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On May 2, Gokudera makes Yamamoto a cake. Yes, it’s late and yes, it’s a little lopsided and there may be 3 proto-cakes in the trash, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
There had actually been a plan to do something completely different. Something that didn’t involve Gokudera standing in the kitchen of their apartment in the middle of the day, covered in flour.
It had been Yamamoto’s 26 birthday and all their friends and the majority of their family were still alive.
No one said it out loud -- least of all the baseball idiot--but everyone must have felt the same way as the year passed without incident. Must have been holding their breath for when Tsuna’s 25 birthday came and went and their boss was still alive.
Because in that future that no one wanted to talk about, Tsuna had been gunned down in the street at 24.
(And the fact that he apparently hadn’t actually died didn’t make the apprehension about the approaching date lessen at all).
So yes, there had been a plan.
An elaborate plan.
A really elaborate plan that involved candles and moonlight and violins and all the romantic shit that Yamamoto sighs about during movies (While giving Gokudera significant looks that the Italian pretends to ignore.)
There had been a plan and some god had laughed and they’d been shot at within seconds of getting out of the cab in front of the restaurant.
And Yamamoto (the idiot) had pushed Gokudera to the ground and gotten in the way of the bullet that had been headed for Gokudera.
So the romantic shit had instead turned into a trip to the hospital to dig a bullet out of Yamamoto’s arm. Gokudera had then spent the next week or so hunting down mafiosi with death wishes while his partner was benched.
And today, May 2, had been Yamamoto's first day back at HQ since the failed assassination. And Gokudera had been accused of 'hovering' and 'fretting'. Tsuna had suggested/ordered that Gokudera take the rest of the day off and let Yamamoto re-acclimate.
And so Gokudera went home.
Once there, however, in the three-bedroom apartment he shared with the idiot. He was surrounded by a vast collection of seemingly random baseball paraphernalia (Somehow they had a bathmat shaped like a baseball? Gokudera kept tossing it in the trash but it always mysteriously re-appeared). And the guilt that he felt about his….whatever...taking a freaking bullet for him seemed to sink back in.
Yamamoto had literally been willing to die for him and Gokudera still had trouble putting a name to their decade long relationship.
So he hatched a new plan: He’d make the idiot a cake to make up for the one that was supposed to come at the end of dinner on Yamamoto’s actual birthday.
It was double layered and strawberry flavored (because Yamamoto was also an actual child and that was his favorite flavor) with buttercream frosting.
So the sight that Yamamoto comes home to--after struggling to open the door with his arm in a sling--is this: Gokudera, in the middle of a kitchen disaster, smoking and swearing in every language he knows (and some he probably only knows how to swear in--Yamamoto can only recognize three of them) while attempting to coax frosting onto a lopsided cake.
He stares for a moment as he stands in the doorway of the kitchen, caught between pure joy at the oddly sweet domestic scene and terrified that Gokudera is going to follow up with one of the more creative Japanese insults and shove the cake somewhere uncomfortable.
He decides to err on the side of caution and drop his keys loudly onto the counter. Causing Gokudera to jump and clench his grip on the frosting bag, splattering frosting across the cake.
There is a moment of silence where Gokudera is unsure how to save face when he’s wearing a baseball patterned apron and Yamamoto is wondering how best to defuse the situation before Gokudera follows through on one of the Italian threats from earlier to “Blow the cake, Yamamoto and the whole fucking kitchen into the stratosphere.”
Surprisingly, it’s Gokudera who breaks the silence. Clearing his throat and putting down the icing bag, stubbing out his cigarette and clearing his throat, refusing to meet Yamamoto’s gaze.
“It’s a ‘Happy belated birthday and don’t get fucking shot again’ cake.”
“Oh...okay.”
With an impatient noise, Gokudera whips off the apron and throws it at Yamamoto (who of course catches it with little effort, because he’s a freak of nature)
“Look, don’t read too much into this. You didn’t get a cake, so I made you cake.”
“Okay.” For some reason, that response seems to rile Gokudera even more.
“And you pushed me out of the way --which was a fucking stupid thing to do, you know, I’ve been getting shot at since I was like 10.”
Yamamoto neatly sidesteps his complicated emotions about Gokudera’s childhood and steps closer, pulling Gokudera into a one-armed hug, pressing a kiss to his hair.
“It looks great! Thank you!” And by the way Gokudera immediately tenses up, Yamamoto knows that he’s somehow said the wrong thing.
“It does not look great! I haven’t slept in 36 hours and it looks like a blind epileptic frosted the damn thing!”
That gets a laugh out of Yamamoto before he can stop it and Gokudera is suddenly pushing out of his hold and going for the cake. Only Yamamoto’s quick reflexes allow him to body block his path before he can follow through with one of the English threats and throw the cake out of the window.
The interference earns him a sour look.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s my cake, isn't it? I’m protecting it!”
“I’ll just order another cake, you can’t possibly want to eat that thing, it probably tastes worse than my sisters.”
“I don’t want another cake. You made it and I want to eat it!”
Gokudera narrowed his eyes but after a moment stepped back, making a ‘go for it’ gesture before folding his arms.
So Yamamoto went for it. After a bit of trial and error with one handed cake-cutting, he managed to cut a slice and place it on the plate that Gokudera held out for him along with a comment about not wanting to be responsible about helping The Tenth find a new Rain Guardian.
And okay, so Gokudera wasn’t going to be on Iron Chef any time soon, but the cake was pretty decent. When Yamamoto told Gokudera just that after his first bite (leaving out the Iron Chef part--Gokudera really liked Chef Morimoto), he earned another skeptical look.
“Okay, here,” Yamamoto said with a laugh, holing out a forkful of cake. “If you think it’s terrible, I’ll let you do whatever you want with it. Within reason.”
Gokudera stepped closer to take the bite, his ‘deep thought’ face while chewing.
“Fine.” He said, when he finished. “It’s not terrible. I’ll have to remember to use less vanilla next time, though.”
“Next time?” That earned another sigh from Gokudera.
“Well, I’m probably going to have more occasions to make ‘Yamamoto is an idiot’ cakes in the future. Better at least make sure they’re edible.”
“Does that mean you’ll make our wedding cake, too?”
The face full of cake that that comment earned him was worth it to see Gokudera blush and splutter before stalking out of the kitchen.