in which you’ve been baking OIKAWA TORU's innumerables sweet treats, courtesy of his fangirl club. deep down, you know there’s something odd to it. and you are not complaining.
it started out as nothing really.
you took a glance at the clock right above the huge board in front of you. you still had a good ten minutes to finish the peach tart you were currently working on before some professor asked you to leave and beg you to go home, as usual. to be fair, it was already half past six. the golden rays of sunset carefully warning you to close the curtains.
the sound of the door sliding open distracts you.
“i hope that is for me as well, chef. i love peaches”
OIKAWA TORU’s voice was something you’ve learn how to tolerate. still you drop the piping bag on the table, focus all ruined now.
at first, you accepted happily, way too much for your own good. being the business woman that you are and your obvious and very public interest in becoming a well known patisserie, the opportunity that was handed to you seemed like gold back then, when you were still a first year in seijoh.
you remember. a cute girl, cheeks red, high pitched voice, beautiful light brown hair and way taller than you asking you to please, please bake a rare dessert she couldn’t find anywhere in the neighborhood. apparently she has searched all over miyagi (an exaggeration, really) and still couldn’t get it.
so when she grabbed your hands, and promised to pay you a great amount of money for a simple pastry, you just ecstatically said yes.
“at this point, 90% of my entire revenue comes from your fangirls alone, oikawa-san” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear and a fake but kind smile on your face.
a bitter laugh comes from his lips and only then you finally lift up your face so see him there, leaning on the counter, close to your face.
“you should really consider naming your first pastry shop after me, i'm taking credit for how good you are now. if it were not for me, you wouldn’t have built up your patisserie reputation, chef”
there it was, the sneaky and mischievous comment you were waiting for. for being just acquaintances, the captain of the volleyball team always gives you the impression of wanting to take a step closer to you. and he always does.
“not you” you say, not losing composure and grabbing the piping bag again “your fan club, it is different”
as you swirl the bag on top of the tart to decorate it, he pretends fake offense.
“ouch, but really, who was and still is the one actually giving you feedback on every treat you bake” he places a hand to his chest, ‘hurt’
that gets a reaction out of you. he was right, you didn’t like when he was. it was entirely true, ever since the first dessert you placed on his hands he was constantly smiling while telling you how great it was but that it’d be greater if you added less sugar. or more cocoa. or a tad bit more of whipping cream.
you take the previously sliced and caramelized peaches and start placing them on top of your tart “talent is something that blooms, instinct is something you polish” you quote him.
“and oikawa-san, i’ve been polishing way before you entered to the picture”
carefully placing the single sized tart inside of a navy blue colored box, white ribbon sealing securely the opening, you slide the tart across the counter and onto his hands.
his hand twitches. for some reason, he doesn’t dare to take the box yet. as you carefully grab your things, shoulders less tense and your eyebags way more noticeable under the orange and yellow rays of sunlight peeking through the window, you silently smile one last time.
“this one’s from yuki, the student council member. bon appetite, captain”
you leave, graceful and distant as ever and once more oikawa watches it hit in plain sight. the door clicks shut and only then, he allows himself to unwrap the pastry and take a single bite.
the next week you find yourself leaning onto his homeroom door, unamused as always, with another dessert box as always. it’s like a routine you don’t know if you fully enjoy yet. even though it’s been more than two years.
“chef-chan!” he immediately stands up from his desk. the browned hair boy spots you quickly every time and somehow you never notice the gleam in his eyes.
you can already hear the chatter of people. some of it mean, some of it excited. but always curious.
“it’s incredible how you still hang on to that nickname, oikawa-san. my last name is just fine” your tone was monotonous, very on brand when it came to him.
he opens and closes his mouth. no, it was okay. how could you know that to his brain, even your last name held a sacredness to it? like it was divine, like it was a secret. a secret only known to those who you actually called a friend.
“but where’s the fun in that” he trips over a desk, and of course you hear iwaizumi sigh. you nod at the volleyball cocaptain acknowledging his presence. you liked him, over the years, iwaizumi hajime had been there 6 out 10 times you delivered a pastry and he always kept this distance with you, but not enough to seem brute or detached.
his other friends were there too, the pink haired one and the gloomy looking one.
