Work Text:
It was a slow day at the bakery when three obnoxious guys stepped in like they owned the place. Or at least they dressed obnoxiously, and walked obnoxiously. Haru did not like them, but he wasn't sure if he should retreat to the kitchen to leave Makoto to deal with them. If he was too friendly - which he always is - those guys might become regulars.
He did not like the prospect at all. Especially when they started talking.
"You said you'd do it!"
That was the taller of the two redheads. So loud. He stayed where he was at the far end of the pastry display, rearranging the donuts.
"What kind of dare is this?" The other redhead scowled. There was something suspicious about him, but Haru couldn't place it. He decided that one must be the worst of the lot.
"You should just do it, senpai." The third guy spoke up. He was the tallest of the three, but he hunched his shoulders like he wasn't used to occupying so much space. He reminded Haru of Makoto, though, of course, Makoto wasn't quite as irritating. "He might make you put on the maid uniform again."
"Don't give him ideas!"
The tall redhead laughed, boisterous and booming. Haru wished he could throw a pie at him. "Not bad, but trust me, this is worse. Your taste buds will never recover."
"Whatever, just give it to me."
Tall Redhead stepped forward, slapping a 1000 yen bill on the counter. "One pineapple-and-mackerel croissant, thanks!"
From the corner of his eye he saw Makoto glancing over at him, but he didn't give away a visible reaction. No way. Not for those jerks. Makoto flashed them a strained smile and put one of the croissants in a paper bag, handing it over with the change.
"Nitori, be ready to call an ambulance," Tall Redhead smirked as Other Redhead pushed the croissant out to eat it. He rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and took a bite.
Haru stiffened, and the rest of the shop seemed to wait with baited breath.
Other Redhead chewed contemplatively, blinking like he was surprised at himself. "This is... really good, actually. I want another."
Oh, no.
Other Redhead came back a few days later, alone, but not any less annoying. The shop smelled strangely of chlorine at his arrival, but that was Haru’s mind playing tricks to get him to lower his guard. He asked for another croissant and Haru's heart did a little flip he absolutely did not approve of.
"You really like those, huh," Makoto said, making small talk like the traitor he was. The redhead nodded and smiled brightly, which made him look less like an asshole. It was so inconvenient.
"The flavors work really well together. I didn't expect it!"
Makoto laughed, and it wasn't just his customer service laugh too. "It's Haru-chan's specialty, but it's an acquired taste," he added pointedly.
"Yeah, sorry about that." Redhead scratched at his nape sheepishly. "Mikoshiba's a tool." He paused, looking around the near-empty shop.
"Who's Haru-chan?"
"Our resident baker." Makoto pointed at him, like he didn't already know that Haru was eavesdropping. What a bother. Haru ignored them, but it was hard when the Redhead began to get extremely complimentary.
"Wow, so he made all of these?"
"That's right!"
"I want to bring some home for my sister. What'd you recommend?"
"Hm, the chocolate cake is my favorite..."
Twenty minutes later Redhead was finally preparing to leave, but not without an armful of baked goods he'd most likely get stares for on the sidewalk. Makoto waved at him as he headed for the door.
"Come back again, Matsuoka-san!"
Haru narrowed his eyes accusingly at Makoto. You know his name, he opened his mouth to say, but then—
"I will!" Matsuoka the redhead called out, winking at them both, but mostly at him. "See you around, Haru-chan."
Makoto had the gall to look thrilled. Haru's next batch of vanilla brownies turned out extraordinarily, as they had a habit of doing when he was in a bad mood.
"You went to Samezuka? The swimming powerhouse?"
"I got scouted for the Olympic team while I was there. I lucked out, to be honest..."
Makoto was gawking at him. "Hold on... are you Matsuoka Rin?"
"Who?"
Haru definitely did not mean to say that aloud. Now both of them were looking at him and he can’t even pretend he wasn’t snooping into their conversation. Makoto was getting visibly, increasingly embarrassed on his behalf and Matsuoka just seemed… confused at having Haru’s attention.
Confused, and something else.
