Blatant Favoritism

"Wow, TouTou, this is good!" Aiura said, licking the frosting off her fork. "I could eat this all day, if it wouldn't go straight to my-"

'Don't even start.'

Akechi chuckled.

"Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoy my baking. I don't get much feedback on it, aside from my mother and Kusuo-kun, and it is mostly tailored to my tastes. But regardless, it's managed to be Kusuo-kun's favorite."

"Wait, for real?" she said, turning to face him and letting her fork drop from her hand. "Ol' Kusuo's favorite baking is that of his lov-e-ly boyfriend?"

'I don't see what the big deal is,' he projected, continuing to eat.

"I think it's super sweet how you're all like, 'I hate everything except for my Momma, TouTou and his cake!' Especially 'cause you're all tsun-tsun all the time!"

He still didn't see what the big deal was. He figured cake was cake, and if his favorite happened to be Akechi's, what did it matter? It was good and that's all there was to it.

"Well, Kusuo-kun doesn't hate everything and everyone, seeing how he still tolerates certain people and is a fan of other desserts beside my cake, but I'm still quite flattered that he enjoys it to this extent. Especially because I'm not the best baker-"

I beg to differ.

"-and strawberry cake isn't even his favorite type of cake. Perhaps it might be the sentimental aspect of it? I can't see any other reason for him to appear so enamored every time I make it. Even as I'm baking, he always insists on trying the frosting and eating a few strawberries before I've even put the cake in the oven! It's truly entertaining, and I can easily say that's my favorite part of baking," he said, picking up his own plate and placing it in the sink.

"Aww, you guys-"

'Wait, what do you mean the 'sentimental aspect' of it?'

Akechi walked out of the kitchen, seemingly laughing quietly to himself, knowing darn well that Aiura would more than happily explain it to him.

"So, what TouTou means is that, since you guys are in lovey-dovey-love-love, you might think his cake is better than it actually is. And like, that's fine! It's super cutesy-patootsie, so you don't have to worry about it," she said, giggling and continuing to eat her cake.

Well, now he had to ponder that for a second.

It definitely was as good as he made it out to be, right?

Of course it is.

Because he wouldn't be ridiculous like that.

His cake was good. It was more than good. It tasted like strawberries, as any good strawberry cake should, but it wasn't sour, and he never tasted the tartness he did when his mother attempted it on occasion. The frosting was smooth and fresh, and he could've sworn he did something special to it. There was an edge to the flavor that he could always taste, but ironically, the name of it was stuck on the tip of his tongue. Trying to figure out what it was, he supposed, was reason enough to keep eating.

And then there were these sharp, sweet ruffles he pressed into the edges of the cake with a spoon, that he drew on every cake, careful and precise, when combined with the best of frosting-

Okay, maybe he was getting a little too into it. But could you blame him, really...?

'Please don't use the phrase 'lovey-dovey-love-love,' I'd like to enjoy my slice of cake in peace,' he projected, taking another bite.