notes: this is a sequel to my last souma/akira fic "slow spiral," which i've had sitting on my laptop for a while but was hesitant about posting. then akira's birthday was coming and i thought, "well, maybe i'll post this to celebrate that," and then I MISSED THE DAY IT HAPPENED. shame on me. anyway, this is for anyone who's dying for souma/akira content like i am. thanks for reading my last fic, if you did!
i want to make a special shoutout to the guest that left a really long and thoughtful comment on "slow spiral," i wish i could have messaged you back somehow to tell you exactly how much i appreciated your words and how kind and sweet they were! so if you're reading this, please know that your comment made my entire day and sincerest THANK YOU for taking the time to write that, i'm still blown away :') if you'd ever like to talk more, you can message me on my tumblr towine any time!
anyway! please enjoy, and thanks for reading!
When Akira asked to meet next to the Molecular Gastronomy building between third and fourth period, Souma hadn't thought much of it. He certainly wasn't going to refuse; Akira never asks for anything unless absolutely necessary, despite Souma's insistence that asking each other for things is something that boyfriends do. And as his boyfriend, no matter how new and strange it is navigating this recently blossomed relationship, Akira can definitely ask him for things, no matter how small. Whenever he says so, Akira turns an appealing shade of deep red and turns away from Souma's grinning face, and it's all so cute that it only makes Souma want to remind him again and again and—wait, where exactly was he going with this again?
Ah, yes. If Akira asked to meet him, then it is surely for something very important.
Oh no, Souma thinks, leaning against the brick wall of the building and watching other students hurry to their next class. What if something terrible has happened? What if the Shiomi Seminar has been terminated again? What if he called him here to break up?
Panic sets Souma pacing back and forth in the small courtyard. Other students glance curiously at him and whisper as they pass by.
So deeply concentrated on his pacing is he that he fails to notice footsteps approaching, and he nearly collides face first into a tall, solid, and very familiar body before a pair of equally familiar hands catch him by the shoulders.
"Yukihira," Akira says, a single fine eyebrow raised. "What are you doing?"
"Are you breaking up with me?" Souma blurts.
Akira's eyes widen. "What?"
"If this is because I used the last of the saffron on my jam and squid recipe the other day, I'm sorry it turned out terribly, I really thought I was onto something—"
"Yukihira, I'm not breaking up with you," Akira says.
Souma's jaw, still open to continue apologizing for the "saffron incident," as he has labeled it in his head, snaps shut. "Oh."
The corners of Akira's mouth tilt in the slightest of smiles. "I already told you I forgive you for that, anyway."
Souma has an overactive imagination, Megumi has told him before. But still.
"Well, why else would you call me here?" he says.
Akira steps forward, and though he is only a handful of centimeters taller than Souma, it suddenly feels like miles as he crowds him up against the brick wall. Souma's pulse rockets, his breath halting in his throat. Akira's eyes are shadowed beneath the fall of his hair, and Souma looks deep into his green irises before his eyes slide shut, just as Akira's hand skitters feather-light over the line of Souma's jaw, holding him there as he presses their mouths together.
It's a kiss that has Souma's toes curling in his shoes as he pushes forward to get Akira that much closer. In the back of his mind, he hopes the courtyard has cleared out, but his worries quickly disappear with the heat of Akira's mouth, the brush of teeth at the corner of his bottom lip.
Akira pulls away, far too soon for Souma's taste.
"That's all I wanted," Akira says, his voice a little rough and breathless.
"Oh," Souma says intelligently. "Okay. Cool."
Akira's hand is still cradling Souma's jaw, and Souma's hand has somehow tangled itself in the loose hair beneath Akira's ponytail at the nape of his neck. The last thing he wants to do is pull away, but he can feel the seconds ticking by until the start of his next class.
"We should go," Akira says.
They separate. Souma finally gets a look around and sends a silent thank you to whatever god above made sure they didn't have an audience.
Just as they're about to turn their separate ways, Akira's hand touches Souma's wrist.
"I'll see you later?" Akira asks, and anyone else might have missed the faint undertone of hopefulness in his voice. Hayama Akira is the opposite of hesitance and uncertainty, but this is still new for him. Souma smiles.
"I'll cook you dinner," he promises. Akira smiles back.
It's not that they go to great lengths to hide it or anything. Both of them just prefer their privacy when they've been targets for the spotlight so often before. The idea that Yukihira Souma actually wants to avoid drawing attention to himself would probably be laughed at by most of the other students at Tootsuki, but in actuality the last thing he wants is to be plagued by gossip about their relationship when it really isn't anyone else's business.
