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Shoto stared at the carnage before him, feeling oddly detached from the horror he should be feeling at this moment. Red. There was so much red. Splattered across the walls, staining his hands, his face, flecks of it matting his hair, turning a sickly brown in places where it intermingled with forest green. He had utterly, completely failed. Maybe he was in shock.
This couldn’t be it. He wouldn’t fail, not when it mattered the most.
Shoto was the number four hero. He had survived the league, All For One, and his pathetic excuse for a childhood through sheer stubbornness. If there was one thing he did not do, it was give up. He grit his teeth, plunging his left hand into the mess and shoving the cake pan, icing and all, back into the oven. This was salvageable. It had to be. And if the icing had melted all over the cake, then putting it in the oven should harden it, right? It baked cakes so in theory icing should go from a liquid to a solid too. He hoped.
Shoto glanced at the kitchen clock, which ticked slowly on, oblivious of his impatience. 11:00…11:07…how long was this going to take? Izuku left at sunset to go on his monthly all night shift, and Shoto had made a show of lying on the couch for a nap, body wound like a coiled spring, until the second their apartment door clicked shut before springing into action. That had been…four hours ago, and all Shoto had to show was a kitchen that closely resembled a murder scene.
The splatters of red icing from where his makeshift pastry bag had popped when he squeezed too hard intermingled with flour, sugar, egg shells, and smears of green icing. The thing was, Shoto had no idea where he’d gone wrong. How did he exactly follow the carefully printed email from Inko Midoriya, full of her own helpful tips on how to make Izuku’s favorite cake, and end up on a B rated horror movie set?
He crouched down, scowling at the bubbling cake through the oven door. It still looked vaguely liquidy. He checked the clock again…11:12. Damn. At this rate Izuku was going to get home before Shoto could figure out how to fix this disaster. The oven was set to 375 degrees…but if Shoto could give it a little encouragement he could get back to touching up the icing again.
Decision made, he popped open the oven door slipping his lit hand inside, sitting against the kitchen cabinets and blowing out a long breath. A puff of flour followed the action and Shoto sighed. Well, not like it could get a lot worse.
He knew, logically, that Izuku would be more than happy with a happy birthday kiss and a store bought cake. But he also knew from his fiancé’s childhood stories that Midoriya-san had always made him his favorite cake and iced it in All Might’s colors. Midoriya-san was out of the country this year, as was All Might. Izuku had been working hard lately, too, sheepishly telling Shoto he really couldn’t share any details because Shinsou would kill him. But Shoto hadn’t missed the thin stress lines around his face recently whenever the subject of work came up.
In fact, Izuku had actually jumped when Shoto had asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, stoutly denying that Shoto needed to do anything for it because they were both so busy as he raced out of the house for patrol. But Shoto wanted to do something for him. He wanted to make Izuku feel just as loved as he made Shoto feel every single day.
So he’d emailed Midoriya-san, more or less begging her for her cake recipe, and apparently a recipe for icing, which was news to Shoto seeing as he’d never really considered where icing came from before that point. He’d seen cans of it of course, but Midoriya-san had assured him hers would taste better and was easy to make.
So far baking had been anything but easy. The faint smell of burnt chocolate wafted out of the open oven and Shoto scrambled to his feet, yanking his hand back in favor of opening the oven fully. He grabbed the pan and swore as it burned his right hand, quickly swapping hands and pulling the smoldering cake out. The icing was blackened in places, the messy attempt at recreating Deku’s hero costume melting into the lettering, the center of the cake still sunken and raw while lazy curls of smoke drifted up from the edges.
I guess it can get worse.
Shoto ran his burned fingers under the sink and winced as his eyes once again found the treacherous clock. 11:37. This was bad. Shoto did not deny he had many flaws, one of which was his aversion to asking for help, thanks Dad, but it was time to swallow his pride. Who could he call? Uraraka had the same patrol schedule as Izuku, so she wasn’t available. Ida was good at following rules…baking seemed to have a lot of rules. He tapped the contact.
One ring…two…three…
“Ida Tenya speaking.”
“Ida, I have a situatio–”
“If you are hearing this, then I am not available. I apologize for the inconvenience and will return your call at the earliest opportunity.” What an absolute bullshit answering machine. Shoto felt personally victimized.
