Work Text:
All couples had their first fight eventually. Some were over more serious matters like the number of kids they wanted to have or the neighborhood in which they wanted to live, while others were far more frivolous– and in Ann’s case, downright petty. In her defense, she hadn’t expected their wedding cake to set off metaphorical fireworks.
The rest of the planning process had been fairly smooth so far. The venue, photographer, and florists had long since been booked; her wedding kimono had been a present from her soon-to-be mother-in-law; her other dresses purchased several months ago; the wedding invitations were in the mail; their registry was now online and fully functional for all guests; and the bridal party was constantly notified of any small changes in their schedule. No major hiccups. No minor ones, either, until the day Ann returned home with several boxes of wedding cake slices in her arms.
Her darling fiance Ren rushed to his feet to help her, setting down box after box on the table and on their kitchen counters and even the coffee table in their living room until the stacks no longer fit–
“What on Earth?” came out of his lips first, before any sort of proper greeting.
Ann shot him a sullen look as she leaned forward to peel the tape off. “Why, welcome home to you too, Ren-cakes.”
“You know, I was joking about you buying the bakery down the street, right?”
Ann resisted the temptation to roll her eyes as she grabbed some plastic forks and picked out a particularly delicious-looking slice of German chocolate cake. “Ha-ha. Very funny. For the record, this was all free.”
Ren took one look at the numerous logos plastered all over the boxes, then back at Ann, before his face paled in recognition. “The wedding cake.”
“Our soon-to-be legendary wedding cake,” Ann reminded him, holding out her fork.
Ren leaned down, gulping down the cake in one bite. Ryuji would’ve been proud– or maybe that was just Ann’s imagination, because Ren looked almost thoughtful at the selection before the two of them.
“All this for one cake that’ll be eaten in a single night?”
“Well, yeah.” Ann peered up at him, taking out her phone and starting a new document to take copious notes. She also pulled out a catalog from another bakery, setting it down and casually flipping through the pages in search of inspiration for her next bite. “We can’t just mash random flavors together. It has to be cohesive and not some, I don’t know, generic sugar rush.”
She had dreamt of this day for far too long to leave this to the professionals. Some young girls daydreamed about their white wedding dress (and okay, Ann did too, especially when she lived in California and saw elaborate beach weddings every weekend), but mostly– she wept over her imaginary wedding cake. The flavors had to meld just right, and the design had to stun a crowd of hundreds of their loved ones. The superficial layers changed over time, adding and subtracting elements as Ann’s tastes grew and changed, but the core of her delicious, scrumptious, world-renowned five-tiered cake remained constant.
“These sorts of things have flavor profiles?” Ren might be teasing, but the bewilderment on his face seemed too genuine for his usual trickery– “You’re telling me you just can’t have a chocolate layer, a strawberry layer, and a vanilla layer and call it a day?”
Ann’s groan could’ve woken their neighbors. “I hope that was a joke.”
“Just like you were joking about the fact that we can’t serve Boss’s curry at the reception?”
She pouted, helping herself to the nearest slice of strawberry cake in hopes that it would lift her spirits and make her forget all about her terrible, ridiculous, absolutely dense fiance. Alas, the cake was cake– basic, fluffy, and far from an amnesia-granting panacea. Ann didn’t know why she expected a miracle.
“Don’t you dare,” was all she could manage in-between bites. Next was caramel, then butterscotch, then matcha cake because cultural fusions were on trend this year, apparently. “The only thing worse would be serving ramen.”
“Ryuji served ramen at his,” Ren had to point out, with a grin so wide that he had to be pulling her leg now. “I think people would forgive us for having both cake and curry.”
Ann gulped down her cake in record time. “In what world? One where people just don’t care about the most important part of the event?”
“You mean the part where two people are legally recognized as one?”
“Hey! You know exactly what I meant!” Ann elbowed him in retaliation. The full box, teeming with two dozen cupcakes, beside her shifted to the right; Ren lunged for it, trying to hold it steady and–
His face landed right in the middle of her precious, beloved lemon-raspberry cupcakes. Even his glasses were smudged with buttercream frosting– and the tips of his bangs stuck together with raspberry seeds and slices.
Ann couldn’t help laughing at the utter absurdity of it all. Their entire apartment was drowning in cake– even their floors were littered with cake boxes– and yet neither of them were willing to budge on something so important and so, so completely inconsequential.
“Wow,” Ren said after a couple of seconds of laughter, taking his glasses off and licking the frosting off his lips. “Wow. I see how it is.”
“Do you?” Ann sighed, scooting closer to him. “Hang on. You’ve still got some frosting here and if you’re not careful, it’s going to–,” As she shifted her weight to see him better, she jostled two boxes nearby and– well, now her hair was coated in caramel frosting. Probably her eyelashes and her entire face too. What a waste of perfectly delicious dessert.
“I see why you like dessert so much,” Ren teased, turning to look for napkins. “Or was this your idea of revenge?”
Ann let out a noise of displeasure. “Why would I waste a perfectly good lemon cake on your face?”
“Oh, so the cake’s more important than my face?”
“Duh.” Ann couldn’t help teasing him now, wrinkling her nose. “I get to see your face for the rest of my life, but that cake’s a one-time only deal.”