“isn’t that the fourth delivery of this month, y/l/n-san?” iwaizumi asks, pitying you entirely.
you stretch your hand, box to the level of oikawa’s chest. and then unexpectedly you clap to grab the attention of everyone not so discreetly eaves dropping. fangirls, classmates and professors.
“the baking requests stop until further notice” your smile, dangerous and fake “so if you want your great king of the court to keep feasting, wait until the school’s festival is over” you looked straight into his eyes “that’s all”
but the thing is oikawa’s eyes were also demanding, an insatiable desire behind them. you couldn’t help but wonder every time why and what was he hiding behind that golden-always-charming demeanor.
watching your hair hit by a stupid breeze as you left, oikawa felt that stupid pinch in his heart again.
as the school vibe shifted, more festive and rushed days before the school festival, yours did too. and oikawa still wondered how with even darker eyebags, shaky hands, reeking of flour and yeast you still managed to enable that weird clutch on his chest that made his cheeks burn and his veins feel like fire.
he found you sitting by a window, face hidden between your hands and looking down, elbows rested on your knees. it was not intentional, he swears. he finds it amazing how the universe seemed to claim him as one of his favorites. because every time even the smallest thought of you crossed his mind, god or whatever people believed in, put you right on his way.
it was one of the sweetest tortures to ever bear.
he just sits beside you, polite, charming. you feel the need to slap him.
“i guess it’s the price i have to pay” surprisingly you start the conversation “you know, for the reputation that precedes me”
“it’s not fair you are handling everything for your class though, are they that useless?” oikawa swears the laugh you let out was close to genuine “the volleyball team can help you, you know, our booth is almost ready”
“that’s because you are setting up a karaoke machine and calling it a day”
“i play smarter, not harder” his grin even wider now. he takes the opportunity “have you played the same way your entire life?”
for once you don’t stop his attempt to take a huge step closer to you, and he feels like floating “i stick with real things, whenever anything is in its place i minimize guessing games” his chest hurts “i’m not really good at operating when i’m tossed around by fate”
the light reflects his light brown eyes. those stupid brown eyes you once saw in a dream. no, not a dream. a nightmare.
“it’s not that i care that they leave everything to me, i’ve gotten used to it now” you continue. he knows that in your first and second year, after your pastries to him became famous you owned school festivals. no, more like your classes always ended up throwing the hard work to you.
you then finish “it is just that this time i need it to be real, to taste like something”
frowning for just a moment you notice how oikawa tries, really tries to understand “taste?”
he asks holding for dear life to that small opening that you accidentally didn’t close. you are a pond and he is an ocean when it comes to feelings, he has known ever since you first handed him that stupid and exotic dessert. and he desperately wants you to drown.
the school day festival comes around and oikawa is really just wandering around, every mutter he passes by exclaiming how ‘class 3-2 is really going for the win this year’ your class, your cafe stand.
“hey captain!” he recognizes one of your friends' voice and turns towards her, glowing.
“are you almost done for the day?” he asks impressed, it was barely noon and he saw the pastry counter almost empty.
“word travels fast” you say, suddenly appearing behind him exhausted, carrying a couple of boxes he guesses are new pastries. he forgets to blink. standing there, breathtaking as ever, was you. white chef coat, hair pinned up, sweatpants and kitchen shoes. if he had a nickel every time he put his hand against his chest unintentionally while admiring you, he'd have three now.
it’s not that other times he wasn’t impressed, it just that those other hundred couple of times, he clutched imaginary pearls entirely on purpose hoping you’d notice, laugh or even roll your eyes.
you just remain stoic. like now.
“people have not stopped coming since they’ve heard she was the one baking” your friend praises you, sweet as ever. as if it’s second nature, oikawa’s arms are already taking the boxes out of you.
“on the middle level, right?”
“please” you stumble on your words. did he…?
“why on the middle level, tōru-kun?” a random girl (or probably oikawa toru’s number one annoyance) asks, failing to pretend to be casual. some people are not ashamed of being stalkers.
