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It wasn’t fair to call Yugi Amane hopeless in the kitchen. He could hold his own. Not well, but he managed. And he was a thousand times better at cooking than his brother. But none of that seemed to make a difference as he stood over his third attempt at melting chocolate with his fist clenched around his whisk and frustrated tears in his eyes.
He’d always hated white day. Almost as much as he hated Valentine’s Day. It just wasn’t a good fit; him and Valentine’s Day. He didn’t have many friends—kept to himself and tended to be a little broody—so even friendship chocolate was few and far between. And forget about actual, honest-to-god Valentine’s chocolate. No girl would get within ten feet of him. He was too slight. Too short. Too weird.
At least, that was how it had always been, before. And he’d entered high school with the expectation of it staying that way.
Until her.
Yashiro Nene. The girl who sat in front of him in class. She’d accidentally flicked a little section of her hair over the back of her chair and onto his desk in the first week of class and he’d been too terrified to even try to brush it out of the way. Because he had been staring at her hair for the past three days of sitting behind her and if he dared to actually touch it, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop. It was just so pretty. She was pretty. So, he’d sat there for the next hour with his fists clenched in his lap, trying and failing to ignore her sitting in front of him, and wondering listlessly if she dyed her hair herself or if she went to a salon for it. Not that he would ever be able to tell—Amane’s only experience with hair dye had been in second year of middle school when Tsukasa had turned their bathtub into a sea of red by trying to dye his hair without bleaching it first, and ended up covering the entire bathroom in shitty box dye that still hadn’t quite come out.
Their mother had been livid at first. But almost a year on and still dealing with a pink tub, it had turned into something funny. Tsukasa’s attempted murder scene. He’d wondered if Yashiro Nene’s bathroom had a permanent green tint to it from her work. Probably not, he’d decided. She probably knew what she was doing.
Then, when class was over and everyone was getting ready for lunch, she’d turned and noticed where the ends of her hair had landed. Amane had braced himself to be told off for being weird about it, but instead, she’d gone bright pink and apologized profusely—saying he should just push it out of the way next time; that she was so sorry, she didn’t even realize; that she’d never tried keeping it this long before, and she wasn’t really used to keeping track of it all, yet. So, Amane had put his hands in his pockets and shrugged and said something to the effect of don’t worry about it, it wasn’t really a bother, and she’d smiled. Apologized again and told him her name.
He already knew her name. Of course, he did. They’d gone around introducing themselves on the first day of class. But he liked hearing her say it so much, that he almost forgot to tell her his name in return. Which, he supposed, she knew already, too.
Well, she’d said, and scuffed her toe on the floor, I’ll try to be more aware in the future. And, you know, you can just push it off your desk if it happens again. I don’t mind. I don’t want to infringe on your space, Yugi-kun.
And he’d decided right there that she could infringe on his space as much as she liked—just as long as she’d say his name again when she did it.
He liked the way it sounded in her mouth.
Amane had gone into high school not expecting to make friends. And that didn’t change just because the girl in front of him was nice. But then, after that day, she started talking to him more. She seemed to like talking to him. And slowly, very slowly over the course of the coming weeks, the coming months, she’d wormed her way in and changed absolutely everything.
He kept to himself during class, until she started turning around to chat more regularly. He ate lunch alone, until she and her friend Aoi dragged their desks over to him and forcibly assimilated him into their lunch pod. He didn’t meet people, except now she was introducing him to people all the time—her tall kouhai, her friends, the kids in the RC club that he’d always been too awkward to talk to, even though he had always wanted to try and join. He never got anything from anyone on Valentine’s Day. But then, he’d walked into class and been forced to sheepishly accept friendship chocolate from not only Yashiro, but Aoi and some of the other girls in her circle, too.
Which would have been fine, if they’d left it there.
But Yashiro had insisted on walking home with him. Had insisted that Tsukasa and Kou go on ahead, she didn’t want to keep them, she just needed help finding her notebook really fast. Had stopped rummaging in her backpack the instant they were around a corner and ducked her head low.
“Um. Amane-kun?”
“Yeah?”
She’d scuffed the toe of her shoe against the concrete and bit her lip, “I just. I wanted to apologize. For lying.”
A rock had dropped into Amane’s stomach at the words. Lying? About what? Did she not want to be his friend, after all? Did she hate him? They’d been friends for almost an entire year, which meant that he must have done something wrong by now. She probably hated him. He was such an idiot, why did he have to—
“The…the chocolates I gave you, earlier. I said they were. You know. Friendship chocolates?”
Oh shit, did she want them back? He hadn’t opened them yet. He’d wanted to save them. If she wanted him to give them back, he really might cry, and that would be absolutely mortifying.
She’d taken a deep breath and he’d braced himself for the worst. But then.
