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The glass rattles violently in its frame, startling Juza out of his thoughts.
He tears his eyes from the fireplace to identify the cause of the noise, and through the blotches of color now imprinted on his eyes, he spots the thick sheet of dull gray snow dropping from the sky. As it joins the already worrisome pile pressing up against the bottom half of the door, he wonders absently if Tsumugi's plants will survive the unexpected storm.
A new sound–light but deliberate steps on the wooden floor–comes to Juza’s attention, only this time he doesn’t bother to turn, primarily because he already knew its source.
It was not a particularly pleasant source, at that.
He represses his sigh, trying to pretend he doesn’t notice as Banri Settsu climbs over the back of the couch to plop down beside him. He lands closer than usual, and Juza’s skin begins to burn with what he presumes is irritation.
A few silent seconds stretch out between them, punctuated only by the howling of the wind outside. When Juza makes no indications of breaking it, Settsu speaks up first.
“Jesus, you look like a fucking murderer.”
Juza glares at him, the lazy smirk contorting Settsu’s face churning his stomach.
“Shut up, Settsu.” He grumbles, returning his attention to the storm beyond the glass.
He feels the couch shift as Settsu turns his attention toward the snow outside, a low whistle escaping him at the dreadful sight.
When he speaks again, he does so gently.
“You got a chance to speak to your family before the line went down, right?”
Juza nods, and Settsu scoffs, his tone back to normal.
“Then? No need to scare everyone outta the lounge with that face if you know they’re fine.”
“The hell’s wrong with my face?” Juza snaps, before growing somber. “S’nothing serious like that…I was just looking forward to Ma’s winter cake.”
Settsu laughs, disbelieving.
“Seriously? Here I was thinking you were worried ‘bout your family– instead, you’re telling me you’re grieving over some damn cake?”
“It ain’t just any damn cake, dumbass. It’s special, and I’ve every right to grieve it.”
Another stretch of silence unspools between them, broken only by Settsu’s sigh as he leans back on the couch to inspect Juza's distress.
Finally, he says, “Just make one yourself if you’re this upset over it.”
As if life were that easy.
Juza shakes his head dismissively. “Never made a cake before.”
“Yeah, well me neither. But how hard can it be? It’s just eggs and flour.”
Juza goes to retort, only for Settsu to spring up from the couch and head towards the kitchen.
He rummages through the cupboards for a few seconds before it hits Juza what the guy plans to do.
“ You’re gonna make it for me?” Juza asks, utterly bewildered. Pigs would fly before Settsu ever did something meaningful for Juza, and yet it seemed evolution had been a tad too slow, for Settsu was already extracting a set of bowls.
“I ain’t your maid,” Settsu says, his face slightly pinker than before. “I just don’t trust your clumsy ass with an oven.”
He heavily sets a bag of flour down on the counter, propping a hand on his hip and glaring when he spots Juza still frozen on the couch.
“You gonna help or not, dumbass?”
Juza feels his own face heat up, returning the glare halfheartedly as he stands and joins his roommate in scouring for ingredients.
While digging through the cabinets, Settsu produces a bag of cocoa powder.
“We could make a chocolate cake,” He suggests, setting it down next to the flour. “Omi’s got shit left over from his malewifing.”
“That ain’t a verb, moron.”
“Shut the hell up, Hyodo. Do you want a chocolate cake or not?”
Not wanting to push his luck, Juza chose to avoid a fight.
“S’fine.”
Settsu nods, pulling a bowl towards him while nudging another one toward Juza.
“Good, now sift the flour with the rest of the dry shit. I’ll cream the butter and sugar.”
Juza watches as Settsu begins to set the flour aside for him, his lack of measuring cups a bit concerning.
“Thought you never did this before,” Juza mumbles, accepting his ingredients. “Talkin' about creaming and shit.”
Settsu shoves him lightly, the brief contact momentarily numbing his mind.
“Don’t word it like that, asshole.” He scolds him, already returning to his task. “Any dumbass could do this.”
Juza sure as hell couldn’t. Sifting was a lot harder than it looked, and the more flour piled up around his bowl, the more frustrated he grew. When Settsu turned his back to mess with the oven, Juza discretely scooped the fallen flour into his palm and dumped it back into the bowl. He thought he saw a hair in the mixture, but before he could scoop it out, Settsu returned to pour his mixture on top.
He watched silently as Settsu worked, the focus on his face making him look a bit less unpleasant than he usually did. His tongue poked out as he skillfully whisked the bowl’s contents into something resembling cake batter, causing Juza’s heart to beat a little faster than it had before.
This made him pause. Why would baking a cake leave him feeling this out of shape?
Before he could dwell on it too much, Settsu asked for the cake pan. Startled out of his thoughts, Juza handed it to him quickly and watched as he poured the dark batter inside; bitterly, he noticed not a single drop had spilled.
Settsu looked proud of himself as he handed the pan back to Juza, who hesitantly accepted it. Their fingers brushed momentarily, sending a bolt of electricity through him.
He avoided Settsu’s eyes as he turned to lower the pan into the oven, and he remained turned even after he had safely shut the door with no major complication.
Feeling too warm, definitely because of the oven’s heat, Juza removed his jacket and moved to return to the couch. He had just made it past the kitchen when Settsu called him back.
“Where’re you going, Hyodo? We still got the frosting to make.”
Juza grunted, returning begrudgingly. Settsu’s presence was a lot more unpleasant today, but he couldn’t tell why. The guy was helping him bake a cake and had barely insulted him, yet Juza’s stomach still fluttered oddly at the thought of being near him.
Perhaps he had caught the flu; a few of the other troupe members had recently been recovering from it themselves.
“Frostin ain’t too bad,” Settsu told him, picking up a new bowl and dumping butter inside. “Just butter and sugar, basically.”