Haru returned their gazes with a blank one of his own. “Have you two met before, Makoto?”
Makoto paled, suddenly aghast; Haru had to resist glancing around to see if a ghost had materialized behind him. What did I do now, he thought, as Makoto began sputtering.
“We watched the swimming events together! How can you not remember?”
Haru rolled his eyes. “I was looking at the pool.”
Makoto was shaking his head as if in agony, and since he was incapable of theatrics, it was sincere; Haru must’ve screwed up badly. “He took home three medals for Japan!” Makoto was flailing his arms around, dangerously close to knocking over a display.
“I’m terribly sorry, Matsuoka-san… Sometimes Haru’s so rude…” His tone was laced with admonishments. Haru almost felt guilty, but Matsuoka was grinning and didn’t seem bothered by it, so he didn’t.
“Ah, it’s fine; I don’t expect everyone to know who I am.” He leaned his elbows on the counter, and if Haru wasn’t mistaken he was flexing his arms. “I did do everything Tachibana said, though.”
“That explains it,” Haru said, before he could stop himself again.
“Explains what?”
Haru frowned in a way he hoped wasn’t too petulant, and went back to icing his cupcakes. He was getting tired of all Matsuoka’s pestering, Olympic medalist or not. “The chlorine.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” He looked up upon feeling Matsuoka’s stare on him. “What?”
Matsuoka was still smiling, and the confusion in his expression from earlier had transformed into full blown delight. What is wrong with this guy. “I’ve just never heard your voice before.”
A squirt of icing landed on Haru’s shoe; he was definitely squeezing the piping bag too hard.
Haru wasn’t counting the days until Matsuoka appeared in the shop again, but it had been a week since his last visit and he had to show up while Makoto was out of commission. Haru’s not worried about being alone with him anyway. He can handle it. Totally.
“Where’s Tachibana?” was the first thing Matsuoka asked when he entered, eyes darting around the room like Makoto was just hiding a behind the potted plant or something. All six feet of him.
“He’s sick.”
“Is he going be okay?”
“It’s just a cold.”
“Oh.” Matsuoka was uncharacteristically shifty, like he was worried about being alone with Haru too. Impossible. “Glad to hear it.”
“I didn’t want him to sneeze on the bread rolls,” Haru added unhelpfully. Matsuoka nodded, cheekbones lightly flushed for seemingly no reason. All his bravado had gone with Makoto, which Haru would find funny if his fingers didn’t twitch when Matsuoka gave him a bill.
They made skin contact.
“The usual,” Matsuoka said, shoving his hands back in his jacket pockets. He didn’t seem intent on saying anything more; he was just going to buy a croissant and leave. Normally Haru would be happy about that, but. They made skin contact. And he was just going to leave. How stupid.
And Haru was bored out of his mind from Makoto’s absence. “We don’t have any more croissants.”
Matsuoka looked personally offended by that. “Seriously? Did you phase them out?”
Haru paused, unused to lying blatantly through his teeth. There was a new batch cooling in the kitchen as they spoke.
“No. They’re still in the oven. You can wait twenty minutes if you want.”
“They take that long?” This was spinning wildly out of Haru’s control. He kept his gaze level, because his eyes always gave him away.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll wait, then. You… got something I can read?” Matsuoka laughed and scratched his nape, awkward in a manner Haru had never seen on him.
“No.” He was met with silence. What a dumb idea; what was he even thinking? Haru was about to come up with something inane to put them out of their misery (the croissants will be done in an hour so there’s no point in sticking around, the kitchen’s gone up in flames and he should call the fire department) but Matsuoka beat him to it.
“You like swimming?”
“I like being in the water.”
“Do you compete?”
“In middle school.” Matsuoka became oddly crestfallen, so Haru clarified. “Our high school had a swim club. We had to win tournaments to increase the budget.”
“So did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Win anything.”
What a useless question. “Sure.”
“You must be fast, huh.” There was a gleam in Matsuoka’s eye that should have been terrifying, but Haru found himself intrigued instead. “Wanna race?”
Haru snorted. “I can’t be faster than someone who went to the Olympics.”