“I lied. They…weren’t friendship chocolates. I just. Got nervous and said they were, but. But they’re not. I made them special, I—” she’d spared him a quick glance from under her bangs and blushed bright red, “I like you, Amane-kun. So. I just. Wanted you to know.”
And before he could say anything, before he could even feel the impact of the bomb she’d just dropped on him, she ducked her head and sprinted away, leaving him stranded in the middle of the street, halfway between her house and his, the sound of Kou and Tsukasa chattering just a block away muffled in his ears.
So here he was. A month later, slouched over his kitchen counter, staring morosely at the sticky mass in his bowl and trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.
“Can I eat this batch, too?” Tsukasa asked.
Amane huffed and shoved the bowl at him, “Knock yourself out.”
“Yess!” he grabbed his spoon from the last bowl Amane had fucked up and set to work, “Oh, Amane,” he mumbled, the chocolate making his mouth sticky, “It tastes like shit!”
Amane let out a long, drawn-out wail and slammed his head into the counter. Tsukasa laughed.
He really only had himself to blame. The day after Valentine’s Day, he’d been too flustered to even look at her. And then after that, she’d just started pretending like she never said anything at all. Like everything was normal. It was too awkward to try and bring it up once the moment passed, and he’d just ended up following her lead and ignoring it entirely.
But it wasn’t right. She’d…well. She’d told him she liked him. It wasn’t polite to leave her hanging as long as he had, so he needed to do something special to try and bring it up again. To make it up to her. Thus, white day. Which he hated. Which he was going to absolutely ruin because he couldn’t figure out for the life of him how to make chocolate.
“Oh, I know,” Tsukasa made several consecutive smacking noises as he tried to unstick his tongue from his soft palate, like a dog with peanut butter, “why don’t you ask Nene-chan? She knows how to make chocolate! She gave me some on Valentine’s Day!”
“You know why I can’t ask Yashiro,” Amane snapped, “they’re for her!”
“They won’t be if you keep fucking them up,” he hopped up on the counter beside Amane and swung his legs, “You’ve been making all kinds of friends, though. Maybe one of them can help!”
It was, he had to admit, a fair idea. Tsukasa was known to have them once in a while. But who could he ask? Kou was the obvious choice, but Amane already had a bit of an inferiority complex when it came to the younger boy. Younger, and already taller. He hated it.
He settled for just texting him. Maybe he could wring some guidance out of him without stooping to letting him in the house.
Hey, kid. You any good at making chocolate?<<
>>I’m fair
>>why?
No reason.<<
Do you…<<
Maaaaaaybe have some recipies?<<
*recepies<<
*RECIPES fuck<<
>>yeah sure, lemme look
And he sent Amane some very helpful links. Videos mostly, and a few how-to websites. Amane crouched down in the middle of the kitchen to absorb this new knowledge and didn’t bother to thank Kou for his help. It wouldn’t matter. He was a big boy, he’d be fine.
“Get something good?” Tsukasa asked. Amane nodded distractedly as he stared at a deceptively simple recipe that he was sure he’d figure out how to fuck up. He bit his lip, thinking hard. Was it really so important to do this? Did he really have to go out of his way to bring all this up again? Yashiro hadn’t pushed the issue, so obviously she must be fine without an answer. Why couldn’t things just stay the way they were?
He shook himself. Of course, this was important. Yashiro was important. And Amane had been crushing on her for long enough to know that she meant everything she did. She didn’t have an insincere bone in her body. Which meant that she’d been telling the truth. She liked him. The very idea made his stomach do awkward little somersaults. But if he let this opportunity pass him by, he didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself afterward. He had to tell her how he felt. Had to.
And he had to do it well.
Another try, then.
Amane dragged his sorry carcass through the gates of Kamome Academy the next morning with a pit of dread churning in his stomach. He’d finally managed to make something that passed for acceptable on his fifth try. He'd even let Tsukasa taste-test to be sure that it wasn’t horrible. But now, standing in front of his shoe locker with the little container in his hands, he couldn’t help but remind himself that Tsukasa had eaten a beetle they found in their yard once, and unironically assured him that it was delicious.
His brother was probably the last person he should trust to approach food with a reasonable and mature palate. Amane groaned and leaned his forehead against the lockers. Maybe he could sneak over to the middle school entrance and force Kou to eat one, just to make sure they were edible. Just to—
“Good morning, Amane-kun!”
Shit. He jumped like he’d been tazed and swiveled on his heel to see her. The nexus of his torment, smiling placidly at him as she approached.
“Good—good morning, Yashiro.”
They stood there for a moment. Unmoving. His jaw unhitched itself from his brain, and Amane heard himself make a weird gurgling noise behind his clenched teeth. Yashiro cocked her head and leaned in to look at him, her silvery hair spilling off her shoulder, “Amane-kun?”