Her childhood fantasies couldn’t hold a candle to the man beside her, even as he grabbed a fistful of napkins and dabbed the frosting bits clinging to her eyebrows. Her younger self couldn’t have imagined this rambunctious, obtuse man beside her– nor could she have imagined spending the rest of her life with someone so uninformed and uneducated about her favorite foods.
If Ryuji was the blasphemous glutton devouring meat and ramen like water, Ren was the mediator who believed in the false dichotomy of balance. His plates were perfectly portioned even in high school– and she should know, based off how many meals they shared over the years.
Yet Ren cared enough to sample a slice or two in the privacy of their shared apartment, and he cared enough to- to take out a slice of carrot cake and smash it right onto her lips. The absolute jerk even broke it into tiny, tiny crumbles so she could swallow it easier!
Ann almost choked on the overwhelming amount of sugar and the unholy mix of vegetables with her precious frosting. She leaned forward, pressing the edge of her lips to his frosting-stained hands and planting a kiss in the palm of his hand.
“Just for that,” she murmured, reaching for a slice of vanilla cake and throwing it towards him with the force of every woman scorned. “You’re getting the most basic slice there is!”
Ren grimaced as the vanilla cake hit him square in the face. Again. “I don’t even know what that means!”
“You’ve watched how many English shows with me now!?”
“Not enough, clearly!” Ren was laughing, the absolute fool, as he rummaged around the boxes in search of another slice of cake. One hand held more carrot cake; the other, disgusting marble cake that only American grandmothers considered semi-decent.
Ann lunged at him first. One slice of cake landed on her shoulder; another was smashed right on the crown of her head.
They toppled to the ground, rolling into another box of cake and smashing everything in it to an unholy mix of chocolate, matcha, pistachio or nuts, and maybe tiramisu? The scents and colors were blending together all over their clothes, their faces, their hair, and even other parts of their bodies.
Ren wrapped her in his arms, leaning forward to sniff her sugar-coated hair. “You weren’t kidding about the sugar rush.”
“I told you,” Ann whined, exaggerating her displeasure as she leaned into his chest and tried not to think about just how much precious cake she wasted on her fiance. “You can’t just mix random flavors together! There’s an art to wedding cake design.”
“So… why didn’t you just plan the entire thing yourself?”
Ann stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “Because this is our wedding. We’re a team, remember?”
Their team may be smaller than when they were part of the Phantom Thieves, and their conversations far more likely to devolve into some tangent that neither of them saw coming– but they made every decision together. They were a team, and teams made unanimous decisions. Even if one person cared more about the outcome.
“Well, I’ve decided that you are the clear expert here.” Ren’s expression softened as they both rose to their feet and reached for napkins to clean their mess. “You should get to make the cake you want. All five tiers and everything.”
“Even if I decide to go with chocolate and matcha?”
Ren shrugged, grabbing a fistful of napkins and cleaning frosting off Ann’s hair. “I feel like I should know that’s bad, but you also hate carrot cake, so…”
Ann blinked, thinking back to the carrot cake smashed in her face and her hair over and over again. “You remembered.”
His expression was knowing, if also soft and so, so compassionate. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Their entire apartment smelled like some unholy mix of sugar; their entire apartment was littered with bits of frosting and cake; and they hadn’t even had a proper dinner. Their wedding menu, and okay, maybe their daily routine was entirely backwards, and yet, Ann couldn’t imagine their day going any other way.
“Because you believe in things like eating vegetables, and having dinner before dessert, and–”
“Giving you the cake you’ve wanted since elementary school.” Ren’s voice was firm as he leaned forward and once again licked the last bits of cream off her face. “Because frankly, I can’t keep eating this much sugar– and neither should you, really.”
“How else were we supposed to narrow it down?”
Ren stroked his wrist, pressing on his bones with some force– a habit left over from high school, back when he wore gloves in the Metaverse and tugged on them any time he needed to stall for time. The gesture evolved, especially as he forewent bracelets or watches, until it barely resembled the one Ann used to know so well. Their relationship was similar, in a sense; they changed with each other over the years, too.
A younger Ren might have stood his ground, especially when he refused fruity drinks or crepes from the others. A younger Ann might have pushed the issue more and forced a far more explosive fight. Their current selves, however–
“Fine,” said Ren.
“No, it’s okay, you’re right,” Ann insisted.
They stared at each other for a couple of seconds before laughing at their timing.
Ren regained his composure first, squeezing her hands tight. “No, you’re right. We’ll decide the flavors together– and I’ll go with you to the bakery, but don’t blame me if you end up hating the design.”
“You want one of the tiers to have our old masks, right?”
Ren blinked back genuine surprise. “You knew?”
“That you wanted Joker’s and Panther’s masks somewhere on there? Yeah.” Ann had to wonder if her expressions were so obvious to him– or if she had just grown accustomed to understanding each and every mood on his face. “I want them too. I want to remember how we met somehow, and we’ve got that red and black color scheme, so it wouldn’t even look out of place, and I bet we could decorate the venue to make it nostalgic for the others too–”
“Sounds good.” Ren’s laughter echoed in her ears as he leaned forward and licked remnants of frosting off the tip of her nose. “I love you.”
Ann could hear that sound for the rest of her life. She stood on her tiptoes, channeling her best impression of her rambunctious fiance as she pulled him close and licked his face clean. “Love you more, Joker.”