Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays @the-chosen-child! I’m your Secret Santa! I think I’m a couple hours late so my apologies, but I hope you enjoy this ridiculous Mimato ficlet with your holiday!
“That is way too much frosting,” Yamato said. He’d shut the cabinet and turned on his heel, a pivot of about 60 degrees. And stopped with a deadpan look on his face that was slightly offset by the streaks of flour in his hair.
Mimi glanced at him, but didn’t pause in squeezing generous gobs of frosting onto the cake. His perfect, round, moist Christmas cake. Which was currently going concave under the weight of decadent buttercream.
“Yamato-san,” she said. “Cake is all about the frosting.”
“At the rate you’re going the cake is going to wind up a bowl to hold the frosting.”
Mimi’s smile widened. “Get me those strawberries, will you?”
Yamato did. Because with Mimi, it was important to pick your battles. And the last few hours had been fraught with skirmishes enough that he was now very on his guard.
Yamato was the only reason his friends wouldn’t be served an asparagus-and-black-licorice cake this Christmas, and he hoped they appreciated his efforts on their behalf.
He held out the bowl of plump red strawberries, already washed and cored. Mimi hummed as she plucked them out one by one, rolled the broad end in buttercream, then in sprinkles, and then used it to ornament the top of the cake. As the decorating continued, more and more strawberries sank into the thick frosting like some poor animals trapped in quicksand.
“There, strawberries are done. Now, let’s see, what next?”
“It’s fine the way it is.”
“No, it’s not! It’s lacking color - panache - vivacity!” She gasped. “I know! Romanesco!”
“Why not? It’ll look just like little pine trees among a sea of fat Santas! And we can add bits of artichoke in between to be Elves!”
“Sea” was an apt word, Yamato thought, as by now the strawberries had sunk to the point that it seemed rather like they were in drowning. He shook his head. Mimi’s affinity for combining sweet and savory was an occasional stroke of genius, but more often the reason their friends arrived to the party with plastic bags in case they had to hack something up.
“We don’t have romanesco or artichoke,” was all he said.
Mimi sighed and stuck out her lower lip. Her hair was shining in spite of being covered in at least as much flour as his. She’d tied it back with a piece of ribbon from wrapping presents. Her apron was pink with a little peach-shaped monster gnawing on the corner. He felt pretty confident that the sweater she wore underneath was cashmere.
He put his hands on her hips and tucked her head under his chin.
“It’d be so perfect with artichoke and romanesco,” she pouted, gazing miserably at her frosting beast of a cake.
He had the right noncommittal response to that. “Mmm.”
“It would,” she insisted, glaring up at him, or at the floury fingerprints dotting his chin, he supposed. “I’m a genius, you know. The teacher at my baking school told me so.”
Yamato nodded, brow raised. “After your first class, she said you were so ahead of the other bakers that you shouldn’t waste your time coming back.”
“Exactly. That’s how much my sour cream and onion peppermint bark impressed her.” Mimi gave a sudden smile that was bright as an early morning sunrise off the water. “I’m going to start vlogging my experiments.”
“I’ll become famous and make a fortune off advertising revenue.”
“I’ll be a member of a penniless garage band.”
“Oh! You can be special guests on my show!”
He refrained from answering in favor of kissing her. Her lips were sugary and tasted faintly of the gingerbread cake Sora had brought (“in case of any shocking disasters that might put an untimely end to the Christmas cake”). Mimi had declared ketchup the perfect pair for gingerbread, so he tasted some of that too.
They stopped only at the sound of a spoon clanging on the countertop and looked round.
“Oops - sorry,” laughed Taichi, scratching the back of his head as he ate a frosted strawberry. The side of the cake closest to him was now leaning perilously in his direction. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Get your hands off that cake,” Yamato commanded, while Mimi rolled a hand towel into a whip.
Taichi lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence which the frosting goatee dangling from his chin cheerily betrayed. “I wouldn’t dream of touching your cake. One of the strawberries was crooked, that’s all. By the way, did you pick the Leaning Tower of Pisa for your inspiration?”
Mimi cracked the whip. The force was enough that the cake tray actually jumped, ever so slightly in the air, and gravity finally won the day, sending the cake pouring over the edge of the counter and right into Taichi’s lap.
Immediately Taichi dropped to the floor.
“Ooh, ahh, you got me, I’m dead. Tell Sora I loved her.”
With another sigh, Mimi buried her face in Yamato’s apron, heedless of the great raspberry sauce stain right where her nose was. “Now Christmas is ruined.”
“We’ll just have to make another cake.”
She gave a slow nod. Her brow suddenly cleared. “We can use my recipe for asparagus-and-black-licorice after all!”
She pranced off, pulling out new bowls and washing measuring cups. Yamato picked his way around the counter to crouch next to the cake-covered, twitching corpse of his former best friend.
“I’m going to kill you,” he whispered.
“That will be neat, seeing as I’m already dead,” Taichi replied, licking frosting off his elbow.
“I mean it, Taichi. Think. What’s gonna happen to you if all twelve of us have to eat asparagus and licorice cake and it’s your fault?”
He walked away. On the floor, Taichi went pale and quickly sat up. “Uh, Mimi! You know, since I’m the reason the cake was ruined, I think I should be responsible for getting a new one - right?”
Sora stood in the doorway. She looked as if she had a headache. “I did bring the gingerbread cake, you know.”
“I know,” Yamato said, “and I also know everyone already got so hungry waiting that they ate it.”
She groaned. Taichi and Mimi were Jedi-fighting with whisks behind the kitchen counter. “Why does this happen every year?”
“There’s no arguing with tradition,” Yamato answered, just as Mimi made the doubtful claim that Taichi had killed her father, and went to referee before someone lost a hand.
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