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Sugawara’s eyes hardened as he looked around the kitchen. He locked on briefly to every drawer and cabinet, reciting in his head where everything was. Top shelf in the pantry: flour, baking soda, baking powder, cocoa powder. Cabinet above the microwave: vanilla, food coloring. Next to that: mixing bowls. Fridge: butter, eggs, milk. Where’s the sugar? Do we even have- yes we have sugar, Koushi. It’s on the shelf under the flour. Idiot.
He brought his hands to face and slapped his cheeks, the smack! that accompanied echoing around the mostly empty apartment. Six hours. He had six hours before his boyfriend came home, and said boyfriend was going to dine on the best motherfucking red velvet cake he had ever laid his eyes on.
Suga was fucking determined. He was going to do this.
With one last look at the clock to confirm his time frame, a recipe for The Most Smooth, Moist, and Delicious Red Velvet Cake Ever! pulled up on his phone, and an apron reading Cutest Cook! (a gift from Tooru) tied firmly around his waist, he was ready.
Ready to make the smoothest, moistest, deliciousest cake ever for the best boyfriend ever.
Suga had no idea where he went wrong.
He figured it was somewhere between accidentally switching the words ‘baking powder’ and ‘flour’ in his mind and not realizing it until he had already put in a cup of baking powder, his disaster with eggs- he had dropped four on the floor, and had to spend almost half an hour picking shells out of the bowl after he managed to crack them into the right place, and his guesstimation with the cocoa powder.
He had lost count of how many table-spoons he had been adding. He was supposed to add three. He thinks he might have added seven. He had tried adding a bunch of milk to balance it out.
His kitchen was not a single thing short of a mess. Powdered ingredients were scattered everywhere, all over the counter and sink and floor and Suga himself, like a blanket of snow.
He shook his head, and a pile of sugar or flour or something fell gently to his feet.
Speaking of his feet, a few seconds later, while he was collecting the probably too many bowls that he had used to put in the sink, he stepped on something slimy and gross that clung to his toes.
Yoke. He had just stepped in egg yoke.
“At least I have cake in the oven,” He mumbled to himself. He prided himself on his positivity in tough situations.
He was wrong. Having that sorry excuse of a cake in the oven was not a positive thing. It was starting to smell, badly. He had preheated the oven far too high- he had managed to mess up preheating the oven- and now the soupy, lumpy mess in the oven was burning and the smell was overwhelming the entire apartment. The burning, char-like smell was clinging to his skin, all the furniture, heavy in the air.
Suga was starting to think that maybe Tooru wasn’t going to get the most smooth, most moist, most delicious red velvet cake ever.
Oikawa knew something was up the moment he unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment he shared with his boyfriend.
It was like he was punched in the face with the scent of Citrus Febreze, so much so that he had to cough into his fist a few times. The air was so horribly thick with it.
As he took another step further into their apartment, it wasn’t hard to tell why.
His adorable boyfriend stood sheepish in the middle of the kitchen, face a cute, embarrassed pink, a plate of fucking marshmellows balancing on his outstretched palms. He was wearing the apron Oikawa had bought for his a long time ago, and it was messy with stains and powders.
Suga looked so fucking sweet, blushing and offering Oikawa a plate of treats, apron messied and ahoge curled into a loop that vaguely resembled a heart.
“Uhm, happy birthday?” Sugawara grinned, almost blinding enough to make Oikawa miss the mess in the background. The mess that could be compared to a wasteland.
Oikawa grinned back, just as wide. “You tried to bake again, didn’t you?” He walked to his boyfriend, chuckling at the ceramic plate piled with store- bought marshmallows. He grabbed the heavy plate from Suga’s hands, setting it on a powder-covered counter before slipping his own hands into Suga’s back pockets.
The shorter giggled, wrapping arms around Oikawa’s neck, pulling him closer. “Maybe yes.”
He buried his nose in Suga’s starlight hair, but quickly cringed away at the smell that Suga had tried to hide with the Citrus. “I thought you promised never to touch our kitchen again.” But he was still grinning, touched that Suga would go to such lengths and try so hard for Oikawa’s birthday, knowing damn well there was no way in hell that he was going to help clean that up.
Suga smiled sheepishly again, usual tease replaced with genuinity and love. It took Oikawa’s breath away. “It’s your birthday. I wanted to try something special.”
...Maybe Oikawa would help clean up.