That being said, the first person to find out was Kurokiba.
Remembering it still sends embarrassment hot through Souma's face, and they really were to blame for not having just a little more discretion. But Kurokiba texted them, I'm ten minutes away, and they thought that was time enough to sneak a quick kiss—or two, or ten—before he arrived at the Shiomi Seminar. It wasn't their fault Kurokiba walks faster than he estimates. And that Shiomi never locks any doors.
Kurokiba still knocks and waits a solid minute before entering a room with them in it. He's only displayed such politeness around Nakiri Alice, and it just makes everything all the more mortifying.
"Pardon the intrusion," Kurokiba intones as he enters through the front door, during another lunch period spent at the research lab. He holds a bundle wrapped in cloth in his hands, and when he unties it, he reveals a neat stack of bento boxes.
"Lunch!" Souma cheers as Kurokiba distributes them. Akira nods in gratitude when he receives his.
Kurokiba is enrolled in an advanced bento class this semester and has been bringing them his creations for the past week. Souma would make a quip about Kurokiba's househusband potential, but he always finds his mouth too full of delicately prepared seafood and perfectly steamed vegetables to draw out Kurokiba's ire. He's not taking free lunch for granted.
"You know," Souma says to Kurokiba after Akira steps out of the room to fetch iced tea, "you don't have to keep waiting so long outside the door before you come in."
Kurokiba gives him a flat look as he pulls his chopsticks out of their case.
"It doesn't matter," he says in his usual monotone. "You guys are always giving each other lovesick puppy eyes even when I'm next to you."
Souma sputters, "We don't—I am not lovesick."
"Sure you aren't." Kurokiba ignores him in favor of opening his bento.
Akira returns to the room with a tray of iced tea, oblivious to Souma's indignant glares at Kurokiba.
"Here," Akira says, touching a cold glass to Souma's hand.
"Thank you," Souma says, turning to him and taking it. Their fingers touch and stay, just a half second longer than necessary, and Akira gives him a small smile. As cheesy as it is, Souma feels his heart skip a beat.
"I told you," Kurokiba says.
The moment is broken. Souma scowls while Akira raises an eyebrow.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," Souma insists. "Let's eat."
Kurokiba starts describing his thought process for the bento, the kind of vegetables he debated using considering both their color and taste, and Souma mostly half listens as he lifts the lid. When the contents are revealed he finds, to his surprise, a pickled plum placed squarely in the center of his rice which, though not strange in itself, is made much more striking by the careful shaping of the plum into a heart.
Kurokiba's umeboshi is not shaped like a heart, Souma sees. When he glances over at Akira's, however, he finds his plum to be also heart-shaped.
"Oh," Akira says when he sees it.
Souma looks at Kurokiba for an explanation, some kind of wisecrack about them being sappy again, but Kurokiba just shrugs at him before continuing on talking about his dish.
Souma doesn't really know what to say about it or how to react, but he feels oddly warm inside. It is such a small thing, a pickled plum, but knowing Kurokiba did this specially for them feels kind of nice.
Together, they eat lunch, and Souma thinks it's the best Kurokiba's made yet.
Their first real date—cooking together is a common date idea according to the internet, but cooking's already a given at this school so Souma thinks it doesn't count—is outside of Tootsuki's campus. They take a train to one of Tokyo's neighborhoods where the nightlife has visitors flocking to brightly lit restaurant signs and bustling bars, and they walk past all of it towards the small music venue where Souma bought two tickets to see a local band he just started listening to and that Akira approved of after he showed him some of their music.
It all takes place in a cramped room with a tiny bar at the back where the bartender takes one look at them and asks if they want water or soda. Souma strides away from it with his pride wounded while Akira just laughs.
Though he did buy water, because hydration is important.
"Someone once told me I look mature for my age," Souma says, speaking loudly over the din of the crowd as they wait for the opening band to finish setting up onstage.
"Who said that?" Akira says skeptically, taking a drink from his water bottle.
"Are you saying you don't believe me?"
Akira hides the curve of his smile behind the bottle.
Souma pouts. "Not all of us have a mature, elegant bone structure like you, okay? I got to live with these for a little longer." He pinches the fat of one of his cheeks.
"You think my bone structure is elegant?" Akira asks.
Souma, flustered, quickly changes the topic. "Uh… Anyway! Is that glitter on your face?"
