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lunasohma · 8 months

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a twist of lemon

[ chapter list / bakery au tag ]

[ ao3 / ff.net ]

Seiji’s just a little bitter. / a bakery au

Le Petit Chaton. A charming bakery and café known for its cat-themed pastries, sweets, and breads. Enjoy drinks and light fare on the outdoor patio shaded by fruit trees.

Catering available.

Le Petit Chaton is closed today.

—

The batter for the genoise had gone irreparably flat, but that couldn't be helped.

For Matoba Seiji has an immense need to be beating something to a near-death right now, and this was the only thing he could do for that something not to be a someone. As they say: Better spilt batter than spilt blood. Probably.

To his credit, the someone in question is keeping his distance now.

“Mice?” Shuuichi had posited, barely a squeak. Fitting.

“They got into the locked front cases!”

“…Opposable thumbs?”

“Natori Shuuichi, so help me—”

Shuuichi was now quietly attending to the mess. A macabre graveyard of half-nibbled pastries and buttered crumbs that they had walked in to this morning.

Seiji had not screamed.

When Nanase comes in, she listens to more of their theories, arbitrating effectively until the discussion gets heated again. Ever quick to avoid the ensuing crossfire between them, she hightails it to the back office to deal with orders and rescheduling.

Seiji tracks Shuuichi as he half-paces half-sweeps, stopping every now and then, muttering under his breath and lost in thought. He’s always thought that Shuuichi’s thinking face was cute, but Seiji doesn't think he can take much more of this.

He is about to say something when Shuuichi passes the kitchen and pauses to peek inside.

“Hey Seiji, did you see that one of the windows is open?”

“What?” A flash of irritation. An open window is a very Shuuichi move. There’s nothing he relishes more than a night’s breeze.

‘Fresh air is good for you!’ While they're washing up for the night. Like a puppy with his head out the car window, Seiji swears. Something about growing up in the countryside.

‘Yes, yes, make sure you close them.’

How many times has he told him as such?

He stalks over to Shuuichi.

“I didn't leave it open, I—” All at once, his excuses fall silent. He quickly shuts the kitchen door.

“What are you doing? Covering up your crimes?”

“I would never.” Shuuichi flashes a grin at him, back up against the door. Guilty.

“Seiji, listen.” He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “I'll be right back. And you, uh, stay here and don’t go into the kitchen until I get back. Sound good?”

He's sparkling in earnest and the joke’s on him because Seiji has built up an immunity to those sparkles a long time ago. He feels his temper spike.

Don't go? How ridiculous. What are you saying? I’m not the one gallivanting off to who knows where in the middle of this crisis!

“So what you're saying,” Seiji lets ice creep into his voice, “is that I should stay here and not go into my kitchen while you run off to—?”

Undeterred, Shuuichi presses a kiss to his forehead. “That’s it! I promise I'll be right back.” Another kiss for good measure.

Before he can escape, Seiji grabs him by the back of the collar and hauls him back around to face him again.

“What is the meaning of this, Shuuichi?”

“Do you trust me?” The question startles him as does the earnestness Shuuichi asks it with. He answers the only way he can.

“Of course I do. But I don't see what that has to do with—”

“Thanks, Seiji.” His eyes are gentle. Tucking a piece of Seiji’s hair behind his ear, he laughs fondly.

“You've got flour on your nose.” Seiji furiously swipes at it, ducking his face, feeling his ears begin to redden.

“Promise me? I'll come right back.” And he leaves.

—

Has Seiji ever been good at promises?

He disposes of the poor, abused genoise, flips the front sign to ‘closed’, and draws the shades partway. He pesters Nanase one too many times and is chased out of the office.

Where are you, Shuuichi?

Then he remembers the croissant dough chilling in the walk-in.

Don't go in the kitchen! The voice of Seiji’s conscience has long since been replaced by the voice of Natori Shuuichi.

Has Seiji ever been good at doing what he’s told?

—

Seiji pushes his way into the kitchen and forgoes the lights for the early morning sun streaming through the (still open!) window. With a sigh, he leaves it for now. The birdsong cheers him a little. They really do like the trees.

He starts to make his way over to the walk-in. And stops.

He knows it's only Shuuichi’s paranoia that is making his rationale quail in the face of… something.

No, he means nothing.

It's just a prickle at the back of his neck. Easy enough to ignore as he retrieves his pastry.

And now, the window.