“to be properly conserved and long lasting, cheesecakes need to freeze at approximately 4Cº” you answer, rolling your sleeves and fully aware of the tiny groan she lets out “pastry counters normally go from 2-8Cº, the bottom shelf being the colder one”
“impressive tōru-kun” she seems to completely ignore the words came out of your mouth and not his. you just go back to the counter to carefully slice your three new creations “even so, i totally think they’d look better one on each lev-”
you grab the last chopped fruits to decorate and it is only when you are pouring the powdered sugar on top that you lift up your gaze. you feel shivers running down your spine.
“mimiko-san, for not helping at all these past weeks you sure have nice ideas. please, write them down for the next festival” oikawa spits. that soft, well rehearsed smile of oikawa tōru is nowhere to be seen. instead, a fake, annoyed one takes its place. a terrifying one. a backhanded compliment that stabs more than one of your classmates, because the shoe definitely fits for some.
the girl shuts up, considering to actually disappear. that’s the power oikawa tōru, that’s how his throne remained intact for so long.
oikawa swears the corner of your lip twitches.
“y/l/n-san” the voice startles you as your eyes now reach the door. your baking club head professor next to a very well dressed foreign gentleman.
you breathe in and then out. and only oikawa notices how your eyes darken.
he didn’t mean to hear everything, this time was for real. with currently two cans of what he knows is your favorite lychee soda, the cold on his hands travels straight to his heart when he hears your cracked voice. behind the door, outside of your homeroom, seijoh’s captain makes sure his height doesn’t betray him and hides.
“what do you mean he didn’t taste them” you ask, begging for an explanation to your club teacher, a very well known patisserie during his time.
your eye is twitching and the air is definitely not getting to your lungs. you did everything right this time. you could bet a million dollars on that and win.
“that’s not what i said, y/n-san” his voice is raspy and patient “he just thinks there is something lacking”
“if you mention one more time that bullshit that feelings can be tasted through cakes, i’ll actually scream”
oikawa’s eyes widen, this was new. your voice, not dreamy as he is used too. instead a very aggressive tone and pitch comes out. it’s raw, it’s genuine.
“is not passion that you lack, y/n. it is purpose”
that hits you like a truck, you professor carefully sits in front of your desk. the tables of your cafe still adorned, the decoration holding its breath.
“i know more than anyone no one loves baking more than you, your taste is exquisite and every soulless five start restaurant in paris would hire you in a heartbeat” the knot on your throat getting worse “but that’s the thing, it would be soulless, please as your mentor i beg of you to not go there. i have and it’s so hard to come out for air again if you do”
your nails sink in your palm. oikawa takes a peek and he notices your desperate eyes.
“then how am i supposed to go to london to esc-“ you cut yourself mid sentence, it was way too much information “i don’t have anything i want to focus on other than this, i just bake because i want to”
oikawa jumps when your teacher catches him lurking by the door window and without taking his eyes from him, your mentor just throws: “i know about one thing you have y/l/n-san”
“why don’t you think about it?”
he catches your shoulders tensing before hiding again. his heart pounding against his chest. was that intentional?
you make your way to the door and the browned eyed boy moves a couple centimeters away. cold as he ever heard you reply, you answer: “i don’t know what you are talking about”
the door slides behind you and that’s when you catch him staring. you know he listened to everything. you don’t care anymore.
but the faint blush on your cheeks that oikawa tōru didn’t notice say otherwise.
the distant and shiny building that you can see from seijoh’s rooftop catches your attention. or at least you try to make it seem like it’s more interesting than it actually is when you hear oikawa’s footsteps behind you.
you know it’s him, not even turning around to confirm it. you chuckle bitterly.
you remember the first time you saw oikawa toru. with the cherry blossoms falling around your school yard, the air seemed lighter than ever. walking to the infamous aoba johsai’s volleyball team, home of the captain you couldn’t seem to escape, your hands right in front of your chest handling a pastry box.
rumor said that the desserts you crafted made up for the sweetness that you lacked in personality. it only took the rest of the students about a week and a half to figure that out. as you were getting close to the gym doors, that masquerade you tended to wear even then and until now appeared so naturally. you introduced yourself, he did too.
for not being sweet, you were not entirely apathetic or serious. you just never got too close. never got really interested in anything that was not baking.
and so why, the moment oikawa toru took a bite of that rare pastry you were commissioned to make, why did you catch yourself not being able to breathe?
you’ve heard about his looks, his always bright personality and his teasing ways. you were entirely sure you’ve seen even more handsome guys than him, you were sure he was not the brightest start of the sky.