Tsuyu didn’t pick up, but he knew her service was spotty when she took long ocean assignments. He’d put a lot of hope on Sato, but was again disappointed by an answering machine. Shinso, Yao-Momo, Tokoyami and Jirou later, he was beginning to stamp down the beginnings of panic. He doubted Kaminari knew how to cook anything but instant ramen but he was running out of options. The phone rang once…twice…
“Todoroki…everything okay man, you never call. Is Midoriya alright?” Shoto eyed the cake. Did it just move?
“I have…a problem.” Kaminari was appropriately sympathetic when Shoto filled him in on the need-to-know details, and he felt a small spark of hope. Then it was abruptly dashed.
“Man…sorry Todoroki but I think I’d poison him if I helped! But hey…okay don’t tell him I told you this but Bakugo’s baking is like, out of this world. Try him. Oh shit someone’s trying to rob the convenience store…break time’s over I guess. Catch ya later!”
Shoto was left blinking at his phone. Bakugo? Now that he considered it, the only person from their class who could claim to know almost as much about Izuku as Shoto was Bakugo. They’d come a long way since their early days, and while Shoto wouldn’t say he was particularly close with the explosive blonde, he could confidently say that they were friends in their own odd way. And Izuku got lunch with him once a month, so despite the blonde’s posturing Shoto knew he actually enjoyed their rekindled friendship. Something would have been blown up if he hadn’t. Then again it was Bakugo and Izuku, so something would probably get blown up anyway. Some things never changed.
Shoto dialed before he could talk himself out of it.
“I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed is not in service please–” Damn. Izuku had mentioned something about Bakugo complaining about having to get a new phone after an encounter with a villain and the municipal sewer system. Shit. He looked at the sad parody of a cake in front of him. Then he looked at the clock. 11:52. Shit.
Izuku finished patrol at six. He’d probably be home by six thirty. At this point Shoto was tempted to give up and go to the store, but he was relatively sure no bakeries were open, and, frankly, it was a matter of Todoroki pride at this point. Sure, he may not be the most experienced in giving or receiving thoughtful gifts (until Izuku came into his life) but dammit he was going to give Izuku the birthday he deserved.
The clock chimed cheerfully, marking midnight. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Shoto was desperate. And running out of time.
Twenty minutes later he found himself, cake in hand, panting outside a nondescript apartment door, cheerful red flowers sitting in a pot beside a door mat that said ‘go away.’ A moment’s hesitation rushed through him, but he ruthlessly crushed it. This was for Izuku. He rang the doorbell.
A moment of silence passed. Well, not a lot he could lose at this point, and if Bakugo killed him, well, he’d count it as mercy. He rang the doorbell again.
A few moments later the door was flung open with far more force than strictly necessary, revealing Bakugo in black sweats and a Red Riot tank top, mouth already open to deliver what Shoto was sure would be an impressive string of curses. They made eye contact.
“…What the hell are you doing here Icyhot?”
“I need your help.” Bakugo’s eyes slowly traveled down Shoto, taking in the red smears and flour stained hands.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Shoto blinked.
“I made a cake.” Bakugo’s eyes caught on the sad corpse of a cake, still cradled in its pan in Shoto’s arms.
“That’s not a damn cake half-n-half.”
“That’s where you come in.”
“Huh?” Bakugo stared at him like he’d grown two heads, eyes flicking from the cake to Shoto’s face and back again.
“I need you to help me fix this cake.”
“You need me to…it’s almost one in the morning. Why do you need me to fix your shitty cake right this damn second?”
“Izuku’s birthday is tomorrow and he gets off patrol at six. So can we please get a move on?” They didn’t have time for this, and if Bakugo was going to dig in his crabby old man heels about how late it was then Shoto knew there was only one thing that could get him his way. And Bakugo was usually more bark than bite these days. He hoped. Either way death was still preferable to failure so Shoto sidestepped past Bakugo, carefully protecting the cake under his arm and into the apartment, hurrying into the open concept living space and his potential salvation.
“Hey! You icyhot bastard I didn’t say you could just come in–”
“Oh hey, Todoroki! Good to see you bro, what’s up?” Perfect. Kirishima was lounging on a light grey sectional, sporting an orange Dynamight tank tossed over purple sweatpants. He fumbled for the t.v. remote, a banner for some American show called The Bachelor flashing up as he paused it, face morphing into concern as he took in Shoto’s appearance. “Everything alright man?”
“I need Bakugo to help me fix this cake for Izuku’s birthday.”
“Are you even listening to me Icyhot–”
“Aww, babe that’s so sweet!” Kirishima stood, expertly snatching Bakugo into a hug before the latter could make a grab for Todoroki or his cake. “You were just saying that you wanted to do something nice for Izuku for his birthday, this’ll be great.”