“Hmnhgh?” Dammit, why couldn’t he make words?
“…you’re standing in front of my locker.”
“Oh. Right,” This was it. This was the end of him. He was going to off himself the first chance he got. Ritual disembowelment really didn’t sound so bad, anymore. Amane closed his eyes and shuffled to the side. Heard Yashiro sigh a little laugh that sent his heart into arrythmia as she brushed past him to store her things.
“Wanna walk to class?” she asked.
He nodded. They walked. Her, chattering about her weekend; him, stiff-legged and lock-jawed beside her.
“So,” she said, “how was your weekend, Amane-kun?”
“Good.”
“I’m glad!” She grinned, “So. Can I ask what’s in the box?”
Amane slammed back into his body, horrified to realize that he was still holding the container of chocolates, that he hadn’t actually put it in his bag like he’d thought, “Huh?”
“The box,” said Yashiro, pointing helpfully, “Oh! Did you end up getting stuff for white day? I’m sure that’ll make Aoi happy. She was really glad you liked the chocolates she handed out—”
“Yashiro,” he rasped.
“And I know that Maeda-san was worried—”
“Yashiro.”
“Because her little sister completely ruined the chocolates she made for everyone—”
“Yashiro!” He flinched at the crack in his voice, but there really was nothing for it.
Yashiro stared at him, “What’s wrong?”
“I—” they’d stopped in the middle of the hallway. He stared at his hands, then up at her, the soft curve of her cheek, the wide-open look in her eyes. “I—” Amane opened and closed his mouth like a fish, trying to choke out something. Anything. But they were in the middle of the hallway and there were people everywhere and they were all looking at him. Looking at her. Fuck, were his hands supposed to be this sweaty?
“Do you need to sit down, Amane-kun?”
Amane sucked in a tight little breath and shuddered back into motion like a broken automaton. He lurched forward to grab Yashiro by the wrist and yanked her sideways through the nearest doorway, not even caring what was beyond it.
“Amane-kun?!”
He swiveled on the balls of his feet and, before he could lose his nerve, shoved the little box into her hands, “Here.”
She went very still. Staring down at the box. Not even blinking. Yashiro turned her wide-eyed gaze up to him, and his chest tried to turn inside out, “…for me?”
He nodded.
Yashiro slid the box open, and Amane braced for the worst.
She was very quiet for a very long time.
“…did you…make these?”
He nodded.
“Chocolates?”
Another nod. He felt like a bobblehead.
“…friend chocolates?”
He forced down the bile in his throat and closed his eyes. This was it. He shook his head.
“Amane-kun,” he flinched at the sound, “…are you—will you please…tell me what’s happening?”
“I—” he locked his knees and opened his eyes, and the soft, hopeful look on her face shook every last one of his nerve endings into goo.
His tongue turned to sand. She was just so…her. And if she kept looking at him like that, he was definitely gonna pass out, so he wiped his palms on his slacks and grit his teeth and averted his eyes as he opened his mouth and tried again, “I made these. For you. I wanted to make it nice. But—but they turned out kind of bad, and I just—I don’t know, it’s okay if you don’t like them, I mean—Yashiro?!” He nearly choked as her hand darted lighting fast into the box, watching in startled horror as she snatched a chocolate up and shoved it unceremoniously into her mouth, “No! No, I just said you shouldn’t—”
“They’re good!” She glared up at him, determination flashing in her eyes even as she grabbed another, cheeks puffed out like a hamster’s. She swallowed, “They’re really good!”
“Huh?!”
She set the box down on the edge of the sink—oh fuck, had he really dragged them into the bathroom?!—and grabbed him by the tie, “You did a really good job with them! Thank you, Amane-kun.”
“I—I did?”
“You did!”
“O-oh…”
“So don’t say they’re bad!” she pouted, “You did your best and that’s what matters. Okay?”
“Uh.”
“Okay?!”
“Okay! Okay, jeez. Fine. Yeah.”
Yashiro huffed and shoved him back; feet planted, and shoulders squared, “Good. So…thank you. I like them,” her voice wavered and she averted her eyes, cheeks reddening, “But. Um…I just want to make sure.” He watched as she ducked her head and shrank a little, “…does this mean you like me, too?”
The words slapped what little sense he had back into his brain, like giving a good whack to a malfunctioning vending machine. He would not fuck this up. He wouldn’t. “Yes. I do—you—um. Yeah.” Fucking shit fuck!! He’d flubbed it.
But Yashiro seemed to get it, anyway. She blushed, “And…does this mean,” her hands twisted in the ribbon on the front of her uniform, “…are we…dating now?”
It felt like a trap. But he stepped in, anyway, “Do…do you want to be?”