“this is amazing! is there a hint of tangerine honey on it?” he laughed “i’ve never tasted anything like this before!”
your eyes widened, your heart skipped a bit. how could he possibly know your recipe secret from just one bite? how could he possibly lie to your face like that? you knew even then your pastries lacked the something everyone talked about.
why was he acting like he had the answer to your lifetime problem hanging from his hands?
and before your door, no, the walls you’ve built around yourself could crumble, you completely shut it closed.
for once he is silent. to him, it’s like he was looking at a very delicate glass statue that even his breath could torn apart. one sudden or wrong move and you’d crush into pieces. he stares, lychee sodas still on his hands.
once you feel his presence next to you, you break the silence “it only took one slice of a basque cheesecake to define the rest of my life you know?”
he doesn’t, you never talked about your life.
“i was eight and for the first time ever, there was something i actually wanted” you continue “the taste? impeccable. but the feeling that was transmitted through it? unreachable. it tasted like love, like a sweet dream. so i know what my mentor is saying is true”
you sigh, he remains silent.
“i remember my parents' faces when i finally gained the courage to ask them to pursue it. blank. not happy, not quite sad. and now, i don’t even get to prove them wrong” you sound exhausted, almost giving up.
he notices you don’t cry. he also notices that your words seem to be the last thing he’ll ever hear from you before the door completely closes. he panics.
“he is right, my chef mentor. they taste like nothing”
you don’t question what he heard, or what he saw, you don’t even ask for comfort. he gets genuinely upset. “chef, they always taste amazing”
“and what would you know about that?” you spit back, thinking it wasn’t a great idea he used that tone with you.
“i’ve been the one there” he continues, voice bitter “i know what your creations taste like. because they have been made for me-”
“as a client” you interrupt, voice raising. your words cut deeper into his chest “as a stranger”
you take a huge step aside realizing you almost broke down. you get shocked and slowly breathe in to regain your composure “every pastry i’ve made for you has never been…”
“because you never gave me the chance!” he interrupts voice strained “and honestly i’m– i’m getting– sick of that little act you go around with, doing it proudly like it didn’t feel like someone was fucking stabbing me” he laughs, choked and breathless
you don’t even realize what’s happening until he physically needs to hold to the top rail of the rooftop’s deck railing. you panic as your eyes widen.
“don’t” you beg, voice desperate.
he exhales a laugh that almost makes your walls crumble, it's dry. it’s cold “don’t?” he asks clearly offended “you are telling me ‘don’t’ when i’m out here, finding it hard to even breathe? what– huh– what is even wrong with you? oh no you are not–” he quickly grabs your hands that you, so childishly, tried to use to cover your ears “you are going to listen to me y/n”
your name, he finally called you by your name. you look at him with horror.
“i’ve been watching, all the time. you think that i just– picked some random girl to pester for the rest of my life? while you were– there, all eyes on you i’ve been just one of the ton! i can’t keep pretending my heart doesn’t call your name, i can’t keep looking at those, your eyes, and keep holding back when the only thing i’ve ever wanted was to be yours. for you to look at me the way you look at a stupid fucking cake when finished. god! even an inanimate object gets that look and not me!”
bowing a bit down due to the height difference, his hands capture yours way too close to your chest. to your heart. you wonder if he can feel it pounding.
“but more so, i’m tired of that stupid facade you put on, strangers? really? have not … have you not noticed the way i look at you? please, i know you–, i know you’ve seen … you’ve noticed right? i’m not a stranger, you know it! but you… you are so afraid of that heart inside your chest … that’s why your pastries taste like nothing! you are so afraid of getting hurt and that it’d mean that your bakery will only taste like sadness for the rest of your life that you run first! as if– as if i– as if i would ever hurt you”
he notices how your eyes widen at the mention of your pastries.
you meet his gaze, yours fogging up. and oh his eyes. those eyes. the usual gleam in them was gone, they were trembling and so scared. sometimes in your sweetest dreams you imagined they were yours.