He didn't notice it until now, the faint shimmer at the curves of Akira's cheekbones. It's subtle and imperceptible at other angles, but standing so closely beside him now, he can see the way the light hits Akira's face and makes him shine.
All together with Akira's tight jeans and loose black shirt whose collar hangs beneath the enticing jut of his collarbones, Souma feels his throat dry.
"Er, yes," Akira admits, turning his face away from Souma's staring. "Is it… bad?"
"No! No, of course not." Souma loops his finger around Akira's, giving it a squeeze. "It looks nice. I like it."
Akira smiles, and Souma wants very badly to kiss him.
But he waits. He waits as the opening band starts and finishes with a clamor of drums and guitars, he waits when the main act starts and the crowd erupts into cheers. He waits through their entire set, pressed up against Akira as the crowd pushes forward in their eagerness to get closer. Through the band's goodbyes and thanks for coming to see them, and through the wave of people spilling out of the stuffy room and into the fresh night air, stars and neon lights illuminating the darkness. He even waits through the train ride home as they listen to the songs they just heard live on Souma's phone with a shared set of earphones.
Then they finally, finally reach Souma's room at Polar Star. At this hour, the hallways are empty and no one is there to see Souma scramble for the key, the heat of Akira behind him making his hands fumble around the burnished brass.
They don't get far inside before Souma whips around, grabs Akira's collar, and pulls him in for a kiss.
"Oh my god," Souma gasps when their mouths part. "I've wanted to do that for hours."
"Me too," Akira murmurs, two simple words that make Souma warm all over.
He drags one palm up Souma's back, hot as a brand, hiking the shirt up with it. Souma feels like he's dreaming. Looking at Akira in criminally tight pants and a shirt so loose it's almost hanging off one shoulder, and a fine dusting of glitter on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose—it's like he's fallen into a wet dream.
Then Akira kisses him again, and it's really unfair that he's gotten so good at this in the short span of time they've been dating. But Souma just closes his eyes and melts into it, melts, melts, melts.
He doesn't notice they've been moving towards the bed until the back of his knees bump into the mattress, and when he falls onto it Akira follows. He realizes with a jolt that the wet dream is quickly becoming real. Akira holds himself over Souma, one arm braced against the mattress and the other bent so he can rub a thumb against Souma's cheek.
"Sorry," he says. "I got glitter on you."
When he pulls his thumb away, sure enough Souma sees tiny fractals of glitter on it.
"I'm sure it doesn't look as nice on me as it does on you," Souma says with a grin.
Akira tilts his head contemplatively, then rubs at Souma's cheek again, staining it further with glitter.
"Hm. I don't know about that." He leans in, breath blowing over the shell of Souma's ear, making him shiver. "I think it looks pretty good."
Souma hunches his shoulders, feeling himself blush. "Since when were you such a smooth talker?" he mutters.
Akira laughs lightly. "I think I'm all out of smooth talk, actually."
"Good. Then we can shut up."
Souma kisses him again, and Akira lets him without complaint.
There are still many things Souma doesn't know how to do well. He'd say he's a fast learner—an example off the top of his head is his time at SHINO's Tokyo last year and the necessity of learning the ropes quickly lest he become deadweight. But it still takes an amount of time and practice, and so does this. He doesn't know yet where exactly to put his hands, where Akira likes to be touched and where he doesn't. But he is more than willing to keep trying, to find that spot at the side of Akira's neck that makes him groan, his hand faltering where he clutches the bedsheets. Akira returns it in kind by nipping at Souma's bottom lip, swallowing Souma's gasp and slipping his tongue inside.
Akira's learning too, it seems, but Souma won't let him win so easily.
He hooks a finger in one of Akira's belt loops, tugging their hips closer together, and Akira responds by tucking a hand under Souma's knee and hiking Souma's leg up to wrap around his waist.
Alright. Perhaps a tie wouldn't be so bad.
They don't really think to tell Shiomi until a handful of weeks have already passed, though both of them suspect she already knew a long time ago.
They always tried to keep more… intimate activities strictly at Souma's dorm or whenever they had the lab to themselves, the incident with Kurokiba besides. But as scattered as Shiomi normally is, when it comes to Akira, her senses will always be as sharp and keen as a fillet knife.
Souma knows her perception of him is already skewed by her history with his dad and he grimaces at the possibility of facing her wrath again. But when Akira informs her that Souma is his boyfriend—and Souma does a small internal dance of joy at hearing him say it—Shiomi only blinks at them before smiling the biggest, happiest smile he has ever seen her do, complete with teary eyes.
