Archive of Our Own ^beta

Satou hummed along to the soft jazz playlist he had turned on at the start of his baking session as he carefully began to separate egg yolks from egg whites, dropping them into different bowls. Adding oil and milk to the yolks, he began to whisk. Carelessly, with the grace that comes from hours spent in the kitchen, he tossed the rest of the ingredients that he had laid out on the counter of the dorm’s common kitchen into the bowl and mixed it all together. Setting aside the now thick batter, he pulled the egg whites toward him and pulled out his hand mixer. Holding out as if it were a gun and making some “pew pew” noises like he’d always done since he was a kid, dreaming about being a hero (though if anyone asked, he would claim otherwise. Probably. Everyone else had equally embarrassing stories. Right?), he plugged it in and began to beat the egg whites. After a few minutes, paying more attention than he had to the mixing of the batter, he carefully added a pinch of powder from another bag sitting open at the ready on the counter. Once that was mixed in, he slowly began to add sugar, holding his mixer steady until he had a firm meringue mixture. Finally, content with the consistency of the eggs, he turned the mixer off and pulled it away from his bowl.

It was as he was turning to set his hand mixer in the sink to be washed that he saw the looming figure in the doorway. Smiling at Kouda, he beckoned them in. “Hey, Kouda! If you want to lick the batter bowl, I’ll be putting this in the oven soon.”

Kouda gave him a toothy grin back and moved soundlessly into the kitchen, seating themself at the island. Satou turned back to his cake making, pulling the batter towards him and carefully spooning some of the meringue mixture into it and folding it together. When all the meringue was evenly mixed into the batter, he dumped that egg bowl in the sink next to the hand mixer. Pulling out his pre-lined cake pan, he poured the batter into the dish before turning and offering the now empty batter bowl for Kouda to lick.

Kouda accepted the bowl, setting it down on the island in front of them, then raised their hands to sign. “What are you making?”

“Kurisumasu Keki!” Satou waited for Kouda’s nod of acknowledgment to make sure no further sign was forthcoming before he turned back to the pan with the cake in it. Carefully, he lifted the cake a few inches off the counter and dropped it. The cake jiggled, then settled. Smiling, Satou slid the cake into the oven and spun the timer for 55 minutes. He turned back to see Kouda bouncing on their stool, finger in mouth to lick the batter. On seeing that they had Satou’s attention again, they whipped their finger out to sign.

“Yum! Are you also making Wagashi? I see you have some Nerikiri cooling.”

“Yup!” Satou moved the two bowls Kouda was indicating over to the island. “I’m going to shape them while I wait for the cake to bake. Wanna help?”

Kouda nodded eagerly. “What colors do you have?”

“I haven’t dyed them yet! What colors should we make?”

“Pink! Red! Green! Yellow! All the colors!” Kouda signed rapidly.

Satou laughed and pulled out the food dye. A short while later, they were sitting around bowls of dyed Nerikiri and concentrating on molding them into fun shapes.

Three snowmen and several lotus flowerWagashi later, Kouda sat back and stretched, popping their back out. They watched as Satou carefully molded a Wagashi into a delicate tulip form. “You’re good at this,” they commented, when Satou finished and proudly set it next to his row of finished treats, which included a variety of designs, including some reindeer and holly leaves, all with much more detail and precision than Kouda’s own colorful balls.

“Thanks,” Satou said, sitting back and checking the timer. “My parents taught me. It was one of their Christmas Eve traditions – you know, instead of going out and doing something fun, they would bake for each other and feed each other. Disgustingly romantic, really.” He made a bit of a face.

“Ah, that sounds sweet!” Kouda responded. “My parents used to go out and see the lights for Christmas Eve. They haven’t done that since they’ve had kids, though – apparently, bringing us along would make it lose its magical romantic atmosphere or something. I want to go see the lights with someone, though, one day. Carrying on the romantic traditions in the family, you know.”

Satou shrugged, non-committedly. “Eh. Is that what you’re doing for Christmas Eve this year?” He kept an eye on Kouda to see their reply while he reached into the bowl of Nerikiri and began to mold another Wagashi, a simple pudding shape that didn’t require him to look at his hands.

“No, I don’t really have anyone to go with, this year, and I want to go see the lights with someone special. It’s just, Christmas Eve has such a romantic vibe, that I don’t want to go alone and then be sad that I don’t have a date, you know?” They finished signing and reached for some more Nerikiri.

Satou shook his head. “I mean, that makes sense, I can see where you’re coming from. But I’m aro, so, I don’t really get the romantic vibes thing. Or, like, I get it, but I would never want that for myself. Or see myself doing that with anyone.”

Kouda dropped the ball of Nerikiri they were shaping, ignoring the complete destruction of their shape as it hit the countertop with a splat. “I didn’t know that! I’m sorry for assuming, I didn’t mean to be rude!”

Satou waved away the apology. “It’s fine; you weren’t very rude. I don’t mind hearing you talk about what you want in a romance. I just can’t imagine it for myself, that’s all.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have assumed!” Kouda looked genuinely upset. “I hate it when people assume my pronouns, I should know better than to assume other people’s gender orientation or sexuality.”

Satou acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. “I guess. I forgive you, if that makes you feel better.”

“Not really,” Kouda began, but was interrupted by the beeping of a timer.

Satou carefully put his unfinished Santa Wagashi on the counter before rushing over to the oven to check his cake. He pulled it out and tested the center with a metal skewer. “Perfect! Now I just have to make the cream, and we’re all set!”