She nodded, cheeks blazing, and took a tiny step toward him. It took every ounce of strength he had not to bolt. Her fingers brushed against his wrist, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, “Yes, Amane-kun. I think…I think I’d like that very much.” The air left his lungs. Really? It had worked? He hadn’t fumbled it? Something warm bloomed deep in his chest, like a lighter sparking to life in the dark.
She squeezed his hand tighter, stepped a little closer.
Relief flooded through him, shaking his limbs and rushing into his brain. The room focused again. He blinked down at her. The breath came back into his lungs, “…Okay.”
Yashiro beamed at him, “Yes?!”
He nodded.
Amane’s knees almost buckled as she laughed and threw her arms around his neck, “I’m so glad! I was so worried. You just looked so panicked when I told you, I thought you must not like me. I thought you just wanted me to forget about it.”
“What? N-no!” he felt his face heating as the feeling trickled back into his body, as he realized with sudden concrete certainty that Yashiro Nene was hugging him. Very tightly, actually. Oh, she was so soft, he could cry. It should be illegal. “No, I just—I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to say something all this time!”
“Oh…s-sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her and turned his face to her shoulder, “Thanks for…you know. Waiting.”
“Of course,” she said, and squeezed him, “I’d wait forever.”
His heart scuttled around in his chest like an angry crab, and all he wanted was to stay right there in her arms until he died, “Me too.”
Yashiro giggled, “But…you know, we’re gonna be late for class if we don’t leave.”
Dammit, “R-right!” he let her go and stepped away. Hesitantly, Amane extended a hand, chest seizing up when she smiled and slid her fingers in between his.
“You’re really cute, Amane-kun,” she said, grinning as they stepped back out into the hall, accompanied by a couple weird looks from the people around them at the sight of Yugi Amane and Yashiro Nene leaving the girls’ restroom holding hands, “even if you did ask me out in the bathroom.”
He flushed and felt his eye twitch, “Don’t…let’s forget about that part. Okay?”
“Mm. I kind of like it, though.”
“Why? It’s gross.”
“You’re gross.”
“Am not.”
“Are too—you’re always telling all those raunchy jokes!”
He turned up his nose as he slid the door to their classroom open, “That’s different.”
Yashiro snorted and slid into her chair, tucking the box of chocolates away into her bag, “Of course it is.”
She adjusted her skirt and tossed her head to get her hair out of her face. A few strands flipped over her chair and landed on his desk, and Amane—brave from his marginal success—took the opportunity to fiddle with them.
Yashiro turned, confused frown on her face, and he grinned, holding up the ends of her hair for her to see. She snatched her hair out of his grip and blushed, “Quit it, you.”
“What? Afraid someone will think we’re dating or something?”
“You—” but at that moment, the teacher walked in and called everyone to attention. Yashiro settled for glaring at him before she had to turn and pretend to pay attention to the start of their history lesson.
Amane gave Yashiro’s hair a little tug and pushed it back off his desk. She hunched her shoulders, and he was struck by just how cute she was. Amane smiled, giddy, and turned his attention back to his notes. He’d done it. He’d asked out the girl he liked—sort of—and it had gone okay. He was determined to ride that high for the rest of the day.
Or, he would have. If Tsukasa hadn’t tracked him down at lunch and shoved a little bag tied with green ribbon into his hands.
“You left these at home this morning.”
“What?”
“The chocolates you made,” Tsukasa said, “or did you chicken out again?”
Amane’s heart launched itself down into his toes, “But I already—” he turned. Yashiro was sitting at her desk, pulling her lunch supplies out of her bag, the little box he’d given her sitting innocently on top of the pile.
Tsukasa leaned around him to look as well. And Amane heard him stifle a snort, “Oh, Amane. You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?!” Panic boiled in his chest, “What’re you talking about? I just grabbed the box on the counter, what do you—”
His brother muffled a hoot of laughter into Amane’s shoulder, “Amane! Those were the first batch! The bad ones!”
“Why didn’t you throw them away?!” he was going to strangle him.
“I wanted to give them to Natsuhiko! As a prank!” Tsukasa cackled, “I was gonna put them in his locker and pretend they were from a girl who was too shy to give them to him on Valentine’s Day!”
Amane sank to his knees in the doorway and dropped his head into his hands. Yashiro…she’d looked him in the eye and told him the chocolates were good. She’d lied to make him feel better. And that really was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him. But it didn’t stop him from wanting to throw himself into a woodchipper as he watched her slide the box back into her bag with of a bit of a queasy look on her face.
“Kill me now,” he murmured, “Just put me out of my misery.”
“I can’t do that! You’ve got Nene-chan to worry about now!” He leaned in and patted Amane comfortingly on the head, “You can’t seriously expect me to make her a widow.”
“Shut up, Tsukasa.”
“That is, as long as she doesn’t die of food poisoning, first.”
Amane socked him.