“I’ll go easy on you.”
“Excuse me sir, I have to check on the croissants.”
In retrospect, Haru shouldn’t have turned him down so bluntly, because it made Matsuoka desperate enough to use his trump card.
“We have a really big pool?”
Makoto was tickled by the news – that was the only word for how much and how long he laughed. For a saint, he could be so profoundly evil.
“I hope you forget to breathe,” Haru muttered, mincing onions in a way that could only be described as violent. (He didn’t mean it, or he wouldn’t in about five minutes.)
“I left you alone for a day, Haru,” Makoto was still giggling, wiping onion and laughter-induced tears from his eyes. “And you set up a date.”
“It’s not a date.”
Someone rang the service bell outside, which spared him from Makoto’s response. It was a small comfort, since the teasing lasted the entire day with their mutual friends joining in.
“Sounds like a date to me, Haru-chan!” A fuzzy smart phone version of Nagisa exclaimed, squeezing time for gossip in his loaded actor schedule. “I can’t believe you scored with Matsuoka Rin!”
“You may not have ‘scored’ as of yet, but you are undoubtedly attracted.” Rei pushed his glasses up and somehow managed to say all of it with a straight face. Why his break from medical university had to coincide with Nagisa’s phone call, Haru would never know.
“Is that right.”
“Your pupils dilated whenever you mentioned his name… just now, when Nagisa-kun did, Haruka-senpai.”
“I told you so,” Makoto said cheerfully. “Want me to throw in some macarons, Rei?”
“Yes, thank you!”
“I’m not attracted.”
“I don’t blame you, Haru-chan, he’s pretty cute.” Nagisa’s tinny, muffled voice piped up as Makoto picked out pastries for Rei. “I bet he’s cooler in person.”
“He’s not that cool.”
“But you admit he’s cute!”
“…goodbye, Nagisa.”
He honestly didn’t think Matsuoka would come back after that, but there he was three days later, shuffling into the shop with his snapback lowered over his face as if that could disguise his build or his hair. He sidled up to the counter and Makoto smiled at him, pleasant as ever.
“Good afternoon, Matsuoka-san.”
His face took on several emotions in the span of two seconds: shock and embarrassment before settling on anger. He was a one-man comedy act. “He told you!”
Makoto maintained impressive neutrality, though Haru could tell he was biting his inner cheek to avoid laughing. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You told him, didn’t you?” Matsuoka all but yelled at him, perhaps keeping his voice down only for the sake of the elderly couple by the window table. Haru shrugged in the middle of crafting sugar flowers.
“Makoto asked how it went. I was honest.”
“I didn’t really lose, you know!” Matsuoka had turned back to Makoto, voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “He just threw me off, okay.” Then, having obviously come up with a new defense, “You guys hustled me. I didn’t think he’d be that fast!”
“You never asked, Matsuoka-san.”
“Why are you on his side?”
“I’ve known Haru since we were children.”
“That doesn’t make it right! Oi, Haru-chan.”
“Drop the –chan.”
“Make me.”
“How would you like it if I called you RinRin?” Makoto was valiantly fighting a smile at the exchange, and Haru was too. Matsuoka blushed at the nickname for a magnificent, fleeting moment, before baring his teeth in a grin.
“Don’t. I wouldn’t mind just ‘Rin,’ though.” When Haru and Makoto exchanged glances at that, he became flustered again. Haru wasn’t ashamed to admit he wouldn’t mind spending all day counting how many expressions Rin could fit in a twenty-four hours. (Because it was amusing, of course.)
“That goes for you too, Tachi—eh, Makoto.” Nice save.
“On a first name basis with an Olympic swimmer,” Makoto mused, humoring him. “Ren and Ran will be impressed.”
Rin beamed, unabashed. “Do you think they want my autograph?”
Haru shook his head and went into the kitchen to put his flowers in the fridge, busying himself with actual baking for a while. When he went to put a fresh batch of cream puffs on display Rin was still chatting with Makoto, though when he saw Haru he quickly made himself scarce, waving and snatching his purchase off the counter.
