”
“Why are we awake?” Youichi mumbles, hand sliding to rest on Kazuya’s chest.
“Because we have to get dressed and work.”
“Not yet.”
“Yes, Youichi.” Kazuya yelps when Youichi nips at his neck, fighting back by tickling Youichi and then it all goes downhill from there.
Because Youichi is a menace of the highest order, he keeps Kazuya from leaving bed and beginning his pre-stress routine. While Kazuya has never lacked confidence in the kitchen, this is a menu of his own creation, the first at La Joie, and he has a reputation to keep. He knows his kitchen can execute the dishes—he trained them, but Kazuya wants the customers to enjoy and appreciate the amount of effort they’ve all put in. He hopes they will, since the kitchen’s going to do all they can to put out the best food possible.
“Do you want me to head over to my place to change or do you want to leave earlier together and stop by there on our way?” Youichi asks, tugging on a pair of his sweatpants that found their way into Kazuya’s closet and stayed there.
“We can stop by on the way,” Kazuya says, knowing that it’s the easiest way to admit that he appreciates Youichi’s presence this morning. It’s been a whirlwind few months, but Kazuya can admit to himself that Youichi has been a stabilizing presence and a challenging one, inspiring Kazuya to do better in every regard. He thinks that Youichi isn’t even really aware of his effect; he’s so motivated and passionate that it’s hard not to absorb some of his energy by proxy.
Youichi wanders into the living room, yawning loudly, hair an absolute nest on top of his head and a fierce clutch at Kazuya’s heart overtakes him. He can’t stop looking at him, even though all he’s doing is scratching his bare belly, just over the bright blue and white tattooed waves peeking above his waistband.
It’s an odd feeling, Kazuya thinks absently, to love someone.
“No,” Youichi reprimands. “We’re gonna be late if you keep starin’ at me like that, man.”
“I haven’t been late a single time since you started sleeping over!”
“I know you’re letting down your brand and all, but of all days, I figure today’s gonna be a good one to show up extra early.”
“We might beat Sachiko in.”
“I love how much it freaks her out when she doesn’t arrive to an empty kitchen,” Youichi says through cackles. “Fuckin’ priceless.”
“More motivation to show up early.”
“ I’m a little freaked out by this punctuality thing,” Youichi says, reducing the space between them to zero by looping his arms around Kazuya’s waist. He kisses Kazuya softly on the mouth with no intent behind it, just easy affection. “Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worried,” Kazuya lies.
“Right, yeah,” Youichi nods sarcastically. “You’re super casual.”
Kazuya takes a deep, steadying breath. “This is a big deal.”
“It is, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Nothing you can’t handle.”
“I know.”
“You’re allowed to be anxious about this,” Youichi says, and Kazuya tightens his arms around him for lack of a better way to react. He wants the churning of his gut to stop, and the strong, solid presence of Youichi before him helps a touch.
“It’s really warm in here,” Kazuya says, nuzzling Youichi’s temple.
“Now I’m crazy worried about you.” Pulling back, Youichi places a hand on Kazuya’s forehead. “First, you wanna be early , and now you’re saying it’s warm? Are you dying?”
“Hilarious,” Kazuya deadpans. “I think it might actually be a normal person temperature in here for once.”
“I mean, yeah, we’re due to start our two weeks of Canadian spring before we start roasting alive in our own juices,” Youichi says, making a face of disgust. “Fuck summer.”
“I can’t wait to run outside again,” Kazuya says. “Get all nice and sweaty.”
“Nasty.”
Pointedly ignoring Youichi’s terrible attitude towards the best season of the year, Kazuya adds, “I can wear shorts . And t-shirts.”
“You can wear t-shirts in winter, Kazuya.”
“No, that’s just you. You’re a mutant, I’m pretty sure.”
“You’re just bad at layering,” Youichi says, smacking Kazuya on the ass as he pulls away and heads into the kitchen.
“Bad at layering? That’s how you explain me not liking -30 with windchill because the lake is trying to kill us?”
“Yeah. I’m never that cold!”
“Again, I would like to point out that you’re a mutant.”
“Clearly superior to you, yep.”
“Humans were not made for these climates,” Kazuya insists.
“You’re ridiculous. Move somewhere else, then. Go to BC where they wear parkas at like, -10.”
“That’s normal! ”
“Go to BC, then!” Youichi rustles around in the kitchen, then asks, “How do you want your eggs?”
“Yes!” Kazuya grins where he stands in the living room, ambling over in time to see Youichi sigh deeply.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Youichi grumbles, but it’s fond.
“Sunny-side up, please.”
