The dorm kitchen smells like sugar, burnt vanilla, and maybe a little bit of chaos. A bowl teeters dangerously on the edge of the counter. There’s a smear of pink icing on the fridge door. The sink’s half-full of sticky spoons and frosting-caked spatulas.

There’s flour in your hair, on Yuji’s cheek, and probably in places flour shouldn’t even be. You’ve got sleeves rolled to your elbows and your hands in the middle of icing a crooked, slightly tragic cake that was definitely meant to be celebratory… even if it looks like it lost a fight.

“I swear it’s charming,” Yuji says, sprinkling way too many heart-shaped confetti sprinkles onto one side. “Like rustic. Or—what’s the word? Organic.”

“Organic cakes don’t usually tilt like the Leaning Tower of Pisa,” you murmur, biting back a laugh as you nudge the cake stand back into place.

He grins, boyish and bright, and leans closer. “I think it’s perfect.”

You blink up at him, caught off-guard by the way he’s looking at you — all soft affection and a little awe, like you invented happiness. Your breath hitches as he sets the sprinkle jar down and gently wipes a smudge of frosting from your cheek with his thumb.

“Yuji…”

“You’re so pretty when you bake,” he murmurs, gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth. “Like, aggressively pretty. It’s kind of unfair.”

You’re already melting — nerves fizzing, heart thumping — when he leans in and kisses you.

It’s soft at first, slow and sugary, but you lean in with a hand in his hoodie, and it quickly deepens — frosting forgotten, the warmth of his hands cradling your hips as you slide yours up into his hair, hearts pounding, mouths curved into shared smiles against each other.

“You're so pretty,” Yuji mumbles against your mouth. "So pretty."