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"Hey brat, get your head out of your ass and stop getting flour all over my kitchen!"
Yuuji jolts out of his thoughts and his hand slips against the mixer's dial, the sudden speed causing more of the powder to fly over the edge of the bowl. Another angry grunt leaves his uncle's lips when it hits the counter and he looks up to find Sukuna's dark and scrutinizing gaze, the expression completely unwavering even as Yuuji sends him a sheepish smile.
"Sorry…sorry…" he mumbles, sweeping the the excess flour into his hand and knocking it into the trash while Sukuna walks out.
Sukuna's right, he keeps getting distracted. He barely slept last night, instead he spent most of the night tossing and turning while trying to come up with anything to make Fushiguro for his birthday. It would've been easier to run down the mountain and pick up something small from one of the shops there, but Yuuji couldn't ignore the nagging voice in his brain telling him it wasn't enough.
He spent hours pouring over every interaction and conversation he's had with Fushiguro, trying to pull any and all information he could to come up with something. It wasn't until one of Tsumiki's passing comments from the festival came to mind that he finally figured it out.
"Megumi! You have to try this," she exclaimed, holding out a small spoon with a piece of golden candy on the end.
Fushiguro's nose scrunched as he examined the candy, tossing a questioning glance between his sister and the spoon. "What is it?"
"It's candied ginger!" she points to the stand behind them, "Just take it! You love ginger."
Yuuji remembers watching the slight uptick to Fushiguro's brows and the way his features seemed to relax as the candy was placed on his tongue. His first idea were gingerbread cookies, but the more he thought about it they were too festive, not correct for a birthday. Fushiguro deserved something special, something more than just a last minute holiday recipe with a birthday bow on top.
But because of his need for perfection, Yuuji is now restarting these cookies for the third time. The first batch he made successfully, proudly showing the bowl to Sukuna before he placed it in the fridge to cool, only to trip and dump the dough on the floor in his excitement to get them in the oven. During the second batch, he was so flustered from his first fuck-up that didn't notice when he flipped up the wrong side of the cinnamon, nearly bursting in to tears when the entire container poured into the flour. He's just grateful he had the foresight to make way more candied ginger than he needed.
He raises his arms over his head and rolls his neck, trying to relieve the tension in his shoulders and back. As he wipes his hands on the apron around him, he twists and takes a mental inventory of the ingredients around him and the remaining steps. He's probably read the recipe enough to recite it by memory, but he keeps the tab open on his phone and refers to it after every step.
Is he taking this way too seriously? Probably, but these cookies are for Fushiguro—Fushiguro's birthday specifically—they cannot be anything less than perfect. Sukuna has already teased and pestered him enough, poking his sides and making kissy noises at him after Yuuji's—third? forth?—breakdown, and a glance at the clock on the wall almost inspires the fifth. He has just enough time to make this batch, since he's leaving for Choso's in a few hours and the dough has to chill for at least two. He swipes his forearm over his face with a groan, wiping away the non-existent sweat off his brow before retying his apron—probably a bit too tight—and focusing on the mixing bowl in front of him.
It's hard to keep his mind from drifting as he changes bowls and starts to cream the butter and sugar, eyes unfocused as he stares into the mixer. For the past few weeks it feels like his thoughts have been completely consumed by Fushiguro—Yuuji's mind constantly returning to green eyes and spiky hair—so much that it makes him feel ill sometimes. He's honestly starting to feel like a creep, somehow finding a way to relate everything back to Fushiguro.
While folding laundry. I wonder if he would like this sweater.
While doing dishes. Maybe Fushiguro prefers square plates.
While walking—for god's sake. I hope Fushiguro's shoes hold up in the snow.
As Sukuna said, it's quite pathetic, and honestly, it's hard for Yuuji to disagree.
He tends to be a more hopeful person, and he's been trying to tamper that down around Fushiguro especially. It's highly unlikely that Fushiguro is looking for anything more than just a friend for the holiday, especially if he has to deal with those suits from the estates like he says. But then he thinks of the growing smiles he's been able to pull from Fushiguro, each centimeter a precious victory, and he can't bring himself to fully believe it.