"Oh Hayama-kun, that's wonderful!" she gushes, pulling Akira into a hug that he returns embarrassedly. Then she turns to Souma. "Yukihira-kun, you must stay for dinner."
Souma smiles. "Sure, I'd love to."
Inwardly, he sighs in relief, then rubs his hands in anticipation of trying Shiomi's cooking for the first time. She is a former Elite Ten, after all.
Shiomi shuffles them all into the kitchen, and while Souma pulls an apron over his head and begins tying it around his back, he sees her take Akira aside and say something to him about grabbing certain spices from the lab.
"Oh, and lots of Thai basil, please!" she adds as Akira makes his way out.
"So what are we making?" Souma asks.
Shiomi smiles with a gleam in her eyes as she opens a drawer. From it she brandishes a metal meat tenderizer, menacingly large in her small hand.
Souma feels his soul leave his body.
It only returns when she places it on the counter next to a cutting board.
"Fried basil and pork," she says.
Souma, still a little shaky, responds, "S-Sounds good."
Shiomi stops for a moment, contemplating something, and he assumes she's thinking about the dish before she turns to look him squarely in the eyes.
"Yukihira-kun."
"Um, yes, senpai?"
"Hayama-kun is a very special boy. And all I've ever wanted is for him to be happy."
Oh. So this is going to be that kindof talk.
He swallows and says, "I know."
"I just wanted to tell you that…"
That if you ever hurt him, I'll mince you into tiny pieces. I'll hang you to dry and grind you up with a mortar and pestle. I—
"… I'm glad it's you. Thank you."
Souma blinks. "Huh?"
"Thank you," Shiomi repeats.
"For… what?"
"You think I haven't noticed how happy Hayama-kun has been these last few weeks? Or the positive correlation with your time spent together?"
"I figured you had your suspicions," Souma admits, nervously tugging at the wrapping he always keeps around his wrist.
"I did. And I'm glad Hayama-kun finally felt comfortable enough to tell me himself."
Shiomi crosses her arms, her long sleeves bunched up at her elbows. Souma wonders if she'll ever buy a lab coat that actually fits her, but then thinks she wouldn't be the same Professor Shiomi otherwise.
"I don't want this to be about me threatening you, or something like that," she continues. She tilts her head, smiling. "You two just… be happy, okay?"
"We are." Souma feels his face flush, but he wants to say this. "All I really want is for him to be happy, too."
As Shiomi's smile widens and Souma feels more and more embarrassed, Akira returns to the kitchen with his arms full of jars.
He must notice a strange atmosphere to the room, possibly even smells it, because he stops midstride and looks at them.
"What did you say to him?" he says, turning to Shiomi.
"Nothing," she says cheerily, holding her hands out for the jars. "Thank you, Hayama-kun! Now let's get cooking."
Later, while Souma is washing basil leaves in the sink and Shiomi is on the other side of the kitchen, Akira sidles up to him and asks quietly, "She didn't say anything… weird, did she?"
"What do you mean weird?" Souma laughs.
Akira shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know, one of those threatening speeches parents always give to their kid's new partner."
"No, there was nothing like that." Souma sets the freshly washed basil on a clean dish cloth on the counter. "We did talk about you, though."
That only makes Akira more concerned. "What about me?"
"Don't worry so much." Souma gives him a pat on the shoulder. "Everything's fine, Shiomi-senpai gave me permission to court you."
Akira makes a choking noise while Souma laughs, and across the kitchen, Shiomi watches it all with a smile.
The summer heat rolls in quickly enough once June melts into July. They haven't quite reached summer break yet, but the anticipation is there: for a large portion of Tootsuki's students, it means planning vacations outside the country, staying at beachside resorts, and visiting the culinary capitals of the world.
Souma looks forward to going home, to airing out the diner and seeing old faces again. Maybe he can even convince Akira to come visit. It's an idea he stashes away for later, when he's not busy with studying and recipe testing and paperwork.
The advent of July brings with it two events that happen to coincide with each other: Tanabataand Akira's birthday.
Tootsuki is hosting its own festival this year, open to the public. Much like the Moon Banquet Festival, but with more students and visitors dressed in yukatas and games hosted alongside food stalls. It's still more upscale than any of the festivals Souma's visited before, but he's come to terms with Tootsuki's dedication to lavishness a long time ago.