Bakugo flushed, but made no attempt to pull away. Shoto liked to think it was character development that he didn’t deny that he was friends with Izuku. Either way, Shoto knew he had just won. “Don’t blow it out of proportion! Izuku’s a dumfuck who doesn’t ever know when to stop and enjoy stuff. He’d run himself into the ground without someone else making him celebrate.”
Kirishima grinned at Shoto. “I don’t have to translate that for you, right?” Shoto shook his head as Bakugo glared. “He really has been looking for a way to make Midoriya’s birthday special with All Might out of the country this year.”
“Why did I marry you?” Bakugo grumbled as Kirishima released him.
“Because you looove me.”
“Yeah, yeah…whatever. Fine. Put it on the table Half-n-half.”
Shoto put the cake pan, thankfully cooled on his run to the apartment, onto the bar counter of the kitchen, carefully removing the plastic wrap and revealing the disaster in its full glory.
Bakugo stared, eyes widening with an odd mixture of horror and disgust.
Kirishima’s jaw dropped.
Shoto wondered if he could fake his own death. But that would be an asshole thing to do on his fiancé’s birthday.
“I can’t fix this Icyhot.” Shoto’s heart jolted, head snapping up to stare at Bakugo. He couldn’t quite stop the desperation from leaking into his voice.
“Then what are we supposed to do? I followed the directions. Look.” He shoved the recipe papers toward Bakugo, who snatched them up.
“You managed to butcher them with Aunty Inko’s directions. That’s an impressive fuck up. You could literally feed the nerd a brick with icing on it and he’d be happy, but even I don’t want him dead…that’s not fucking edible. Trash it.”
Shoto stared mournfully at his ruined cake. How was he going to explain the mess and the lack of cake to Izuku?
“What the hell are you still standing around for you useless half-n-half bastard? Go wash your hands.” Bakugo cracked his knuckles angrily and shoved Shoto toward the sink. He did as he was told despite his confusion.
“Why?” He didn’t think he’d get the red stains off his fingers any time soon even if they were clean. And what did it matter other than to hide the evidence of his failure from Izuku?
“Why? You came to me for help didn’t you? That thing is a disgrace to Aunty Inko, and nobody gets to make her look bad. Now wash. Your fucking. Hands.”
Kirishima returned to lounging on the couch, chuckling quietly.
“Babe, put on an apron. I just washed that shirt.” Bakugo huffed behind Shoto, and by the time he finished washing his hands and turned around, he was met with Bakugo, bowl in hand, teeth bared in a slightly manic grin.
He was wearing an apron that said ‘kiss the fucking cook.’
“You do what I say, got it? We’re gonna make the best damn cake you’ve ever tasted Icyhot.”
Over the next few hours Shoto learned several things:
There was a difference between teaspoons and tablespoons.
Cakes were apparently better if you sifted the ingredients first.
Bakugo was stricter than his father was during training, and Shoto had to redo two batches of icing.
Shoto could act as a bruleé torch. He didn’t know why they needed it, but Bakugo insisted.
Kirishima cried when they eliminated his favorite contestant on the Bachelor. They had to take a five minute break for Bakugo to make him hot chocolate in consolation.
Four hours later, Shoto couldn’t help but stare in awe at the masterpiece Bakugo was settling in a cake carrier. Two tiers with deep green buttercream, red lines sparkling under layers of bruleéd sugar, mimicking the lighting that surrounded Deku when he used his quirk. It was stunning.
“Bakugo…thank you. It’s perfect.” They were both coated in flour from one of Shoto’s mishaps with the mixer, fingers stained from food dye, but the cake was a masterpiece. Bakugo passed a piping bag to Shoto.
“I told you we’d make the best damn cake you’ve ever seen. Now pipe on the letters for the nerd. And if you pop the bag I’ll singe off your eyebrows.”
“Understood.” Fighting to control the shaking in his fingers from exhaustion and adrenaline, Shoto carefully piped the words ‘Happy Birthday Izuku’ across the cake.
Bakugo raised a critical eyebrow before grunting, “Good enough. You should stop before you fuck it up.”
“Oooh, did you save a beater for me?” Kirishima wandered over with a sleepy grin. Shoto offered him a small smile.
“It’s in the sink.”
Kirishima flashed him a grin before reaching up to wipe a smudge of icing off Bakugo’s cheek. “You’ve got frosting on your cheek babe.” He popped it into his mouth with a thoughtful hum. “I think it could use more meringue.”