A smile starts to tug at his cheeks as he carefully cracks the eggs in, taking extra care to keep any eggshells from dropping into the bowl in the process. He forces himself to stay calm, stay focused. Once the dough is chilling he can let himself fantasize about how Fushiguro will react to the gift; how his eyes might light up, or how maybe Yuuji can finally put a real smile on his face before the day is over.
The thought puts a dumb smile on Yuuji's face, and it stays as he chops the last of the candied ginger and tosses it into the bowl. When the dough is fully incorporated he pulls the bowl from the mixer and dumps it onto the shrink wrap beside him, taking extra care in wrapping and tucking the plastic before placing it in the fridge. After his first mishap with the bowl, wrapping it seems like a much safer option.
When he turns around and sees the state he's left the kitchen, a deep pout settles onto his face. If Sukuna walked through that door right now, Yuuji's pretty sure he would be cleaning himself off the floor and counters along with the mess he made. He cleans up quickly, putting away the various containers and ingredients. Using the lodge kitchen was a definitely the correct decision, the fridge and counter space more than double what's at his apartment, and it definitely saved him from an additional breakdown or two.
When the space is clean he pushes out into the bar, finding Sukuna sat with a laptop in front of him, chin resting on his fist. He doesn't spare a glance up as Yuuji walks out and pours himself a glass of water, his eyes still locked onto the screen in front of him.
"You clean up my kitchen?"
"Yes 'Kuna," he says, jutting a knee out to knock his leg against his uncles, "Still gotta bake though."
Sukuna hums, eyes darting over to Yuuji with a mischievous glint behind them, "Before your boyfriend shows up?"
Yuuji chokes on the water he was drinking, coughing and gripping at his shirt as Sukuna's laugh echoes around him.
He blames his red face on his coughing fit and not Sukuna's words. "He's not my boyfriend."
Another loud laugh erupts from Sukuna's lips as he slams the laptop shut, now his turn to kick his leg out to nudge Yuuji. "Sure kid."
He roughly slaps a hand on Yuuji's back as gets up to leave, laugh still present as he walks through the door to the lobby.
Yuuji dumps his head into his hand and lets out a long exhale, silently cursing himself.
Oh my god this is so pathetic.
He scrubs his hands over his face and few his hair repeatedly, groaning when he finally lifts his head. He still has probably an hour before the dough is ready to come out of the fridge, and the limbo is killing him. Maybe he should've made a bigger mess, or at least taken longer to clean the mess he did make. Not having a distraction from his thoughts is not going to end well, especially when he knows the subject of his obsession is in the same building, quite literally within walking distance. Yuuji feels the pull like a magnet.
After a quick exhale he's up and off the bar-stool, determined to busy himself by cleaning up and restocking the bar before Uraume arrives. It's an easy rhythm to fall into, muscle memory taking over as he starts to check the fridges and bottle wells. A soft hum starts to vibrate from his chest the more he gets into the work, eventually adding in flourishes to his movements that match the rhythm.
There's a slight bounce to his step while he pushes through the door to the kitchen, eyes set on the ice machine at the back. He quickly fills two large buckets and makes his way back to the bar, using his back to push the door open. His mind is so out of it that he doesn't realize the person sitting at the bar, only looking up once he has lifted the buckets onto the counter.
He looks up into familiar green eyes, but the owner isn't correct. The long brown hair and bright smile a stark contrast to the slight pout and unruly hair currently consuming his thoughts. Something in Tsumiki's expression says she sees right through him, and he fights the urge to fidget while he smiles back.
"Morning Itadori," she says kindly, head tilting to the side and eyes crinkling with her smile.
If you just glanced between her and Fushiguro you would have a hard time telling they're related—other than the prominent green eyes they share from their father—but the more he gets to know them both, the more he can see the small pieces of each other they carry. Tsumiki has the same careful and analytic gaze, but it's paired with a bright and unarming smile. And while he tries his best to hide it, Yuuji can see the way that Tsumiki has taught Fushiguro to live—the way both their heads tilt to the right when they laugh, or to the left when they're embarrassed—how they both love deeply, but rather than Tsumiki's loud and dramatic display of pinching Fushiguro's cheeks and telling him to tighten his scarf, Fushiguro tends to quietly show his affection; like the way he remembers Tsumiki's gloves for her, or how he covers a corner with his hand when Nobara almost bumps it.