Seiji freezes. No, he can't move.

Well.

He can breathe.

He can blink.

But there is a fear that stays his voice.

Only after a small eternity, it is over.

Seiji does not run. But he does lock the door behind him.

—

“I've brought Takashi!”

Seiji looks up from rolling croissants.

“…Why have you brought Takashi?”

Takashi looks to Shuuichi expectantly. But all at once, Seiji forgets his own question.

Because in Takashi’s arms, there is an impossibly round tri-colored cat. A veritable potato on toothpicks. The cat looks awfully soft and Seiji reins himself in.

“Good morning, Seiji-san,” Takashi greets him. “You haven't met my cat yet, have you?” It looks like a maneki-neko. A thought floats through his mind—the cat deciding that it’s done with beckoning fortune and going for a stroll instead.

“This is Nyanko-sensei.” Seiji didn't know what he was expecting, but somehow it was very Takashi.

“That’s very… charming.” The cat’s eyes meet his, unblinking. He seems to appraise Seiji in a way that makes it feel like his very soul is on display. Well, that's no surprise. Cats are special like that.

He is ever charmed as Nyanko-sensei sniffs his offered hand before lowering his head to accept a pat. So… soft!

Takashi smiles. “I think he likes you.”

“You've been keeping him from me, haven't you?” Seiji glares venomously at Shuuichi. The cat gives a rumbling purr that almost sounds like a laugh.

Shuuichi holds his hands up in surrender, but he can't help his expression. He looks like a man in love. Seiji can't help but stare.

—

“Coffee!” Shuuichi makes his way over to his beloved espresso machine.

“Yes, do. It’s only fair. You dragged poor Takashi out at this ungodly hour.”

Takashi shakes his head good-naturedly.

Natsume Takashi knows how to be patient when it comes to Shuuichi. It's a patience learned early on when Shuuichi used to babysit the younger and only reinforced when Takashi grew out of that age. He's recently moved to the city for school, close enough to their place for him to be a regular dinner guest.

And he's quite the goldmine of embarrassing childhood stories starring one Natori Shuuichi, which he never hesitates to dispense over said dinners with a pleasant smile.

He can also occasionally be seen talking to thin air.

Seiji had meant to mention it to Shuuichi at some point but kept missing the timing. He still hasn't. Maybe he was being silly, but it felt private.

Seiji sets a saucer of milk and a fresh croissant down for Nyanko-sensei.

“That’s very kind of you, Seiji-san.” He's slightly embarrassed. “I spoil him too much.”

—

“So, Shuuichi told me about the—” Again, he glances at Shuuichi. “The kitchen.” He finishes hesitantly.

“Yes, what's in the kitchen?” The immediacy of his question was his misstep. He's better than that.

“You didn't, did you?” Shuuichi knows him all too well.

“He did.”

“Nanase-san!” A ghost summoned by the scent of coffee, she now disappears back into the office without another word. Typical.

Shuuichi’s attention snaps back to him.

“Seiji, I told you not to!”

“Yeah? And when has that ever worked out for you?”

The look of genuine upset and disappointment leaves Seiji feeling utterly chastised. Shuuichi shakes his head, eyes darting to Takashi briefly.

“Well, are you all right?”

Seiji carefully considers his words. “Why do you ask?”

Shuuichi sets his jaw and Seiji wants to punch him. Or kiss him. Or both.

All the while, Takashi has been watching them. He's used to their spats by now and that doesn't bother Seiji because he's not the self-conscious type. But something about the way Takashi’s looking at him right now—

All of a sudden, something round and furry lands on his back. He doesn't startle too badly and the cat hangs on well enough.

Seiji turns his head and it almost looks like a grin that Nyanko-sensei offers. He lightly touches his nose to Seiji’s forehead.

“Nyanko-sensei!” Takashi admonishes. “Oh, I'm so sorry!” He reaches over to gather him up and only then does Nyanko-sensei release his shoulder.

The cat swallows something.

“It must’ve been a fly or something.” He frets and Seiji tries to parse his sincerity.

While Takashi is as red as a beet, Seiji can't help but feel that there is something performative about the way he stands to bow his apology. Held to Takashi’s chest as he does so, Seiji swears he sees the cat wink.

Shuuichi is staring at Takashi too and he is as white as a ghost.

“Or something.” Seiji finally says.

Nyanko-sensei flicks his right ear and Seiji feels like he's getting closer.

