Flour dusted the counter like a light snowfall, and Mikey was holding the mixing bowl like it had personally insulted him.
"I said stir gently," Takemichi repeated, half-laughing, half-pleading.
"I am stirring gently," Mikey said indignantly, right before the whisk caught on a pocket of batter and went up half a splash onto his face.
Takemichi burst into laughter.
Mikey stood there, blinking, a streak of sweet batter sliding down his cheek like a sugary tear of betrayal.
"You did that on purpose," he muttered.
"I really didn't," Takemichi managed between gasps, clutching his side.
"You said this was a bonding experience."
"It is," Takemichi said, still laughing. "Now we're bonded by sticky shame."
Mikey glared half-heartedly, then wiped his cheek with the back of his wrist, leaving an even worse smear. "You suck."
"Better than your stirring technique."
Mikey let out a small laugh—just a breath. He leaned against the counter, letting the warmth settle between them as the laughter faded. For a while, it was just the hum of the stovetop and the quiet crackle of the taiyaki pan heating up.
Then Mikey said, voice lower now, "Kazutora and Baji went to see Shin-nii."
Takemichi turned, surprised at the shift in tone.
Mikey kept his eyes on the batter. "He called me yesterday. Told me everything."
Takemichi didn't interrupt.
"They apologized. Like… really apologized." He picked up a spoon, then set it down again. "Kazutora kneeled, even. Said he was sorry. Said he was scared and messed up. Wouldn't stop until Shin-nii listened."
Takemichi's breath caught slightly.
"Baji joined him right after," Mikey continued, like he still couldn't quite believe it. "Didn't even hesitate. Just… dropped down next to him."
There was something unreadable in Mikey's face—soft, stunned.
"Shin-nii said he forgave them," Mikey murmured. "But he's making them work it off. Told them they're gonna help out a friend of his who owns a pet shop."
Takemichi tilted his head. "Pet shop?"
Mikey nodded. "Yeah. Cleaning up after dogs, scooping poop, scrubbing cages. All of it. Until he thinks they've 'gotten a better sense of responsibility.'"
A small, crooked smile tugged at Mikey's mouth. "Said it'll be good for their character."
Takemichi exhaled a laugh. "That sounds… very Shinichiro."
"Yeah."
They fell into a quiet rhythm again, the first batch of taiyaki starting to take shape in the pan. The sweet scent of red bean and butter filled the air.
"You okay?" Takemichi asked gently, watching Mikey's profile.
Mikey didn't answer right away. Then—softly, honestly, "I don't know. But I'm glad they did it. I just… don't know what to do with all of it yet."
Takemichi nodded, offering him the piping bag filled with the red bean paste. "You don't have to know right now."
Mikey took it without a word, and things felt light again. The moment lingered—quiet, soft, fragile.
Takemichi stepped forward without thinking, wrapping his arms around Mikey from the side, letting his forehead rest gently against the side of his head.
"You're doing okay," he murmured. "You're allowed to not know everything right now."
Mikey didn't hesitate. His arms came around Takemichi in an instant, fierce and unfiltered. He clung to him—not like someone breaking, but like someone finally exhaling.
"I just…" Mikey's voice was quiet, rough around the edges. "I want everything to be okay again. I want things to feel good again. But I don't know how to get there."
Takemichi didn't pull away. He just held him a little tighter.
"Then take your time," he said. "Be patient with it. Let things settle. It's okay to want better. You don't have to fix everything at once."
Mikey stayed there for a long beat, breathing in and out, steady against Takemichi's side.
Then—
Ding!
The taiyaki iron popped.
They both flinched slightly.
Mikey looked up. "Is that—?"
Takemichi turned toward the stove. "Taiyaki's done."
Mikey perked up immediately, sniffing the air like a cartoon character floating toward food on scent alone.
Takemichi opened the pan carefully, sliding the golden pastries onto a plate with practiced ease.
"Wait a minute," he warned, offering the plate. "They're hot. You'll burn your tongue."
Mikey didn't even pretend to listen. He grabbed one, bounced it between his fingers, then bit straight in.
His eyes widened and Takemichi barely had time to ask, "Is it too hot—?"
"Marry me," Mikey said, mouth full, cheeks puffed.
Takemichi blinked. "What?"
Mikey swallowed with the satisfaction of a man who'd seen heaven. "I said, marry me. You can't make something like this and then not commit to feeding me for life."
Takemichi stared at him, caught between embarrassment and laughter. "That's your proposal?! Over taiyaki?!"
Mikey licked his fingers. "Damn right. I'm practical."