A small giggle breaks from her lips and he realizes he still hasn't responded, suddenly floundering over any prepared words and attempting to cover it with a small laugh of his own.
"Good morning Tsumiki," he eventually gets out, offering her a small smile.
"Could you do me a favor?"
He perks up a bit.
"What do you need?"
She glances down at her watch, "Could you prepare some coffee for me?" Her smile widens a bit, "I asked Megumi to meet me down here in a while, but it's his birthday so I want it to be fresh, is that okay?"
"Sure!" he says, probably a bit too enthusiastically, because Tsumiki's smile twists into something that looks more like a smirk before he continues, "Uh—just coffee?"
"And if you have paper cups that would be awesome. We were just gonna go on a walk around the lodge."
He nods and sucks in a short breath, "Sure, sure, yeah no problem."
"Thank you so much Itadori," she shoots him another smile as she walks through the door, "You're the best!"
Yuuji stares unfocused at the door after her exit, eyes following the movement of the wood swinging on his hinges. He sighs. It was a good run—the past hour or so he spent cleaning and not thinking of Fushiguro probably the longest he's gone since he checked in two weeks ago. He resigns himself to the thoughts as he pushes through the door to the kitchen, buckets in hand. There's a million images flying behind his eyes as he lifts the bins back to the top of the ice machine, a wild flurry of green and black from his memories and daydreams.
A few button presses and a knob turn later the oven is preheating, the appliance buzzing slightly as it kicks to life. He silently praises his own handiwork from earlier and pulls the cookie sheets from the rack, the stainless steel surfaces around him shining under the bright kitchen lights, probably clean enough to eat off of.
He gets a little too focused on the parchment paper to line the cookie sheets, trying extra hard to rip it as straight as possible to fit the pan perfectly. When he's done he taps his phone a few times and selects a radio, a random but upbeat rhythm filling the space around him. The cookie dough looks the same when he pulls it from the fridge, but it's a little darker and firmer in his hand. It takes all his will power to not rip off a small piece and try it after he unwraps it, scolding and reminding himself that these are for Fushiguro, and not for him.
Yuuji traces the recipe with his finger and mumbles along before tying the apron around his waist, once again too tight. He splits the dough and rolls the pieces into even balls with careful precision, comparing each one to the last to ensure they're all the same. The sugar sticks to the outside of them easily when he rolls them around the small bowl, stray crystals dusting the counter as he carries them over to the pan.
They smell amazing, even unbaked, and excitement starts to bubble in his stomach again at the thought of giving them to Fushiguro. He doesn't seem much like a sweets person, but the recipe said they weren't super sweet, and with the extra ginger Yuuji added it's sure to balance out the molasses a bit more.
He lets out a relieved sigh once they're finally in the oven and the timer is set, knowing that he's now in the home stretch and all he has to do is wait. The coffee maker doesn't take too long to brew, so he starts to clean up again. There isn't much to clean since all he did was section out the dough and roll them in sugar, but he's careful to leave the space as he found it this morning, just to keep Sukuna off his ass.
Another sigh leaves his lips as he leans against the counter across from the coffee machine. If there's one thing he knows for sure about Fushiguro it's that he takes his coffee black, but he's not sure about Tsumiki. He makes a mental note to grab a small container of creamer and a few sugar packs from the bar.
The kitchen starts to warm beautifully with the scent of the cookies in the oven, and the giddy feeling in his stomach returns—any reluctant-ness or anxiety he had from Sukuna's teasing or his own unbelieving thoughts dripping away in sync with the coffee maker.
This time when his mind drifts to Fushiguro he does so without the following feeling of guilt, allowing himself to indulge in a few idealistic outcomes to giving the gift. He wants to be humble about it—truly—but the more the smell of the cookies fills the air around him the more he knows he outdid himself.