This caught Juza’s interest.
“...how much sugar can you put in it?”
“Hell if I know,” Settsu said, pausing for a moment. Seeming to come to a decision, he asks, “You wanna take over?”
Juza nodded slightly, his nervousness replaced by a growing excitement. Settsu coached him in the basic movements before letting him take over, and though he grimaced as Juza dumped a little too much sugar into the bowl, he allowed him to complete the task on his own. After adding the fifth cup of sugar, Juza glanced up to see Settsu already watching him, a small smile playing on his lips.
It made his face lose its usual severity. It even made him look…nice.
Noticing Juza was returning his gaze, Settsu coughed and looked away. He took a jab at Juza’s sloppy mixing, but his anger was lukewarm.
When they began to clean up, the silence felt heavy with something. Juza couldn’t figure it out, but it was making his hands clammy and his face warm.
He didn’t know what to make of it, or if he should even acknowledge it in the first place.
Once done, Settsu left for the bathroom while Juza remained in the kitchen, gazing into the oven.
Lost in his thoughts.
***
Settsu returned as the oven finished, the sweet scent of chocolate filling the room in a way that left Juza anxious to eat. He opened the door eagerly, immune to the oppressive heat racing out to ambush his skin.
Noticing Juza was about to remove the pan with a dish rag, Settsu quickened his pace.
“You’re gonna burn yourself, dumbass” He called, and Juza paused long enough for Settsu to take the rag and replace it with an oven mitt.
“Thanks,” Juza mumbled, not quite meeting his eye before extracting the pan and setting it on the counter.
He was itching to sink his teeth into the bread already, but Settsu chose that moment to make it clear they would have to wait for the cake to cool before adding the frosting, let alone eating it.
Ten minutes later, Settsu sighs.
“For fuck’s sake, you look like you’re about to pop a blood vessel.”
“You ain’t a biologist.”
“And you ain’t patient.” Settsu opens a drawer, extracting two knives. He hands one to Juza, who accepts it. “Let’s frost the cake already.”
Juza blinks, surprised to see Settsu change his mind so quickly. Usually, the guy was as open to ideas as a brick wall. Still, the lovely scent of fresh cake kept Juza from asking questions–he didn’t want to risk Settsu changing his mind out of spite.
They attempted to frost the still-hot cake, and as warned, it quickly became a sloppy mess. But Settsu didn’t complain once, his eyes glinting with amusement while Juza struggled to coat his half of the cake without breaking it further.
Finally, they stood back to observe their creation.
“It looks like shit,” Settsu says, shaking his head slightly. “All because your stupid ass didn’t want to wait.”
“It ain’t about looks.” Juza shoots back, though he looks at the cake with pride. “I bet it would treat me right.”
“Well, find out. Have the first slice.”
Maybe Settsu was the one with the flu–why was he giving up so many opportunities to make Juza suffer?
“You sure?”
“Course; it was for you anyway.”
This makes Juza’s lips quirk up, though he fights his expression down into its usual neutrality.
“Thanks.”
He tries not to cut the cake too eagerly, but from the way Settsu is looking at him, he knows he sees right through him. He scoops a bite into his mouth, the chocolatey crumbs and sugary frosting melting on his tongue.
It was perfect.
“S’not bad,” he manages through a mouth full of cake.
“Not bad? That’s all you’ve got to say?” Settsu asks, rolling his eyes as Juza proceeds to scarf the rest of his slice down.
When he reaches for another one, he meets Settsu’s gaze and feels his body freeze.
The expression Settsu wears is unfamiliar, lacking its usual bite and sending a wave of heat through his body.
Maybe they were both sick; he’d have to ask Kumon for one of his health concoctions.
“You can have some, y’know.” Juza says quietly, the back of his neck burning.
“Yeah, I know.” Settsu points at Juza then, eyes glinting. “You’re a messy ass eater; you’ve got frosting on your face.”
Juza swipes at his cheek, eyebrows scrunched together when his hand comes back clean.
Before he can accuse Settsu of fucking with him, Settsu sighs, reaching over to gently tilt Juza’s face up.
The place where his fingers meet his skin feels like it's been set ablaze, and Juza’s stomach lurches pleasantly as Settsu carefully swipes his thumb over his cheekbone, purposefully avoiding his bewildered gaze.
“There.” He says, gently letting Juza’s face drop after an extra beat and wiping his finger on a napkin.
Juza stares at his plate, his heart pounding against his ears. He plays with a crumb, before voicing the question he’d been pondering since the start.
“Why’d you do all this for me in the first place?”
Settsu pauses, the question unexpected. He thinks it over quietly, his face dusted pink.
“I don’t like seeing you upset." He answers softly. Remembering himself, he narrows his eyes. "You get this ugly ass look on your face, making you look even more frightening than-"
Juza dips his palm into his remaining frosting, smearing it across Settsu's face.
He yelps, calling Juza an asshole, who only laughs.
Irritated, Settsu swipes at his face with his hand, grimacing further as the frosting gets into his mouth.
"God, it's fucking inedible." He spits out, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. "You're never allowed near sugar again."
"It ain't inedible, you're just weak." Juza teases, before growing shy. "Thanks, Banri."
They watch each other for a moment, something unsaid passing between them.
"Anytime, Juza."
It is then that Settsu smiles, a wonderful smile that lights up his eyes in a way Juza had never imagined possible.
In a way that made Settsu beautiful.
He returns the smile easily, his body light with a feeling that is new.
A feeling he hoped would stay.
Settsu is the one to break the connection first, though his smile stays as he tilts his chin towards the half-eaten slice on Juza’s plate.
“Eat your cake, asshole.”
And Juza picks up his fork,
feeling warm.