Flour clung to Atsushi’s hands, the counter, and—unfortunately—his face as he stirred the batter. Beside him, Akutagawa was laser-focused, carefully leveling off a cup of sugar like their lives depended on it.

“You’re really into this, huh?” he teased, watching his brows knit together in concentration.

“I simply refuse to let this become a disaster because of your incompetence.”

Atsushi huffed, then, on impulse, flicked a bit of flour at him. It landed right on his sleeve.

He went still.

Before Atsushi could react, a handful of flour hit him square in the face.