He practically leaps for the oven when the timer goes off, quickly grabbing the two oven mitts and yanking it open. His mouth waters instantly at the sight of the them, the golden and cracked surface glistening from the heat and sugar. To say the smell of them this close is incredible would be an understatement, and keeping his hands off them as he transfers them to a cooling rack is almost impossible.
Yuuji forces himself away from the racks and over to the coffee maker, grateful to be out of arms distance of his temptations as he prepares the two travel cups. He chews on his lower lips while he writes on the them, signing a quick Happy Birthday Fushi! with a small doodle of a dog on one, and Tsumiki (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) on the other.
He's so distracted with the coffee and the cups in his hand he doesn't notice the door swing open behind him, or the footsteps that pad across the tile to him. When he turns and finds Fushiguro standing across the counter from him he almost drops the cups in his hands, lips parting in surprise as their eyes find each other.
It's unfair, how naturally stunning Fushiguro is. Every time he lays eyes on him it feels like he's looking at someone who just stepped out of a magazine cover, especially now with the casual, yet perfectly tailored dark jeans and sweater, under a long pea coat that frame his tall and slim figure perfectly. Yuuji's mouth runs dry when he opens it to speak.
Fushiguro seems to sense his slight lapse in brain function, the corner of his lips ticking up just enough for Yuuji to recognize it as a smirk as he scans his eyes over him. As much as he admires the critical look often in those green eyes, being the subject of it has him squirming slightly, enough to push through his nerves and hold the cup out to Fushiguro and end their silent exchange.
"Uh—Morning, Fushiguro. Happy Birthday!" Yuuji supplies weakly, covering his nerves with a smile.
Fushiguro's fingers brush his as he grabs the cup. Yuuji isn't sure if he imagined the slight static in their touch or if Fushiguro's hands were just cold, but either option has him wanting to reach out and grab the digits again to test it.
"Good morning, and thank you, Itadori," his eyes don't leave Yuuji's as he lifts the cup to take a sip, and Yuuji has to tamp down all his excitement when Fushiguro's brows tick up just slightly—a good sign.
He's sure the expression on his face completely gives him away, but he can't bring himself to care as he watches Fushiguro's eyes land on the cooling racks beside them. He hums softly, taking a small step closer and tilting his head down to the counter.
"What are those?"
Yuuji feels like he could burst. "Um! They're uh—" Holy shit, get it together Itadori, "They're ginger molasses cookies," he swallows the lump in his throat, "They're um, for you actually."
Fushiguro's head snaps over to him, eyebrows raised over confused green eyes. He isn't sure if he's waiting for Fushiguro to say something, but the longer the silence stretches the more Yuuji's face heats up.
He darts his eyes away like that will hide the color on his cheeks. "Obviously it's nothing crazy. I didn't have the time to run down the mountain and buy you anything but I—I wanted you to have something. And—and I remembered that you liked ginger and I had all the ingredients to make this, but you don't really strike me as a sweets person either so you don't have to take them, I just thought it might be—"
"Itadori—" Fushiguro interrupts him. When Yuuji looks up he's standing closer than before, coffee cup now forgotten on the counter behind him as he reaches a hand out to place on Yuuji's arm. Yuuji can feel how cold his fingers are even through the thin layer of his shirt, but his skin still burns from the touch.
"It's okay, these are perfect," he gives Yuuji's arm a light and reassuring squeeze before he steps away, the pale skin of his cheeks now tinted pink as he glances between Yuuji and the cookies. "Can I try one?"
Yuuji nods, urgently motioning to the cooling racks, "Y-yes of course. They're still warm."
Long fingers hover over the rack as he drags his eyes across them, eventually deciding on a larger cookie in the middle and lifting it up to examine a bit closer. Yuuji's not sure he's ever seen someone look at a cookie so intently, but he finds everything Fushiguro does charming.
"These smell amazing," Fushiguro mumbles after a deep inhale, eyes snapping back to Yuuji. "Have you tried one?"
Yuuji shakes his head, "Nope, saved them all for you."
Something shifts in Fushiguro's expression but it's gone before Yuuji can place it. He keeps his eyes locked on Fushiguro while he takes the first bite, trying to trace and track every tick and movement of his features as he chews. When he starts to subtly nod and lift the pastry back up to his mouth before swallowing his first bite, Yuuji grips the counter to stop himself from jumping in joy.