—

“I'm just going to take a quick look around.” Nyanko-sensei patters after Takashi through the kitchen door.

Out of the two of them, Seiji would be the first to say that he's not the best at comfort. He knows Shuuichi’s favorite desserts by heart—the man isn't too much for sweets, go figure—but there's no time to whip up tarte tatin or yuzu chiffon.

“Hey. There, there.” His heart breaks a little when he feels Shuuichi shaking slightly. “I’m all right.”

“Seiji,” Shuuichi whispers into the crook of his neck.

“I’m right here.”

—

“It's spiders.”

Oh, it is most definitely not.

If there is anything that Seiji hates, it is being unaware. Unprepared and unapprised. So frustration is an understatement. They are talking around something but Seiji doesn't know where to push to get a straight answer. He doesn't want to snap at Takashi and certainly not at Shuuichi when he looks like this.

He decides.

“I don't think so.”

Takashi looks at him. Nyanko-sensei lets his eyes drift closed. He's found the perfect patch of sun to curl up in.

“Okay,” Takashi starts again. “It's like spiders.”

Seiji knows that's as good as he’s going to get, but he still feels obstinate. “What do we do about not-spiders?”

“You guys are in luck.” Takashi smiles. “Lemons.”

—

It's always hindsight. All of the lemon pastries were miraculously untouched.

Seiji sets a pot to simmer and takes the chef’s knife out of Shuuchi’s hand.

“Why don't you go help Takashi?” They've unearthed an old ladder and Seiji doesn't trust the thing as far as he can throw it, despite Takashi’s assurances.

Shuuichi looks at him helplessly.

Nyanko-sensei makes a show of marching across Shuuchi’s toes with a Cheshire grin.

“We’ll be just fine.”

“That would be good too,” Seiji agrees. Nyanko-sensei has stopped by his sage plant on the windowsill. He tears off a handful of leaves and his lips twitch up as he watches the cat pounce after one that flutters to the floor. Seiji thinks about getting some catnip.

Outside, Takashi looks at home up in the branches of a tree. Below, Shuuichi braces the ladder and Seiji watches the tension finally wash off him.

—

Takashi tucks something else into Shuuichi’s hands before he leaves. A sheaf of papers.

“If it's not enough. Or just in case,” he says quietly.

“From the start, I should've—”

“You didn't know,” he says firmly with a shake of his head. Takashi pulls Shuuichi into a hug.

Seiji looks away.

—

‘Overtime’ is Nanase’s word of the evening and she sing-songs it at them when she leaves, not before snagging a lemonade to go.

Shuuichi is up to his elbows in aromatics.

He hands Seiji another glass. “Rosemary and mint. What do you think?”

“I like it.”

“Kind of basic, though, right?”

“Well, excuse me. What do I know?”

Shuuichi tucks a sprig of rosemary behind Seiji’s ear.

“I'll add it to tomorrow’s menu.”

Then he presents Seiji with a tiny rose, crafted from a twist of lemon peel.

“You are such a show-off.” Seiji slots it into one of Shuuichi’s buttonholes.

“Only for you.”

—

Later, still—

“Maybe they're just hungry?” He still doesn't know exactly what he's talking about and he's ready to pull his hair out.

“Seiji, they're not like stray cats!”

“Then tell me what they are like!”

Shuuichi’s mouth snaps shut. Braced against the counter, knuckles white, he goes ever so still.

Seiji slowly counts to ten.

“Hey, Shuuichi,” he says, “tell me about not-spiders.”

Shuuichi is somewhere far away. “Yokai.”

Seiji knows about yokai. The storybooks he pored over with his sister at bedtime and the games they used to play. Superstitions that sent them scampering across a bridge, giggling with their eyes closed, or diving under their covers, even though all the lights were still on.

“Oh,” he says faintly.

“I can't see them like Takashi does.” He slips his glasses off. “But I can still sense things, to an extent.”

Seiji approaches Shuuichi now, and maybe he should learn to be more patient, but—

“Tell me something else.”

So he does.

—

Is the world a different place now that he knows that monsters exist?

‘They're not all monsters,’ Shuuichi said. ‘Think of Nyanko-sensei.’

‘I'm generalising, my worldview is undergoing something profound.’

Shuuichi looks more relaxed than he has all day. ‘Then I'll leave you to it.’

—

Seiji pulls the window shut. Shuuichi smooths a paper charm over it.