Bakgugo glowered at his husband, the tips of his ears pink. “I will kill you.”
Kirishima laughed, pressing a kiss to Bakugo’s cheek and meandering back to the living room. “I’m just joking, I think Midoriya’ll love it. But you should get going, Todoroki. It’s five and you shouldn’t run if you’re gonna carry that back.” Shoto started. Already five? He had to get back and clean up the kitchen before Izuku came home and assumed Shoto had been brutally murdered or kidnapped when he saw the state of the kitchen.
Bakugo shoved the closed cake container into Shoto’s arms, pushing him toward the door.
“Don’t let it fucking tip. Now get out so I can go to bed. You’re damn lucky we’re off today.”
Shoto turned as they reached the door. “Bakugo, thank you. Really.”
Bakugo shoved his hands in his pockets in a rare show of pensiveness. “Someone had to help you get your shit together…tell the nerd to have a good birthday and to relax even if you have to sit on him.”
Shoto nodded, smiling and slipping out into the early grey dawn before Bakugo could ruin the moment.
He made it home at exactly 5:57. Gently setting the cake down on their kitchen table Shoto set to work panic cleaning, which was something he actually had extensive practice with, thanks Dad. By 6:15 he had managed to wipe up the stains and spills, wash the pots and pans and speed dry them with his fire side. It looked spotless, though they were now down a cake pan, as Bakugo had pointed out the fact that it had melded to charcoal bottom of the first one.
Shoto threw himself through a shower, dressing in soft green pants and a grey t-shirt before padding out to uncover the cake so Izuku would see it when he walked in. After another moment’s hesitation Shoto picked a couple violets from their balcony flower box and put them in a vase beside the cake.
He’d done it. Well, Bakugo had yelled a lot and Shoto held the spoon for at least a third of that particular fever dream, but no matter the way, there was a perfect cake waiting for Izuku’s arrival. He checked the time. 6:24. He collapsed on the couch to wait.
The soft click of the door opening woke him moments later. He checked his phone. 6:32. Shoto barely had time to sit up before Izuku, slightly dusty but not favoring any limbs or sporting any scrapes that he could tell, wandered into the room.
His eyes found Shoto’s and he cocked his head like a puppy. Cute.
“You couldn’t sleep, Shoto? Is everything okay?” Then his eyes found the cake on the table behind Shoto and he stopped, looking even more confused. Shoto stood moving to stand in front of Izuku, a small prickle of nerves in the back of his head. He’d never really had to be in charge of anyone’s birthday. Hopefully it was enough.
“The uhh…the cake’s for you.” Izuku’s eyes widened and he hurried over to look at it, his cheeks taking on a pink hue.
“Shoto…it’s beautiful. And this…this is supposed to be me. Wow, it’s amazing! What baker did you use?”
“I made it. Well, Bakugo helped. He says happy birthday too. We used your mom’s recipe…” He trailed off as tears welled up in Izuku’s eyes and he turned back to Shoto, pulling him into a bone crushing hug.
“...These are happy tears, right?” Izuku laughed into his chest, hiccuping a couple times.
“Yes, these are happy tears. Thank you, Shoto. This…this means a lot.” He stood a little straighter to press a kiss to Shoto’s cheek. “It’s already a good birthday with you here.” Shoto didn’t bother to hide his pleased smile, a warm feeling making his chest tight with pride and excitement at his fiancé’s happiness.
“Do you want cake now?”
Izuku pulled back, eyes sparkling cheerfully. “At six thirty in the morning?”
“I’ve been told you can do what you want to on your birthday.”
“Well…I suppose cake and the sunrise would be nice. Why don’t we take it down to Takoba beach?” Shoto nodded.
“That sounds nice.”
Izuku kicked off his shoes at the door. “I want to shower off first. I ran into a wall on patrol when I wasn’t paying attention and I think I still have drywall in my hair.” Shoto snorted, gently tugging Izuku deeper into the house.
“Then shower, I’ll pack up.”
“Thanks—Shoto… is that icing behind your ear?” Shoto sighed deeply, the exhaustion of the night washing over him in a wave for a brief moment.
“Probably.” He turned to make sure the cake was back in the carrier, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around his middle, and he felt the soft rumble of Izuku’s voice against his back.
“Shoto, thank you. I know you did all this for me. And it’s perfect. Thank you.”
Shoto smiled. It had been worth it, all of it. And it always would be.
“Happy Birthday, Izuku.”