“Fine,” he acquiesces, like he wasn’t in the process of cracking two eggs for each of them already. It’s a new element to their routine; Youichi makes breakfast at Kazuya’s and vice versa, all born of a stupid challenge over a few too many beers one night in March. Neither of them remembers the rules of the challenge, but realistically, they both win every time.
Stepping outside, Kazuya feels reborn. The air is cool, still, as it can often be in late April, but a warm breeze rushes over him, smelling of spring. The thaw is almost complete, and while thawing snow and soggy grass have a certain overwhelmingly earthy smell for some people , Kazuya inhales it like he hasn’t been able to breathe for months. The sun is out, warming Kazuya’s face, and he takes his hands out of his hoodie pockets because he doesn’t need to protect them from the elements.
It’s spring .
He steps onto a pile of fall leaves, only recently revealed by the melt, and revels in the squelch. Take that, fall and winter.
The dying gasps of winter hide in the shadows of buildings, small piles of dirty, large-crystal snow that refuse to leave.
Youichi is in a t-shirt.
“God, it smells fucking awful out here,” Youichi says, wrinkling his nose. “It’s like eau de thawing dogshit.”
“Why are you ruining this? It’s beautiful, and warm, and perf—“
“I’m sweating.”
“How are you sweating? Seriously, how?” Kazuya does not understand him.
“It’s hot!”
“It’s—are we just going to cycle through the same arguments every year until we die?” Kazuya presses his lips together tightly and faces forward, willing the fierce redness to recede from his face. Why did he say that in that way? Maybe Youichi will be kind and skate over—
“You’ve already got this planned out, eh?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kazuya mumbles, peering in a storefront.
Youichi laughs for a whole city block.
The kitchen is buzzing with excitement. Kazuya would enjoy the mood more if he didn’t feel slightly sick with nerves now. He knows that his stomach will settle once service begins, and the heat gets turned up; he thrives under the pressure, and performs better the more is expected of him. However, now, as they slowly prep and count down—maybe that’s just Kazuya—the degree of stomach twisting is unbearable. He might pace around a little bit from station to station to ease his—something bounces off his head and he stops, rubbing at the spot on his bandana where the object hit even though it wasn’t painful. He then bends to pick it up and finds it’s a piece of plastic that a certain someone uses to mold chocolate details.
“Wanna throw that out for me?” Youichi asks, wearing a cheeky grin.
“You can throw it out yourself. Your aim’s garbage,” Kazuya snipes, walking over to deposit the crinkled plastic in Youichi’s outstretched palm with a flourish.
“I was aiming for your head,” Youichi says, tossing the garbage away.
“You hit my bandana,” Kazuya corrects. Never mind that it’s on his head.
“I can literally see on your face that you don’t believe that shit, so I’m not even gonna say anything.”
“But you just did.” Kazuya feigns innocence in the face of Youichi’s deeply unimpressed expression. What an amazing degree of face scrunching. He tells Youichi as much.
“Stop flirting, please,” Indira says loftily as she walks by on her way to the sink. “We’re very busy.”
Youichi snorts, making a passable attempt at keeping his frown in place for a solid two seconds before he gives in, and Kazuya flushes.
This place is out of control.
There are some mishaps. Some filets get burnt, there is a sauce incident with a capital I that almost leads to an accident, Youichi manages to cut himself with plastic—Kazuya will never let him live that one down—Sachiko somehow manages to turn up her skill level to manage the junior chefs and when all is said and done, the kitchen is quiet.
A steady stream of positive reviews has been trickling in all night, and Kazuya tucked those away in his pocket for later because he didn’t have time to glow from the praise when there was work to do, but now that he’s untying his apron, piece of the night start to hit him bit by bit. It’s not over, really; it’s not like a one-and-done experience and you either win or you lose. It’s not, but it’s an important night, and the anxiety starts to crawl back into Kazuya’s gut. They did well, and he felt good in the kitchen, happy to be there and creating his own dishes—Kazuya pauses. He was happy to be there.
This is a piece of him, the start of his own footprint outside of his father’s shadow, and Kazuya liked it. Anxiety aside, he’s excited to see where this goes, to see how people react. He already wants to do better.
“That was amazing,” he says to the kitchen and blinks when everyone whoops and starts clapping.
“Good job, boss,” Sachiko says, cuffing him on the shoulder. She wipes her forehead and grins in a self-satisfied way.
“Good job, everyone. I could not have done that without you,” Kazuya says honestly, unable to fight down a smile.
“No shit,” Youichi says, and the kitchen erupts in laughter. Insubordination at its worst. Kazuya doesn’t even bother trying to look mad at him when he feels this good.
“You know I’m terrible at the speech thing, but really, this night could not have gone better. I could not ask for a better team at my back, both in terms of skill and attitude. I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished and I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.”