“do you really think i'd ever do something to you?”
and maybe they were. oikawa doesn’t stop and almost reaches for your cheek to catch your tears before they go out. you don’t stop him. it’s his hand that twitches and goes back to him. the tip of his fingers were freezing.
“your tears, i see them, i see the tears of someone who is too proud to reach for a hand!” he cries “but if you don’t reach for a hand first how could i ever allow myself to give myself to you?”
and for the first time in two years, you don’t answer. because the sad true is that you don’t know.
you knew that the reason you shut yourself immediately when you met him was because you were scared that, with one single bite, oikawa seemed to be prepared to hold your heart in those delicate but precise hands of his. for life even. you were scared that maybe, for the first time ever someone had appeared in front of your eyes not to taste you, but to know you.
so you sabotaged yourself, because of it, you are aware you don't truly know the man in front of you. so you can’t trust him completely. you can not be sure he won’t leave like everyone.
you want to say something, but the words die in your throat.
as your mouth opens and closes, he finally gives up. he pulls back and looks to the ground.
aoba johsai, two years ago
right there, at the so imposing seijoh school’s gates, was the first time oikawa toru drove his hand to his chest, unwantedly. automatically even.
he swears it’s not real, that maybe iwazumi was right in lecturing him about losing sleep over volleyball plays and strategies. that the cherry blossoms and lights surrounding you were just a trick from the theater club, that the romcom music in his ears it’s just his ipod playing the romantic cheesy songs his sister downloaded in it as a prank.
eyes wide, oikawa knew people were just people. but you? it’s was like you were made of every dream he ever had in his entire life. his eyes never leave your figure, oceans apart, realistically a few meters away.
oikawa chuckles to himself loud enough to make the other freshman around him worry.
and then a couple of days later, he finds out you were the very next baking promise of miyagi. and he starts running.
“mitsuri, please” he begs, hands in prayer and following a tall brunette, one of his few actual friends in his fan club “i’ll do anything, i’ll help your club for two weeks straight! i’ll be your servant! i’ll…”
“tōru, you are embarrassing yourself!” she turns around laughing “i’m not doing such a thing! i’m gonna look like of of those desperate girls”
“well when i met you–” he cuts himself when she glares “i’ll give you the money to pay for it! you just have to… go there and make it seem like you are the one placing the order” he plays with his hands, ridiculous even.
she had never seen him like this, begging.
sighs “i just gotta ask? a rare pastry you say?”
she swears it was the first time she saw oikawa tōru smile like that.
days after, when he saw you walking towards him, searching all over the gym for him and only him (even if he was responsible for it) he knew that it was a sight he wanted to enjoy for the rest of his life.
“this is amazing! is there a hint of tangerine honey on it?” he laughed “i’ve never tasted anything like this before!”
so when he noticed your almost imperceptible jump, his fate and yours was decided .
you don’t know exactly why iwaizumi was telling you all this. you were just peacefully cleaning your mess after club hours. the powdered sugar all over the counter when the volleyball’s team ace entered alone, hoping for a conversation with you.
you froze, like all the mess you just cleaned threatened to happen again.
“he’s been silent for whole four days, y/l/n” he throws “he’s acting like he’s been told he will never play volleyball again”
“isn’t your responsibility to make sure he knows he still gets to play?” you try to joke as you wipe the sink of the station and you are glad iwaizumi always got your bitter jokes, when he chuckles. “it’s a broken heart, he’ll survive”
“i wonder how you got so good at lying to yourself” he casually says, as if you are the closest friends in all seijoh “it’s impressive actually”
“going for the jugular i see”
you grabbed your things, decided to head the hell out of the home ec kitchen. you rush, talks with the volleyball team’s co captain were dangerous.
striding next to you he seals your fate.
