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Sakura learns to bake the summer before their final year. It starts as most of her projects usually do, with a wouldn’t it be so nice to bake something for Nozaki and an underlying need to make herself useful. She doesn’t expect Mikoshiba to insist on helping, or really to spend much time with him at all. She definitely doesn’t expect to laugh so much, to brush flour out of his hair and kiss his cheek when he gets flushed. Doesn’t expect him to steal her earrings, the cute cherry ones and the ones that dangle golden bumblebees, wearing them whenever they go out and forgetting to give them back. Doesn’t expect to get just as good at making Mikoshiba’s favorite strawberry cheesecake as Nozaki’s sweet potato buns. Nozaki always gets the prettiest slice, even when Mikoshiba insists on helping and rolls flat buns and half burns the cheesecake. Sakura keeps the messy slices for herself. Sometimes she thinks they taste better with the strawberries in uneven chunks and the layers drooping slightly where Mikoshiba cuts them.
Mangaka deadlines don’t stop when school does, but at least Nozaki has more time to work, so deadlines approach less like trains and more like toy cars. Sakura is quietly filling beta while the sweet potato buns rise in the kitchen, lamp off while she catches the last of the golden evening. It’s quiet. Nozaki has gone to pick up drinks and snacks, so she sits and works with an unusually focused Mikoshiba.
“You know,” Mikoshiba says, out of the blue, “I really used to think that Nozaki had a terrible crush on you, Sakura.”
Sakura’s heart races despite itself, the way it does when she knows she’s made Nozaki smile. She calmly dips her pen in the ink, and lets a laugh bubble out of her. She believes it, too, after spending these years together. Wonders how things would change if she texted Nozaki to meet her at the cafe two blocks away, wore her yellow polka dotted dress, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek as she walked him home. The thought doesn’t make her shake like it used to. It makes her feel warm, like a shifting memory of some future she can’t quite recall. She finds she likes the not-knowing, the uncertainty of the choice.
Mikoshiba is looking at her, inquisitive, but something about him is suffused with tenderness. He shifts his cushion so he can tuck his head over his shoulder and watch her work.
“Mm. Yes,” she says, smiling. She can feel Mikoshiba get redder, hear the questions on the tip of his tongue.
“What! Do you like him, then?” Mikoshiba finally splutters. She feels her grin widening.
“Of course I do, Mikorin,” she laughs, and it feels good. “Maybe even more than you do,” she adds slyly, for good measure, and because these days she can’t resist making Mikoshiba flush.
“Sakura! Don’t be so mean,” he whines, burying his face into her shoulder, and she puts down her pen to scruff his hair a little, smiling as he protests. She’s not quite a serial cuddler like Mikoshiba and Nozaki are, but she knows that Mikoshiba likes being held, likes having someone close to wrap into.
Her timer goes off. The doughy smell of the buns rising has all but filled the studio. There is nothing quite like the smell of fresh baked goods to come home to, but Sakura knows she won’t be able to fill them and get them in the oven before Nozaki gets home. Not with Mikoshiba helping.
“I’ve got to go fill the buns,” she says, brushing off her skirt as she gets up and laughing when Mikoshiba’s expression turns abruptly from distress to excitement. He jumps up, nearly knocking ink onto the manuscripts on the table, and follows her to the kitchen, a trail of please please please let me help make some!
It’s with immense fondness that she shows Mikoshiba how to fold the dough properly for the thousandth time, only to inevitably end up with over-kneaded dough and more filling on the counter than inside the buns. From experience she knows they’ll taste fantastic, and that she can give Nozaki the ones she’s rolled with the cute sesame-seed hearts on top. Mikoshiba never minds--he mixes honey with the steamed sweet potato filling and eats it on the side with the disintegrated bun bread. She and Nozaki have gotten so used to it that she forgets how weird it is. Maybe it wasn’t weird all along.
“Nozaki might like you back,” Sakura says, sing-song, “if you made pretty buns and didn’t roll out the dough so hard.”
Mikoshiba throws his hands up, affronted, and flings dough everywhere. It may smell fantastic, but it’s still an incredible mess, and Nozaki will sigh and give a sheepish Mikoshiba his best stern look when he sees forgotten droplets on the cabinets later.
“Nozaki likes me just fine; he gets pretty buns anyway!” He’s so red that Sakura can’t help but shriek with laughter when a lukewarm glop lands on her cheek.
“And who do you have to thank for that!” She jumps up to smear flour on Mikoshiba’s collarbone in retaliation.
“That smells delicious,” she hears Nozaki call from the doorway, and quiet socked footsteps coming into the kitchen. They calm down a little bit as Nozaki puts the snacks away and washes his hands, putting on an apron to help. He swipes the filling off Sakura’s cheek and tastes it. “Oh, is this sweet potato?”
“Mm,” Sakura says, noncommittal, letting the warm feeling come over her again. Her straight face wobbles a little. She determinedly doesn’t look at Mikoshiba.
“Do you want to tell me why Mikorin’s the color of his hair?” Nozaki asks, looking between them. Mikoshiba looks a little extra red and a little extra studious as he carefully rolls out his dough and spoons filling into it.
“Oh, I was just teasing him,” she says. She bumps her hip against Mikoshiba’s when he makes an indignant gurgling noise and stares between Sakura’s cheek and Nozaki’s finger. Nozaki nods solemnly and tugs Mikoshiba’s ear as he makes his way over to the fridge, earning a bright yelp for his efforts. “Mikorin loves the attention,” she sings as she folds the next bun.
“How indulgent we are,” Nozaki returns, so dry that the phrase almost cracks at the edges. She giggles at Mikoshiba’s blustering, but doesn’t look up from what she’s doing until she sets the next bun to the side to rise. When she meets Mikoshiba’s eyes he looks more fond than embarrassed, and Sakura can feel her expression soften of its own accord. She presses a gentle kiss to Mikoshiba’s cheek when she knows Nozaki’s watching, grinning against his skin at the smell of sweet potato.