There’s more applause, and cheering, and Kazuya rubs the back of his neck nervously, awkward about receiving the praise when it wasn’t just him. Youichi’s clapping too, and his face is split by the force of his smile, and what looks like pride in his eyes. Kazuya has been a goner for a while, but seeing Youichi look at him like that turns his insides molten.
“Okay, okay, go change, you’re all gross,” Kazuya says when the excitement doesn’t seem to be dying down, and he reaches his absolute threshold for attention.
Chatter breaks out almost immediately despite the late hour, and Kazuya too lets the adrenaline carry him through the rest of the closing routine. Youichi is quiet in a measured way as he cleans, waiting for the rest of the staff to clear out before he approaches Kazuya with his eyes all but sparkling.
“You looked great out there,” he says, and Kazuya desperately searches for a joke.
“Always do.”
“Shut up and accept the compliment,” Youichi says with a frown, reaching up to pull something out of Kazuya’s hair.
“You know I’m great at both of those things.”
Youichi stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Kazuya, sliding his palm to his lower back. “That’s why I’m reminding you. That was fucking awesome. You did it, and you looked alive . It was nice to see.”
They survey the kitchen like it’s their kingdom, and try as he might, Kazuya can’t imagine what the kitchen was like without Youichi at his back like a steadily burning flame.
“You act like I’m the only one who did anything,” Kazuya jokes, untying his apron. He begins folding it carefully as Youichi turns his body towards him, hand never budging from his back.
“You’re the only one I was watching.”
“That’s not very safe, you know?”
Youichi forestalls any and all further nonsense by pressing a finger to Kazuya’s mouth, which is smart of him. Sensing that the sassy wind has left Kazuya’s sails, Youichi lowers his hand, choosing instead to lean up and press a gentle kiss to the corner of Kazuya’s mouth.
“Still worried about finding your passion?” Youichi asks, eyes alight like he’s got the upper hand in this scenario, like he was privy to some secret information that just came to light.
“It’s pending.” Kazuya mirrors his smile and follows him out of the kitchen.
They’ve got to celebrate tonight.
NIGHTCAP:
Kazuya isn’t—baking isn’t his strong suit. It’s not his strong suit, but he knows how to follow recipes and he has learned enough by osmosis in the past few months to be able to pull this off.
How hard could it be?
Youichi is hanging out with his sister, who has taken him out for a birthday lunch, and had graciously slipped Kazuya a key to Youichi’s apartment for stealth baking purposes. A normal person would have done the baking in their own kitchen and then brought it over, but Kazuya’s kitchen is woefully under-equipped for baking, and casually asking to borrow a ten inch springform will not fly with an average person, let alone Youichi. The man’s like a bloodhound and doesn’t miss a thing .
That’s why Kazuya is going to make the recipe that Youichi’s been talking about for weeks but keeps sidelining in favour of making rhubarb everything. Yes, it’s in season, but not everyone has the boundless appetite for tartness that Youichi has. “Not everyone” specifically referring to Kazuya, who tends to lean towards richer fall flavours—and so he’s making a fall cake that Youichi also really wants to eat. Actually, it’s entirely for Youichi. Kazuya will eat anything that Youichi makes for him, unless it has blueberries, in which case he’ll eat less of it, but he’s not terribly motivated to make anything for himself ever. He’s more likely to grab a bag of Doritos and call it a day.
So, he is baking. For Youichi.
He prepped as much as he could ahead of his kitchen takeover to maximize what time he has in Youichi’s apartment, and since this cake has to bake for a while, Kazuya is grateful for his forethought.
The intensely green stand mixer—the love of Youichi’s life, as he’s called it—makes quick work of pureeing the chestnuts, of which Kazuya has eaten several in the name of taste-testing. While it’s running on medium speed, he nudges in tablespoons of butter, one at a time, watching them incorporate with a sense of satisfaction.
He cranks up the speed and lets the mixer do its work for a few minutes. Kazuya rests a forearm on it and stares out into the living room, which is now fully decorated and so Youichi that it hurts. The walls are covered in art and photos, an eclectic mix of frames and colours that somehow come together seamlessly. It’s a good reflection of the person, Kazuya thinks, smiling softly to himself. He likes it here. Quite a bit, actually.
It always smells like something’s been baked recently, homey and warm, and undoubtedly lived-in. Maybe that’s why Kazuya ends up here more often than not; for the longest time, he had just attributed it to the fact that it was closer to the restaurant.
When the mixture is ready, Kazuya turns the speed down and starts adding the eggs, one by one, stopping the mixer and lifting the head so he can coax the batter down off the sides periodically. It’s a very satisfying process, a lot more relaxed and meditative than Kazuya would have thought.