“You’re getting chummy,” Haru said, offhand, once Rin was safely out the door. “I never figured you for a social climber, Makoto.”
“And you’re jealous,” Makoto countered without missing a beat. “Don’t worry; we spent the whole time talking about you.”
I’m not jealous was on the tip of his tongue in all its overly defensive glory, as was I’m not worried, which would only betray his concern. So he didn’t say anything at all and Makoto ended up shooing him back to the kitchen to work on the sourdough.
“I want a rematch.”
“No,” Haru replied instantly, with an ease that surprised both of them. Rin frowned, following him from one cheesecake rack to another.
“Why not?”
Haru didn’t really have an answer to that. The pool was as huge and sparkling as Rin had promised, and racing Rin ignited a spark in his bones that spread to the rest of his body, a lingering warmth that still left a flush on his skin when he thought too hard about it. It wasn’t something he’d felt swimming in tournaments, or something he could explain. There’s no real reason for his refusal.
“Because I said so.”
“You’re being difficult. Makoto, help me,” Rin called out, but Makoto was occupied with an actual customer and Haru had to fend off Rin by himself for a few good minutes. When he finally joined them he put his hands on his hips, mock-scolding.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“You said he’d race me again if I asked!”
“He will,” Makoto said, looking straight at Haru. “Eventually.”
Haru wished that Makoto’s reading of him would be wrong, for once, but it’s not in this instance.
“When is that going to be?”
“Never,” Haru snapped, far colder than he actually meant. “I won by beginner’s luck. I don’t stand a chance against an actual Olympic swimmer.” He’s not usually so dishonest, but it’s not every day that he meets someone like Rin—
—who remained undeterred, despite Haru’s best efforts. “It wasn’t luck. It was talent,” Rin said, his breath catching on the word. “Trust me, I’ve been around it long enough to tell the difference.”
The mood was suddenly too heavy for Haru’s liking, and Makoto could tell too, based on the panic setting into his gentle eyes whenever genuine conflict arose. He seemed to be at a loss, so it was up to Haru.
“If I give you a free croissant, would you go away?”
Both of them stared at him, then Rin laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that could lighten the air in any room. “I might, but I’d be back tomorrow.”
Makoto sighed in relief, detectable only in the slight lift of his broad shoulders, and the twinkle was back in his eye.
“You’re getting a free croissant anyway, Rin, for being a loyal customer.”
“Don’t spoil him,” Haru said as Makoto beckoned Rin to the counter; but no, he didn’t actually mean that.
True to his word, Rin was back the next day. And the next. He was in the shop no less than three times a week, or whenever his training schedule allowed.
(“Should you be visiting so often?” Makoto had asked once, showing weird signs of distress towards the state of Rin’s fitness regimen.
“I jog here,” Rin had replied, which was ridiculous, because Haru had never even seen him sweat. “And I tell them I’m carb-loading.”)
Sometimes he bothered to repeat his question, though mostly he was content with loitering near Makoto or watching Haru from the table with the best view of the kitchen. The constant loom of celebrity attracted people other than their crowd of regulars, but he typically appeared in the dead period before rush hour, which meant his strong, immovable presence was a legitimate hindrance to Haru’s concentration.
That was the safest way to put it.
"Makoto."
"Hm?"
"Tell him to leave."
"Who?"
Haru virtually stomped his foot, gesturing towards the annoyance. Makoto followed his finger–even if he didn’t need to—and promptly snorted. Being around Rin was making both of them a tad more dramatic.
"Tell him yourself, Haru-chan."
"He's distracting me." He tried not letting his voice trail into a whine, but it was a challenge. "I won't get any work done."
Makoto grinned at him sunnily. "That's all right. Besides, we have enough stock for today. You can take the rest of the afternoon off.”
Haru’s eyes narrowed. Don’t say it, don’t you say it.
“Maybe at some kind of pool?”
In his peripheral vision, Rin gave Makoto a thumbs-up.
And just like that, it stopped. Haru couldn’t help himself from glancing at the door every so often for a glimpse of red hair.
“It’s only been two weeks,” Makoto finally said on day fifteen, though it’s a given that he must have noticed it way earlier.