Akira seems to hope that the festival will distract everyone from his birthday because he hasn't mentioned it once, not even to Souma. Souma keeps his knowledge of it quiet for now and busies himself with working Polar Star's shaved ice stand while Akira is off elsewhere, roped into helping Alice and Kurokiba with their stall again. Though Souma wouldn't mind enjoying the festival activities himself, it's enough that he has their promise to meet by the lake right before the fireworks start. They've both been so busy with preparations that they haven't seen each other all day, and as the night goes on and on, his anticipation only grows.
"Two strawberries and one mango," he says, placing them down at the pick-up counter where a sizable crowd has gathered. A trio of girls receive them with excitement.
"Thank you, Yukihira-kun," one of them says and breaks out into giggles when Souma smiles at her.
Business is good today. He has a flashback of the Moon Banquet Festival and how deep in the red his profits were at the end of the first day, and is thankful he doesn't have to deal with the same kind of panic this time around. It's a tight squeeze both outside the booth and within it when they need all hands on deck taking orders, prepping, and assembling, especially since it wasn't enough to sell shaved ice but also some of their recent harvests, like fresh peaches and grilled corn.
As he works, he discreetly glances at his watch at first every hour, then every half hour, then every ten minutes. He knows staring at the minute hand won't make it move any faster, but he can't help looking anyway.
"Souma-kun."
He stops in the middle of slicing more strawberries and finds Megumi staring at him.
Her hands are on her hips. He gets the sense that he's in trouble somehow.
"Er, is something wrong?"
She shakes her head. "Not exactly. It's just that you've been checking your watch all night."
Perhaps he wasn't as discreet as he thought. Sheepishly, he says, "I've just been keeping an eye out for the end of the festival, that's all."
She only looks at him skeptically. "It's okay to go, you know."
"What?"
"I know you've been waiting all night, so just go. We've got a handle on things here."
"No, I'm—"
"Souma-kun."
Her hands are still on her hips, but her stern expression cracks and a smile emerges.
He wants to protest, to insist that there isn't anything in particular that he's waiting for, but he knows it's useless trying to lie to Megumi when she can always see through him in an instant. He waves a first year over to take his place then gives Megumi a quick hug in thanks before running out the back of the booth.
On his way to where he thinks he remembers Akira's booth is, he weaves through the crowd, dodging visitors holding candy apples and grilled squid. Tootsuki is lit with the golden light of lanterns, the smell of sweets and barbecue alike wafting through the air. People are beginning to make their way towards the lake in anticipation of the fireworks, and he finds himself walking against the flow of the crowd.
Then out of the blue, Akira emerges from its depths.
"Hayama." Souma stops in his tracks, eyes widening.
Akira spots him. He smiles when he does, raising a hand in greeting then politely making his way past the people that fill the distance between them. The quickening of Souma's heartbeat is frankly ridiculous—it's as if he hasn't seen Akira in a week instead of just a day. But he can't help it.
"Hey," Akira says once he's close enough. His hand reaches out to touch the side of Souma's waist, a small touch, just his fingertips, but Souma feels it just as clearly as if he were touching skin. "I was just headed to your booth."
"I was headed to yours, I got let off early."
"Me too. Nakiri has extra assistants this year, some unfortunate underclassmen. But they had enough hands to let me leave."
The flow of people parts around them like rocks in a river, a few of them casting curious glances. The two of them aren't exactly unknown faces on campus, and it's not very courteous to stop and chat in the middle of a crowd when everyone is trying to move past them.
"Come on," Souma says, catching Akira's wrist.
He's visited the lake once before, last year on the spur of the moment trip Isshiki organized before the Autumn Election as a way to fight off the heat. At the time it seemed a secluded, forgotten place, one only known by those who took care to remember it, but with the new school year and new council came certain changes. The path to the lake is clearly illuminated by chains of light strung up on the trees, hung with lanterns and festival decorations. The lake itself is a gleaming stretch of water that shimmers like a mirror reflecting the night sky, far enough from city lights to even let a few stars peek out through its dark tapestry.
"I had no idea there was even a lake here," Akira says with a tinge of awe.
"I know right? I didn't know about it either until Isshiki-senpai showed us. I wasn't sure we were even on campus anymore."
Blankets with the Tootsuki emblem stitched upon it are being handed out to guests, and Souma grabs one before finding a suitable spot by the edge of the lake where the sand is soft underfoot and the water laps against their toes. On the dock leading out from the edge of the lake in, they watch as fireworks are set up for tonight's show.