“i’m just saying that the moment i told you how he masterminded his way to you, for the first time since we met, your eyes glowed. you are still blushing you know?”
you instinctively placed a hand to your cheek, he was right. but how could you tell iwaizumi your head was spinning, that your heart resonated in your ears, that you stopped cleaning because you felt your hands threatened to shake if you stopped.
and then run towards the kitchen again. as if it was your last chance to fix the mess oikawa made.
over your shoulder, you yell “i hate emotionally mature volleyball players!”
iwaizumi hajime waves and snorts in response.
it’s not like he saw you everyday before he confessed his most important secret. days pass by and oikawa can’t help but blame himself for cornering you like that. the lunch bell rang a few minutes ago, and he still was with his head against his arms on his desk as almost all his homeroom left. he groans one more time before gasps make him physically look up.
finally noticing you, over there, at his homeroom door as countless times before.
you notice the stares, your rejection to oikawa’s confession probably travelled fast through the hallway chatters. his posture completely changes and he automatically stands up.
in your hands, another pastry out for delivery. but this time was different. the box is a soft pink color with a red ribbon wrapped around it.
“for being the most sought-after bachelor in this school, i was not aware a broken heart could make you act like that” you scoff, carefully passing by the desks, approaching his.
oikawa tōru knew you always intended to intimidate anyone who looked at you for more than ten seconds. this was currently bring confirmed as you ignored the obvious gazes placed upon you, as if you were the owner of the castle, you know, the one the great king oikawa ruled.
“maybe that's how funny fate is, isn't it, chef?” tōru no longer felt that pressure in his chest, maybe it was for the best if he let go of that broken facade and maybe enjoy while you still wanted to be his acquaintance “the universe decided to make me fall for the one girl i knew was going to shatter me in pieces. which makes me wonder, do you believe i was just brought to this earth as entertainment?”
he tries to joke by belittling himself. maybe it was time he got over it.
this greatly confused the volleyball captain. and the gossipy crowd outside the classroom.
it was early in the morning, even for you, who was neither a night owl nor a morning person. to oikawa, you were like the dawn and dusk of the days. perfectly balanced, always following her own steps and those of no one else.
you were like those leaves falling in autumn that refuse to remain stuck on the branches of a tree but also refuse to touch the ground. those leaves that fly away and get lost on the horizon.
you finally reached his desk and as you sit in the chair in front of it, he follows your movements and sits again.
“i don't know how to say it, but i don't think oikawa tōru was sent to this world with a purpose,” you continue carefully placing and unwrapping the pastry box in front of him, almost pretending to be uninterested in your words. “i think you were sent as a gift..”
he physically reacts to your words. eyes widen trying to meet your gaze. how could you say something like that and not even blush a bit when he felt his heart could go out of his chest in any moment?
“you are being cruel” he fights back “this is not–“
and for the first time, your eyes were not dull. they had a tiny glow on them.
were you finally opening up the door for him?
you looked at him deeply with expecting eyes, trying to convey this strange emotion, as if you were saying here, you win, this is what i feel for you.
and so when he finally took that first bite of the beautiful flan in front of him, he knew it. it was a completely different feeling.
that simple slice of flan tasted like everything you had hidden from him for years. it tasted like all the laughter you had suppressed at his stupid jokes. it tasted like all the blushes on your face that you had hidden whenever oikawa got a little too close to you. it tasted like the endless afternoons together after his training when nerves made you tremble when you caught him watching you put the fondant on the cakes. it tasted like reciprocity, it tasted like love.
then and only then, oikawa carefully grabs you by the collar and kisses you like his life depended on it.
it was gentle, it was sweet. it tasted like sugar and happiness.
as your eyes widen and the world around you reacts with gasps and squeaks you finally destroy the walls around you and kiss him back.
because in the end, you both knew that those leaves may end up on the ground or in the river, but they always fell. and oikawa tōru was the ground that y/n y/l/n always ended up falling on.
years later the bell of your bakery rings, music to your ears.
"welcome to set & sweet, what can i-" you stop as you recognize the figure that leans on the door.
"i'll never get tired of that name you know?" he jokes around, eyes playful as always.
you carefully drop the cupcake on your hands and walk towards oikawa.
downtown london was chaotic, romantic, and dramatic enough for this kind of public display.
this story has a couple of interesting facts. a couple of hidden songs, mangas and anime references. i’ll give you one telling you how this was heavily inspired by yumeiro patisserie since i first watched it in 2020. yeah, i’ve had this draft for so long. i actually have an idea for a second part of this fic, so let me know.