Haru nodded, the chunk of dough on the table suddenly taking all of his interest. (That’s half a month.)
“He did mention that he was going to be busy with a new program. I’m sure he’ll be back when he gets a craving for your croissants.”
Haru nodded again. Makoto started doing his nervous chuckle, strolling into the kitchen and placing his hand on top of Haru’s.
“You’ve been kneading this for too long. Look at it.”
Haru looked down. “I’ll make a new one.”
Makoto tugged at his shirt before he could move away, holding him by the shoulders. His voice was even now, clear and resolute. “You didn’t want to race him again because you were afraid he’d stop dropping by if he wins.”
Haru’s knuckles were throbbing a little bit, most likely from all that kneading. He should get some ice later.
“But you think you waited too long and he gave up.”
If he rubbed them maybe they wouldn’t ache so much…
“Haruka.”
“I’m listening.” I wish I wasn’t.
“I don’t think he’d quit so easily. Do you?” There was no uncertainty in Makoto’s eyes at all. Haru was envious of that.
“I don’t know him.”
Makoto reached out and flicked flour off his cheek. “You know enough.” He cocked his head. “You should probably throw him a bone though.”
It was too late to deny it, any of it. He nodded—not just to get Makoto off his back—and lifted his hand. “I need ice.”
“I’m on it.”
Another week passed, and Rin didn’t come by. One of his friends did though.
(Haru wasn’t tearing his hair out or anything.)
It was the tallest of the group he’d first come in with, sweet-faced with fine silver hair and a beauty mark under one eye. Granted, Haru was a lot more forgiving than he was in their initial encounter.
“Good morning. Do you still have those… pineapple-and-mackerel croissants?”
“We do. Please wait a moment.”
Makoto managed to finish serving him before speaking again, which was why he was manning the register while Haru was banished to the kitchen. “You’re Rin’s friend, aren’t you?”
Silver Hair’s eyes widened, possibly from the use of Rin’s first name. “Personal assistant. Senpai sent me here because said he missed these,” he motioned to the paper bag, “but he hasn’t had time off to buy them himself.”
Makoto would have winked at Haru had they been facing each other. “Tell him we’re looking forward to seeing him again. He was good for business.”
Silver Hair’s brow furrowed, unable to discern whether Makoto was serious until Makoto helped him out and gave a short laugh. He smiled brightly in turn, as if glad his precious senpai wasn’t being insulted after all.
“Ah, yes, I’ll tell him!”
“Tell him I’ll race him when he does.” Silver Hair startled visibly when Haru appeared beside Makoto without warning, clutching the bag tighter.
“Race you?”
“He’ll know what I mean.”
Silver Hair blinked and pursed his lips, and it took Makoto’s people skills to convince him Haru wasn’t playing a trick.
“Rin will be pleased to hear it, Nitori-san,” he said pleasantly. “Take some of these muffins with you too; he’ll like them because they aren’t too sweet. Off you go.”
After he’d been sufficiently ushered out the door, bewildered but not unhappy, Haru raised an eyebrow.
“Ah, Rin mentioned him while we were talking. I just remembered his name.”
Classic Makoto. “Stop doing that.”
“I’m proud of you, Haru.”
Haru grimaced and headed for the kitchen without another word.
He was mopping idly, gaze on the floor, when someone walked wearing familiar blue and yellow running shoes. He could recognize Rin’s shoes. He needed help.
“We’re closing,” he said without looking up. He didn’t need to, to know that it made a smirk tug at the corner of Rin’s mouth.
“It’s nice to see you too.”
Haru didn’t respond until he finished everything he had to do, including locking the register and stacking chairs. He gave Rin a questioning sideways glance as he untied his apron.
Rin shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “I came to pick you up, for our rematch. Where’s Makoto?”
“Spending time with his sister. I told him to go ahead.”
“Looks like you actually had to do work for once.”
He narrowed his eyes at that, which made Rin hold up his hands and add pacifying laughter. “You ready to go?”