"You know," Souma says, "it's nice that you get to have fireworks on your birthday."
Akira stiffens.
Slowly, he says, "I wasn't sure you knew."
"Did you really think I was going to let your birthday pass by silently?" The amusement is impossible to keep out of Souma's voice
Akira glances away. "Perhaps."
"I hired a band and everything. And an airplane is going to fly over campus to write your name in the sky."
"Very funny," Akira deadpans. A pause. "The band is a lie too, right?"
"Or is it?" Souma waggles his eyebrows in a play at mysteriousness, but Akira shoves him lightly on the arm and he has to laugh.
More and more guests gather by the lakeside. Not long now before the fireworks start.
"So I didn't do all that, clearly," Souma begins. "But I'm sure it'd be within Tootsuki's budget and my power as an Elite Ten if I asked."
"Get on with it already."
He snickers. "But I do have something for you."
Akira waits patiently as Souma digs in his pocket for the gift that's been sitting in there all night. When his fingers wrap around it, he stops.
"Hang on, close your eyes."
"Really?"
"Come on."
Sighing without any genuine impatience, Akira complies.
Souma leans over and slips the necklace over his head.
"Okay."
Akira opens his eyes.
A thin leather cord hangs around his neck, slipping down between his collarbones where a carved wooden ornament hangs. He takes it in his fingertips to examine it, and bites down on the corner of his lip to stop a smile when he realizes, "A bear."
Souma grins. "Yep."
"I can't believe you." Akira releases the charm and it falls back against his skin.
"I thought that shokugeki was a real turning point."
"That's one way of putting it."
"But really!" Souma turns to look at Akira more properly. "When we were cooking and all I could think about was how much I wanted you to like what I made." The memory is still vivid, that burning desire so seared into him. "I realized how grateful I was that I lost to you in the Autumn Election. I don't think I'd be the chef I am today if I hadn't."
These are words that have rattled in his head for the longest time. He never really found the right moment to say them, and truth be told he hadn't expected to say them now. Akira rests his arm on a knee pulled up to his chest, and though he hasn't said anything yet, his gaze is soft.
"Thank you is what I want to say, I guess," Souma finishes.
There is an almost-smile on Akira's face. "I think I'm the one who should say thanks."
Souma wants to do something. Lean in, touch him, anything. From the look on Akira's face and the way their bodies are angled towards each other, the distance between them closing, he can only assume he's thinking the same thing. Akira raises a hand to cup Souma's jaw.
A burning sound and a whistle pierce through the night air. Souma jumps, and he along with everyone else around him look up towards the sky where the first firework bursts in a splash of yellow and white. Another one follows it, then another, in greens, blues, purples, streaks of light and color splintering through the sky.
"I was hoping they'd give a warning first," Souma starts to laugh, before Akira moves in and kisses him.
Hopefully the spectacle will distract everyone from what they're doing. Each firework resounds like a thunderclap followed by bursts of light. Distantly, Souma makes comparisons to this and the climactic moments of the shoujo mangas Megumi likes to read so much, and he'd laugh at himself if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied.
He slides his fingers into the soft hair at Akira's nape, tilting his head to fit their lips more nicely together. He can still see the light of the fireworks shining through his eyelids.
"Happy birthday!"
They pull apart at the sound of cheers.
Behind them, their friends have all gathered with party poppers and streamers in their hands. Confetti explodes outwards and into their hair.
Akira rounds on Souma. "Did you—"
"I didn't tell anyone!"
"It wasn't exactly difficult, Hayama-kun," Alice says with a wink. "But you should have told us yourself, friends like to know these things."
Flustered, Akira says, "I assumed the festival was a more pressing issue."
"No excuses!" Yoshino points an accusing finger. "Let us appreciate you and your birthday properly!"
A cake emerges, carried by Kurokiba and decorated with elegantly tempered chocolate and swirls of buttercream. Foods from everyone's different stalls at the festival have also been brought along with plates and utensils to eat the cake, and it all happens so fast Souma doesn't know how it changed so quickly from just the two of them to a full-blown picnic beneath the fireworks with all their closest friends.
But it's how things should be, he thinks. Akira has always been sharp-witted in the kitchen but endearingly unaware of how many people care about him, which occasionally requires bolder expressions of affection such as this. Souma certainly doesn't mind. And judging from the smile on Akira's face, normally so reserved but tonight as warm and open as the boy Souma knows he is, Akira does not mind so much, either.