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“Tell me his weakness. Makishima, come on.”
“Why do you care,” Makishima whines. “Why do you want to know? Just drop it, please, I don’t need this.” He turns back to his fabric swatches, laid out on the counter of the little island in his kitchen. Periwinkle tweed, rust-colored organza, neon orange denim, and hunter green corduroy had been spread in a fan over patterns and sketches. Whenever Jin came over, he made tea and cooked; it was only natural, and his pride would allow him no less. So Makishima always brought his work into the kitchen too, to be nearer.
“Makishimaaa,” Jin whines back, burying his face in Maki’s back and exhaling. “Tell me what he likes.”
“You just moved here, Tadokorocchi, play nice.”
“I’ll be so nice! I just need to be nice in a way that takes him down a peg!” Jin pleaded. “Tell me what his favorite dessert is, Makishima, come on. You have to admit your college buddy is too high and mighty for his own good.”
“What,” Makishima says, dodging the accusation, “are you trying to accomplish.” He pushes a stray lock of hair behind his ear and swivels the bar stool back around to face his friend.
Jin pauses. He thinks about the right words for a moment. “I want to see Toudou Jinpachi on his knees.”
Makishima instantly gives a knowing smirk. “Oh,” he says. “Well then. In that case. Why didn’t you say so sooner.”
Jin growls, and flushes, and grumbles something like “just tell me, you old goat.”
Makishima’s grin widens. “Oh my god, he’s your type.”
Jin hates to admit it, but that kind of confidence, brash and unapologetically arrogant, is a quality he finds attractive. He doesn’t know why, and he has always despised the idea of acting on crushes of this nature, because he knows – a guy like Toudou would talk. Jin is worth more than a feather in another man’s cap. The only way to save oneself from becoming bragging fodder is to even out the ground. Establish dominance. Jin needs to one-up Toudou.
“Do you know his favorite dessert or not,” Jin mumbles, staring at his own shoulder. Thank god Makishima is the only one seeing him like this; he’s pretty sure his face is as red as an apple by now. Then again, Makishima is the only one who could read him well enough to get him this embarrassed. Jin is pretty proud of his ability to mask crushes like these at this point, but Makishima, his best friend since high school, had seen him through all the messier ones first.
“Ohh, you’re trying to win him over with his favorite food, that’s so cute,” Makishima croons. He’s not dropping this anytime soon. “That reminds me of the first time Kinjou got me spring rolls. We should call him over to give you advice on how to ask someone o-”
“No!” Jin bellows, covering his face with his own hands. Enough is enough. He could endure Makishima knowing, and prodding him about it, and prolonging his suffering for his own entertainment, but he would not stand for Kinjou seeing this side of him. Today was going the exact opposite of how he wanted. All Jin needed was to culinarily destroy Toudou, to prevent the object of his grudging affections from having an upper hand; and instead all he had achieved was giving Makishima blackmail leverage.
“I should have set you up years ago,” Makishima says, and Jin can hear laughter bubbling up behind his voice.
Jin’s head is still in his hands as his elbows sink to the counter, rumpling buttercream silk and salmon wool and avocado rickrack trim. His ears are glowing, the color of strawberry sorbet, and Makishima thinks idly that it is a good color for a felt handbag, or a pair of knee-high boots for the spring. He studies Jin, and figures that he’s drawn out the teasing enough for now.
Jin looks up as Makishima pokes his face with something soft. It is a sample of fabric: hideous chenille in a bright yellow.
“Tadokorocchi, make him lemon bars.”