Haru folded the apron and put it on the counter, nodding once. “You didn’t have to come.” It probably sounded snide, but he can’t worry about his tone all the time. “I already know the way to your facility.”
Rin bristled, fighting the color from his cheeks. “Yeah, well…” He took in Haru’s appearance, his empty hands as they headed for the door. “Where’s your stuff.”
Haru locked up the shop before he replied. “I’m wearing my jammers.”
“Are you kidding?” Then Rin paused, realizing what he’d just said. “Oh yeah. You never kid.”
“You’re wearing yours too,” Haru pointed out innocently. It was a gamble, but it paid off when Rin’s face went into full bloom.
“Shut up! I… have an excuse.”
“And that would be?”
“I’m a professional athlete! What’s yours?”
Haru shrugged, mirroring him from earlier; he stayed quiet and let Rin come to his own conclusions, which would lead to even more embarrassment and his skin achieving a different shade of red.
“You’re excited to race me,” Rin voiced eventually, with equal parts delight and disbelief. Then he huffed, looking away and kicking at an imaginary pebble on the ground.
(Haru was right.)
Rin was at the bakery the next day, earlier than even their breakfast regulars. He had his hair pulled back into a ponytail, flushed and panting like the first thing he thought to do after waking up was to run here.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” He all but yelled at Makoto, who graced him with a mystified smile.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rin.”
“You didn’t tell him?” He shouted in Haru’s direction this time, hands slapping on the counter. “You told him when you beat me in a race, but you didn’t tell him we kissed?”
Time stopped still for one solitary heartbeat. Everyone in the room was staring at him and Rin, which, thankfully, was only comprised of Makoto and an old lady who was shaking her head disapprovingly. If she was referring to Rin’s loudness, the kiss, or the fact that Haru didn’t share the information, Haru wasn’t inclined to know.
Makoto cleared his throat, breaking the tentative silence. “You guys, uh, kissed?”
“He kissed me,” Haru offered, deadpan.
“And you ran away!”
Rin looked so affronted that Makoto instinctively took his side. “Why did you run away, Haru?” To their credit, they waited for an answer for a good ten seconds, but when it didn’t come Makoto turned back to Rin.
“And why did you kiss him?”
Haru could’ve fried an egg with the heat on Rin’s face. “I… it was an adrenaline rush! I was really happy about beating him, so I…”
“…do you kiss everyone you beat…?” Makoto was starting to snicker, and so was the old lady. Angels, the two of them.
“No! It was just… he ran away before I could explain! He almost left his pants!”
“Did you leave your pants, Haru?”
“No.”
“That’s good, at least.”
“Are you listening to me?” Rin sounded like a dying animal. Haru finally took pity on him, trying to keep the pink from his cheeks too.
“Why are you here, Rin?”
“Well, I…”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Rin had smiled so wide when they surfaced, throwing his head back in breathless laughter as if he’d been thrown off guard by his win. That was, he’d looked at Haru the way Haru knew he sometimes looked at the ocean. That was… you really didn’t hold back, did you?
Then he’d reached out across the lane divider and got a hold of Haru’s goggles, using the strap to tug him closer. I felt like I saw… you’re amaze—
He hadn’t even finished the last word, muffling the last syllable with Haru’s mouth on his. Rin’s lips had been cool, stretched into a grin, and he moved them with the gentlest hint of teeth. There had been no one else in the pool area, and Rin was kissing him like the slightest contact was enough to set their veins alight.
(It wasn’t wrong.)
The small artificial waves had stirred to the tune of his heartbeat, and both of them were loud, hammering in his ears. When Rin let go with an exhale, Haru had wasted no time in hoisting himself out of the pool, running towards the door before hesitating to get his clothes.
Haru, wait! Rin had tried to run after him, but Haru was fast when his life depended on it. He wasn’t used to feeling like his heart was an entity of its own, with its own wants and desires and all it asked for was to go back to Rin and listen to what he had to say.
That was yesterday, though, and Haru had a whole night to realize that he had been the one piloting that stupid heart of his. Who else?
“You don’t have to apologize,” he repeated, taking only minute inhales. “But don’t lie, either.