Takemichi just shook his head, face red but smiling.
"Finish chewing before you propose next time," he muttered.
Mikey grinned at him like it was already a done deal.
And for a moment—just a moment—it felt like the weight on both their shoulders had lifted just enough for light to pour through.
Half an hour later, the taiyaki was nothing but sweet crumbs and satisfied sighs. The kitchen, however, looked like a flour bomb had gone off mid-battle.
Takemichi wiped down the counter with a damp cloth while Mikey leaned against the fridge, licking stray batter off his fingers and not helping.
"At least rinse that bowl," Takemichi said, pointing with his chin. "You used it like it owed you money."
"I am helping," Mikey replied, very convincingly. "I'm being emotional support."
"You're being emotionally lazy."
"Wow. Hurtful. I offer you a marriage proposal and this is what I get?"
Takemichi snorted, tossing him a dish towel. "You proposed to get free food."
"I proposed because you're amazing. The food is a bonus."
"Oh, so I'm your personal chef and your emotional support animal?"
Mikey considered this with a tilt of his head. "...That actually sounds about right."
Takemichi stared at him, one hand on his hip. "Are you objectifying me and my cooking right now?"
Mikey didn't even blink. "Yes. And I'm doing it with love."
"You're unbelievable."
"Unbelievably charming."
"Unbelievably annoying."
They bickered the rest of the way through the cleanup, plates clinking, water running, both of them elbowing and jabbing playfully like brothers who'd known each other for years, not days.
And when the last pan was rinsed, and the counters were clean, Takemichi flicked a soap bubble at Mikey's cheek and grinned.
"You'd make a terrible husband."
Mikey grinned right back. "You're still thinking about it, though."
Takemichi rolled his eyes and turned away, cheeks pink as the last towel was wrung out and the last bowl returned to the drying rack. Mikey leaned back against the counter and stretched with a long, dramatic sigh.
"Guess I should head home," he muttered, patting his stomach. "Even if I already ate my weight in taiyaki."
Takemichi looked up from rearranging the tea towels. "You have another meal after this?"
"Lunch with Grandpa," Mikey groaned. "If I don't show up, he might think I've been kidnapped."
"You kind of were," Takemichi teased. "By a sugar high."
Mikey snorted, then pushed himself off the counter. He moved toward the front door, pausing just before putting on his sandals.
"Hey," he said, turning slightly. "Thanks."
Takemichi blinked. "For what?"
Mikey's voice softened. "Helping me clear my head."
There was no teasing in his tone now, no mischief in his eyes. Just something honest and quiet.
"I was training this morning, trying to get myself in the zone as it usually helps," he went on. "But not today. I couldn't shake everything in my head. Then I came here and—" He shrugged, smiling faintly. "Being here with you helped more than I thought it would."
Takemichi's cheeks flushed, warmth crawling up his neck like it had a personal vendetta.
Mikey, of course, noticed instantly.
"Ohhh," he grinned. "Am I gaining points for being a good future husband?"
Takemichi scowled in embarrassment and gave him a gentle shove toward the door. "You'd need more than that to earn that title. After all, I'm a catch."
But his voice was fond. Light.
Mikey didn't laugh this time. He just smiled, smaller—real.
"You're right. I think you would make a good husband," he said, nodding.
Takemichi froze for a beat, face going scarlet.
"Out!" he barked, flustered beyond saving. "Out, out, out! And you're not getting more food if you don't at least help to clean next time!"
Mikey cackled, already slipping on his sandals. "You wound me, Takemitchy!"
Takemichi shoved him the rest of the way through the door with a pout, only barely restraining the smile tugging at his lips.
"I'll see you later!" Mikey called as he hopped down the steps.
"Not if I see you first!" Takemichi called back.
Mikey turned, walking backward now, hands in his pockets and that same small smile still on his face.
"Yeah," he said. "See you later."
The door clicked shut.
And for a moment, Takemichi just stood there, alone in the quiet of his apartment, heart thudding a little faster than before.
.
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I'm alive!!!
And tired af
For a couple of weeks I've been doing late shifts and those are tiring. Also, it's summer here and I hate this season because I'm more sweat than person. Luckily, I'll have a vacation in two weeks, so let's hope I've better shifts after that T.T
(Most of my close family is going to return to our Mother Country so I've been helping for the preparations that didn't help with the busy period. My mom is going in a couple days and two of my sisters will go in a couple of weeks)
Anyway, sorry.
Two chapters for u
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Also, if you want to support me and read chapters ahead, go to my p@treon: JorieDS