the upsides of a destroyed kitchen
He knew something was wrong with his first step into the kitchen. Sugar crunched under his feet, an eerie sound in the silence. Icing sugar and flour and cocoa were smeared across the smooth black of his counter, and the oven was hanging open. He felt a bundle of dread build in his gut. The Someone had at least washed up; a haphazard pile of bowls and utensils was precariously balanced on the drying rack, and soapy water formed a little lake around the sink. It was as if a whirlwind had swept through, and left the spatula on top of the microwave. (How the hell-?) Watanuki’s brain hurt trying to repress the sheer improbability of the state his kitchen was in; it would take him forever to clean this up and he was so tired and why were the oven gloves in the fruit bowl? Then there was a small noise from behind him: sufficient distraction. Watanuki gave a tired sigh, before turning.
Doumeki held up a surprisingly perfect-looking cake, with thick chocolate icing and colourful sprinkles and birthday candles. Watanuki’s headache grew comparing the cake to his kitchen. Doumeki was not quite as immaculate: a long streak of chocolate icing was smeared carelessly across his cheek; his hair was matted with flour; his smile was decidedly guilty, but he also looked decidedly pleased with himself. He didn’t look like a block of granite for once. He wasn’t as immaculate as the cake, but he was still perfe
“Happy Birthday,” he said quietly. Watanuki just stared at him, a small smile growing.
“I wanted to make something for you,” Doumeki added.
“I had to phone Kunogi every five minutes or so,” he admitted.
“I’m not very good at baking,” he sighed, looking slightly disappointed at Watanuki’s silence. He silently put the cake down on the (horrendously dirty) counter. He was supposed to be the silent one. He didn’t see the small smile growing on Watanuki’s face (I don’t feel quite so tired anymore).
“It’s not my birthday for another THREE MONTHS, you idiot, and you have utterly ruined my kitchen and it’s going to take me forever to clean up and don’t you dare expect me to make you lunch on top of that!”
“Sorry,” Doumeki murmured, his kicked-puppy expression melting into the much more common stoic look. He still didn’t look up.
“Why? Why did you feel the need to make me a cake?” Watanuki demanded, running short of words. Well, that would have to suffice as his cutting rant. He was grinning widely now, but Doumeki still didn’t look up.
“I wanted to make sure that when I got you one for your birthday, you’d like it.”
He was planning what he was going to get Watanuki for his birthday. Three months in advance.
“And you’ve been unhappy. I thought….”
Watanuki’s face froze, realising that this was the moment he had been dreading and anticipating. He knew Doumeki’s feelings (he wasn’t a complete idiot) but he hadn’t known how he felt. (And if he likes me so much, he can say so first.) Warm fuzzy feelings reigned supreme, so he made a decision.
He stepped forward, face blank.
Doumeki looked up.
He wiped the icing off Doumeki’s cheek with a pale finger, and looked at it for a moment, before licking it off. He met Doumeki’s eyes (why does he get to be so much taller, damnit).
“Thank you.”
And smiled.