“You did mean it.”
The old lady should have left by now, judging by her empty plate, but she was pretending not to listen. Makoto was turning blue in the face for holding his breath for too long. Rin was—
—Rin was more open than Haru had ever seen him. It was a good look.
“Okay, Haru. You got me.”
It was a very good look.
“I don’t understand why we can’t just do this outside.”
“Because you’re in here. Besides, I like watching you work.”
“You’re getting in the way.” Haru shoved a tray in the oven, taking another one out seamlessly. “And you’re getting flour on you.”
Rin glanced down at his black tracksuit, now dusted with fine white powder. “It’ll come off in the wash.” He didn’t even blink. Haru was worried Rin might be getting too comfortable, especially here where only employees are supposed to be; but if he snitched on him to Makoto, the smartass would only say something like, ‘it’s your fault for licking frosting off his neck while you two were in the kitchen. How did it even get on his neck? No, I don’t want to know.’
He’d acquired this blackmail material after walking in on them; not that they’d been doing anything obscene, but Makoto and Rin had been similarly mortified while Haru was left wondering when his life began to resemble a tragicomedy. Now the kitchen was reserved only for chaste activities, like talking, or gawking in Rin’s case—and besides, as Rei would say, ‘it’s unsanitary, Haruka-senpai,’ to which Nagisa would call him a bore, and proceed to tell Haru about all the fun things you could do with strawberry icing.
“Here you go,” he said, handing Rin a croissant because he might as well eat some carbs while he was loitering. “Fresh off the pan.”
And then, the tiniest flicker of an emotion once Rin saw what it was, before he hurriedly smoothed it over with a grateful smile. “Ah, thanks.”
Haru stared at him, oven mitt falling from his hand. He ground his jaw, taking deep breaths.
“Makoto.”
He didn’t shout, but it was stern, and loud enough for Makoto to pop his head in through the door. “What is it, Haru-chan?”
“He hates it.” He jabbed a finger towards Rin and the croissant he was wolfing down. “How long have you known?”
“What do you mean, he loves…”
“How long?”
Rin and Makoto exchanged glances, confirming his suspicions. They both sighed, in sync, as Makoto scratched his cheek sheepishly.
“It was… your third visit, wasn’t it, Rin?”
Rin nodded, though he was being uncharacteristically quiet. Haru couldn’t make his voice sound accusing enough.
“You’ve been lying to me.”
“It was for a good reason!”
Haru folded his arms across his chest and Makoto slinked away, leaving Rin defenseless. Go on, he didn’t bother to say.
“I couldn’t come back if I made a rude first impression. That wouldn’t be right.”
“You don’t even like it.”
“But I liked you, Haru!” Rin said, all wide eyes and sincerity. They’ve kissed a few times, and there was certainly something in the air between them, but neither of them had put it to words. Haru never imagined Rin would do it so blatantly. “I saw you when we came in, and I wasn’t sure how many chefs there were but you were dressed like one, so I didn’t want to say anything bad about what might’ve been your cooking.”
“I thought you were different, Rin.”
Rin took both of his hands in his own, sticky as they were. “I would’ve eaten a thousand croissants to know your name.”
Was he even real. “Rin, that was…”
“Yeah?”
“That was awful. Do the magazines know you’re a closet romantic.”
Rin scowled and shoved his hands away, an action that made Haru’s chest feel strangely lighter. “Shut up! I was trying to be nice!”
“You should stick to swimming.”
“I said shut up.” So he did, leaving Rin to brood across the table as he started on a batch of éclairs. It was only after he was done piping that he spoke again, contemplative.
“We’re retiring the pineapple and mackerel.” Rin snapped his head up at that, and then bowed it again guiltily.
“I’ll still buy it,” he sulked, drawing stickmen in the flour with his pointer finger, which made Haru smile inwardly despite himself.
“It’s time for a change. Give me something new for the menu.” Something you like, Rin. The rest of his words were implied as he watched Rin’s brows knit together in thought, probably wishing he could snap his goggles to help him concentrate. Something that’ll keep you coming back.
Because I think you’re here to stay.