Chapter Text
As far as Miyano can tell, Sasaki reserves his complete and undivided focus for two things. One, he thinks with no small amount of glee, is himself. The other is baking.
He’d made an innocent comment one day about how baking was a cool skill to have, and had found himself in Sasaki’s kitchen just hours later for an impromptu lesson on madeleines. Truthfully, a lot of it had gone over his head, though Sasaki had managed to impress upon him the importance of making sure the butter is the proper temperature.
Miyano isn’t going to be whipping up a decadent chocolate gateau any time soon, but he doesn’t mind that after-school baking lessons have suddenly been tacked onto his schedule. He likes to watch his senior—teacher, now—in his element.
Sasaki operates with a near-clinical precision while he bakes. When measuring dry ingredients, he takes a knife to slowly skim the top of his packed spoons to level them out. The parchment paper he uses to line the bottom of his cake pans are meticulously cut into perfect circles. Sasaki’s not an especially clumsy person, but he possesses a surprising dexterity with spatulas, scales, and thermometers, and moves about the kitchen with a fluidity and efficiency that makes Miyano a bit hot under the collar.
Another curious thing, Miyano’s noticed, is that a hyper-focused Sasaki sometimes holds his breath for long stretches of time.
The first time he’d noticed it was entirely by accident. Miyano wasn’t sure what had come over him—maybe it was the heady scent of vanilla and the way Sasaki had wiped away the sheen of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand—but a sudden burst of confidence emboldened him to wrap his arms around the redhead’s waist from behind. Weird, he’d initially thought, it’s like hugging a statue. As the seconds ticked on, Miyano was struck cold with dread that Sasaki was displeased with the sudden affection while he was so clearly in the zone, but the long exhale and barrage of kisses that followed instantly put his mind at ease. That day, Miyano got to witness firsthand what happened when Sasaki’s attention was split between himself and baking, and though he’d never admit it he recalls how closely the éclairs came to burning with a smidge of satisfaction.
Sasaki has since opted for simpler recipes. On today’s menu is a strawberry shortcake.
“Ready when you are.”
At Miyano’s affirmative hum, Sasaki hands him a standard white kitchen apron.
Miyano’s not sure how he feels about wearing an apron; it taps in to his lingering insecurities about being perceived as feminine. But if the payoff is the sight of his boyfriend in his own well-loved one, hair tied up in a bandana, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and a dusting of flour across his nose? Worth it, every single time.
They fall into a steady rhythm of preparing ingredients, preheating the oven, and getting a double broiler going. Sasaki carefully removes a bowl of butter off the boiling saucepan—a bain marie, Miyano recalls—and adds a couple of tablespoons of whole milk. Miyano still knows precious little about baking, but he’s positive the way Sasaki is manually whisking the milk into the melted butter would give any electric hand mixer a run for its money.
Hot for teacher, indeed.
Miyano takes a moment to admire the veins in the other’s forearms when Sasaki calls for him.
“Miya-chan, do you mind handing me the sugar and”—he quickly glances at the recipe printout—“four eggs?”
Though their last few baking dates have been lessons in name only, Miyano is happy to assist with anything that won’t burst into flames. He finds the labeled sugar jar, and plucks out four now-room temperature eggs from the cartoon.
Sasaki’s about to break the first when he looks at Miyano suddenly.
“Would you like to do the honors?”
Miyano takes the proffered egg from Sasaki’s palm before his nerves get the better of him. He cautiously taps it against the brim of the steel mixing bowl, but his trepidation earns him only the faintest hairline crack.
“Good, just a bit more force,” Sasaki encourages.
Miyano manages it the second time and cranks the shell apart with his thumbs, pleased that the golden yolk is fully intact when it drops into the bowl.
“Look at you, Miya-chan.” He leans over to plant a quick peck on the bridge of Miyano’s nose. “You’ll be baking with the best of ‘em in no time.”
He can’t help but feel this praise is unearned, but Miyano’s heart flutters all the same. “I think I could use another demonstration, though.”
Sasaki is quick to oblige, instructing that a single firm tap against either the bowl’s rim or a flat surface would suffice. Simple in theory, but the way his fingers curl around the egg to break it, followed by both thumbs crooking inside the crack past the membrane to release the yolk, looks like choreography.
Miyano decides to give it another go. Sasaki slides him another egg, but his determination has the adverse effect of placing his reflexes on pause just before it tips off the edge of the counter. In a move so swift that it startles them both, Sasaki snatches the egg in mid-air. His breath audibly hitches as he remains in his half-crouched position, arm still outstretched.
Miyano whistles in spite of himself, impressed. “Good catch.”
Sasaki doesn’t seem to hear, because his eyes are still wide as saucers and he holds himself—and the egg—taut as a bowstring. Miyano knows that Sasaki has a habit of retaining his breath, but he’s apparently also capable of forgetting to breathe altogether.
“Everything … okay there?”
Sasaki seems to snap out of his egg-induced trance and heaves an expansive sigh. “All good here.”
“The way you reacted, it was like all of your hopes and dreams were in that egg.”
Sasaki’s good-natured laugh reaches his ears, and before Miyano can feign indignation his senior moves to stand before him. Warm hands settle upon Miyano’s shoulders and slowly slide down his arms, pinning him against the counter by the wrists.
“Nah,” Sasaki finally replies once his giggles had subsided, resting his chin atop a mop of tousled dark hair as he loosely wraps his arms around his captive. “It’s just an egg, love.”
Horrifically weak to Sasaki’s pet names, Miyano burrows a little further into the hug.
There is no earthly force, Sasaki thinks, capable of suppressing the smile breaking across his face. How could it, when he can’t imagine a greater bliss—wrapped in Miyano’s tender embrace, the promise of delicious baked goods in the oven, the prospect of getting to experience exactly this countless times in the future. He traces the apron knot at the small of Miyano’s back with his fingers, reveling in the moment before he decides to press his luck.
“Hey, hopes and dreams, wanna help me wash some of these strawberries?”
Miyano fights the urge to slide to the floor. “Seriously?” he groans into his aproned chest.
Sasaki always has time to tease his beloved, but his focus has shifted right back into place. “Yeah? They’re not gonna slice themselves, you know.”