He reduces the speed, as per the recipe’s instructions, and adds half of the dry ingredients, gently dusting the counter as he does. Whoops. There’s very little space for him to work here. He adds some creme fraiche—who just has that in their fridge, honestly?—mixes it in, and adds most of the rest of the dry ingredients.
The cleanup’s going to be the fun part.
Kazuya turns the mixer off, unlocking the bowl, and adds the brandy after smelling it. The burn of the alcohol in his nostrils is sharp, testament to the brandy’s questionable quality, but it doesn’t need to be top shelf to be good in a dessert. It just needs to be alright.
He’s just folding in the pears when the oven announces that it’s pre-heated with an alarming beep.
“Good,” Kazuya says to himself, then uses all of his spatula skills to neatly scrape all the batter out of the bowl into the pre-greased springform. The faint, delicate smell of chestnuts wafts up from the pan, and Kazuya inhales deeply, excited for that scent to intensify in the oven.
All that’s left now is to take a metric ton of pear slices and arrange them in a pleasing way.
Kazuya may be great at plating, but he finds arranging fruit on top of batter infinitely more challenging and stressful, for some reason. He looks at the recipe photo in the book, then back at his own cake-in-progress, then back at the photo.
Fuck it. He approximates some flowers, pressing the pears into the batter gently, then stands up to admire his handiwork. Not bad.
He wipes his hands, then slides the pan into the oven and sets a timer. It’s do or die time now.
Momo messages Kazuya to let him know that they’re just getting bubble tea now, and to expect Youichi back in about 30, which is a bit earlier than planned. At least it’ll give Kazuya a chance to clean up and then Youichi won’t be returning to a warzone and Kazuya wearing cake batter like a Pollock painting.
He even planned far enough ahead to bring a change of clothes with him, picking an outfit that had made Youichi “lose all chill,” when he had worn it a few weeks earlier. It’s a good choice.
Not that he really has to seduce Youichi, but it’s nice to watch him fall apart. Very nice, actually. One of Kazuya’s favourite things to witness, if he’s honest with himself.
Kazuya tears through the dishes with speed born of experience, and dries everything off, putting it all back where it belongs. He’s spent enough time puttering about in here with Youichi that he’s learned the proper way to tetris all of his kitchen tools so they stay put. As it turns out, there is a method to all of his baking madness, and somehow Kazuya got Stockholmed into thinking it makes sense over the past few months. Who is he?
He double-checks the oven timer once he’s returned the workspace to order, then hops in the bathroom for a quick shower—the cake is going to be in the oven for over thirty minutes and he has time to make himself smell better than he currently does.
By the time he has made himself into a passable human being, wearing a soft sweater that’s a bit too warm for the weather, and his tightest pair of jeans, he hears the key in the lock. There’s no time to artfully arrange himself in any sort of sexy way, not that he’d be able to make himself look anything but ridiculous when posing, so he stands awkwardly and waits for the door to open.
Youichi is slurping the dregs of his bubble tea loudly when he pushes the door open, eyes widening in surprise when he catches sight of Kazuya. He swallows, winces, then grins brightly.
“Hi, you!” he says, toeing off his shoes and padding over to Kazuya in these stupidly bright socks he bought while the two of them were drunk and in front of a laptop together. There are lemons on them.
“Forgot my name?” Kazuya asks, unable to keep a matching grin off his face. He parts his arms enough for Youichi to wriggle in and wrap his own around Kazuya’s middle. He nuzzles Kazuya’s neck.
“No, I’ve practiced it too much to forget,” Youichi replies.
“Excuse me, that’s inappropriate,” Kazuya admonishes, like he’s deeply upset by the statement.
“Shut up. Also, what smells fucking incredible? Kazuya, are you baking for me?”
“No.”
“You are!” Youichi leaves Kazuya’s embrace and shuffles over to the kitchen, squatting in front of the oven window like a gremlin. God, Kazuya loves him.
“What’s this?” Youichi asks, tone suggesting he very much knows what it is.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I can’t believe you—you and my sister planned this!”
“Momo’s very helpful,” Kazuya admits. “Unlike her brother.”
“Oh, fuck off, you love me.”
Kazuya wants to say it, but the words won’t come, so he nods instead. He flushes bright red when realization dawns on Youichi’s face, eyes going round and sparkly and gorgeous. It looks like his face is going to split from the force of his smile.
“Yeah, me too.” He rises up on his toes to meet Kazuya halfway in a kiss that is mostly smiles and giggling.
“Happy birthday,” Kazuya murmurs, lips brushing Youichi’s.
“It absolutely is.”
Kazuya shakes his head and kisses him again, glad that he lowballed the baking time and can ignore the oven’s insistent beeping for a few minutes longer.