He likes them. Thank god.
It feels like a semi truck is lifted off his shoulders as he watches Fushiguro finish the pastry in his hands, quickly grabbing the rag off the counter to wipe his hands before he's reaching for his coffee again. He must sense Yuuji's eyes still on him, because they flick up to meet Yuuji's while his cheeks flush pink.
"They're…amazing Itadori," he properly looks up at Yuuji now, a small smile on his lips as he returns to his side, "Thank you."
Yuuji's chest swells, a large smile carving through his features in relief. "I'm glad you liked them. You don't have to take them now, obviously, I stole a box from the bakery this morning so I can pack them up for you and you can take them up to your—"
He's interrupted by the feather touch of Fushiguro's hand on his arm again, words suddenly failing him as he looks down at the fingers softly caressing his arm. Yuuji's eyes move back up to meet Fushiguro's and feels the moment their eyes lock. Maybe he's imagining it, but the slight gleam behind Fushiguro's eyes tells him he's not.
Another thing Yuuji's learned about him is that while he might have the poker face of a champion, his eyes always give him away. Yuuji thinks that maybe the same desire is present in his own gaze, because Fushiguro's eyes quickly dart down and back up, his bottom lip catching between his teeth briefly.
Yuuji's basically vibrating as he slowly inclines his head to the side, forcing his own self restraint even as Fushiguro's grip tightens on his arm. His eyes fall shut and his mind is lost to the ramblings of a touch starved teenager: Oh my god it's happening. It's actually happening.
His brain starts to short circuit when he feels Fushiguro's soft breaths mix with his own. Time is moving so slowly it feels almost painful, like his brain is trying to preserve what might possibly be the best moment of his entire life.
Or what might have been the best moment of his entire life, because the sound of the kitchen door kicking open has both of their eyes shooting open and practically leaping away from one another. Yuuji hits his knee against the leg of the metal table, causing the racks of cookie and both coffee cups to shift on the table. He lets out an undignified yelp to his shock and horror.
Yuuji's afraid to look over as he recovers himself, knowing that his face is beet red and Fushiguro's probably isn't much better. He can only hope and pray it wasn't Sukuna who walked through the door, but the lack of maniacal laugher tells him they're most likely in the clear.
He's still slightly bent over with a hand on his knee as he looks up, still embarrassed to see Tsumiki but happier to see her than his uncle—or Kugisaki. A quick look over at Fushiguro confirms his earlier thoughts, Fushiguro's cheeks shining a pretty pink under the fluorescent lights.
Tsumiki looks like she wants to say something, but instead opts to smile and look between them innocently, "You ready to go Megs?"
Fushiguro pushes out a quick cough and straightens his posture, hands smoothing over the front of his coat while nodding. "Yeah—yeah."
She nods and leans over to grab the coffee cup with her name on it, "Well c'mon then!" She shoots a glance over at Yuuji, giving him a small wink, "And thanks again Yuuji!" she calls out before leaving the kitchen.
Yuuji looks over to Fushiguro, who is giving him a slightly sheepish and apologetic look. Yuuji just shakes his head and motions to the coffee between them, giving him a small smile.
His voice is slightly hoarse when as speaks, tilting his head toward the cookies, "I'll box them up and leave them at the front desk for you."
Fushiguro nods as he walks over to grab his coffee. He turns and looks at the kitchen door quickly before spinning back to him. Yuuji can see the slight moment of hesitation on his face—the brief scrunch to his nose and brow—but barely processes it before Fushiguro is leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
"Thank you Itadori," he whispers as he pulls back, a small smile of his own decorating his face as he walks out. Yuuji is left speechless, standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen and staring at the space that Fushiguro took up just moments before.
Okay.
He could have done without the interruption, obviously, but it's hard for him to be upset when the warmth from Fushiguro's lips is still present on his cheek. A small smile settles on his face as he starts to clean again, but when he drags the rag across the counter in front of the coffee maker he twists around quickly.
I forgot to give Tsumiki cream and sugar.