It was.. a nice try—a nice sentiment, an expression of love and passion for the craft, you supposed. Something that started when Katsuya overheard your comments about recent cravings, and followed that up with a gift: a homemade slice of cake. It looked perfect, neatly sliced, frosted smoothly, and absolutely something you’d expect from the man.

But… did you really have to eat this?

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was something completely wrong about this cake. Was it the smell, that still reeked of eggs and butter? Or was it the texture, looking dry yet sticky at the same time? Or maybe it was the slope you only noticed after examination, as if he’d opened the oven so many times that the cake collapsed in on itself?

You don’t think even the strongest rumor could save him now.

Katsuya, sitting at your kitchen table, waits for you to take a bite of the monstrosity that seemed to naturally secrete a rancid purple aura. His folded arms can’t hide his anxious demeanor.

“…Well? Does it look okay?” he pipes up after another moment. “I’ll admit, I don’t bake as much as I’d like to, but..”