“Mes cheris!” Aoyama waltzed into the kitchen, smiling brightly and greeting Kouda with a few cheek-kisses before draping himself over the chair Satou had just abandoned. “It smells amazing in here, vraiment! What are you making?”

“Wagashi and Kurisumasu Keki,” Kouda answered, spelling it out for Aoyama. “Traditional Christmas treats! You can make some Wagashi, if you want.” They showed Aoyma how to form balls out of the Nerikiri and mold them into fun Christmas shapes while Satou set the cake on a rack to cool.

Listening as Aoyama made small noises of affirmation to whatever instructions Kouda was signing, Satou turned to the sink to wash his mixer and mixing bowl so he could use them to make the frosting. He went to pull the mixer out of the bowl, making his usual “pew pew” noises as he picked it up to remove the whisks from the handle. Then he froze, remembering that he had an audience. He glanced sheepishly over his shoulder to see if they had noticed and – yup, they definitely had – they were both staring at him, smiles dancing on their faces.

At least, Satou thought, it could be worse. Neither of them is outright laughing at me. If it were Uraraka or Ashido – I’d die of embarrassment. He sighed and turned to them.

“Habit,” he explained with a rueful smile, acknowledging to himself that he was probably giving them both permission to fall over laughing. “I always wanted to be a hero, and, for whatever reason, my older sister got me hooked on those really old western movies with all the gunslingers… So, before I figured out that my quirk literally gave me super strength, anytime I would help mom in the kitchen, I would pretend that all the vaguely gun-shaped items were, well, guns. Like, the cherry-pitter, the cheese knife, the dough spreader, and, obviously, the hand mixer, so they all got sound effects. I don’t even realize I do it, anymore.” He ended his explanation, waiting for them to laugh.

But, neither of them did. Instead, they both lit up like Christmas trees.

“Mon ami, that is a wonderful idea! You should lean into that in your hero persona!” Aoyama suggested enthusiastically. “Like, you could be the pastry-baking-utensil-wielding-sugar-powered-superhero!”

“He’s right,” Kouda added. “None of the villains would expect you to pull out a hand mixer and shoot them! You could ask Hatsume for ideas on how to weaponize baking utensils, and -”

"I'm not asking Hatsume for anything," Satou interrupted. "I've seen what she does to Midoriya. I'd die."

"Power Loader, then," Kouda continued, unperturbed. "And I'm sure Snipe would help you learn how to handle them!"

“For sure! And then you send the rescued civilian home with a signature treat! Like this, you’ll be a top hero in no time!” Aoyama finished, caught up in the fantasy. “Though, some might take that as a romantic gesture, and I know that isn’t your thing, mais food is a good way to comfort people, and yours is très, très bien!”

“Wait, back up a sec.” Kouda cut in, waving their hands frantically. “You knew he was aro?”

“Mais, bien sûr!” Aoyama blinked at Kouda. "It is why I never give him cheek-kisses. The noise it makes, close to the ear, it makes him uncomfortable.”

Satou blinked at that. “I… didn’t realize that was why you stopped,” he said. “I mean, you’re not wrong. But I didn’t realize you’d picked up on that.”

“Bien sûr! I always try to notice when people don’t like my French habits. I wasn’t sure if you were okay talking about it, though, because I know some people have to hide who they are, so I never said anything.”

“I don’t mind talking about it,” Satou reassured him. “I don’t go around shouting it, but I also don’t try to keep it a secret. Being open about it helps make it more normal, and I want to help others feel that way.”

Aoyama nodded. “You don’t want anyone else to go through feeling broken like you did?” he guessed.

Satou made a face. “I’m not a fan of that narrative, actually. I never felt broken. I’m not broken. I also don’t really want any sort of queerplatonic relationship, which is the other narrative that gets touted a lot. And maybe that doesn’t make me a ‘standard aro’, but really, it’s the closest label there is.”

Kouda snapped his fingers and then made some jazz-like hands to show his appreciation. “I don’t think there is any such thing as a ‘standard’ anyone, let alone a ‘standard aro’. I never felt broken either. I just felt like me.”

Aoyama nodded in agreement. “Being standard is overrated, anyway. You should be fabulous, instead, and being yourself is always fabulous."

"Thus why you can't stop twinkling," Kouda commented with a grin.

"Exactement!" Aoyama beamed. Then he paused, before saying apologetically, "I didn’t mean to assume your feelings, Satou. I just hear that a lot, when people talk about aros.”

Satou waved the apology away with the mixer, grimacing when his gesture accidentally sent meringue flying through the air. “Oops. Anyway, yeah, it’s a reasonable assumption, I guess. Apparently, people feel that way. It just doesn't apply to me. Though honestly, you’d think by the 2Xth century, we wouldn’t have the narrative that people can be born broken. Like, how is that even a logical idea? But humans will be dumb, I guess.”

There was a small silence, before Aoyama decided to move back to the topic at hand. “Mais seriously, you should incorporate your baking in your hero persona. Strength heroes are a dime a dozen. Baking heroes – now there is something unique and special!”

“I’ll think about it,” Satou said slowly. It had been a long time since he’d envisioned himself as a gun-toting protagonist, but now, imagining baking utensils in place of the guns… it wasn’t a bad picture. The final exam from last semester had taught him that sometimes, strength wasn’t enough. Expanding his abilities like this... well, he could see himself in this role of chef and hero, combining the two with special weaponized utensils and treats to calm people down. He would just have to consider his super strength as simply another cooking utensil in his drawer. It would help him lean more fully into embracing his entire quirk, too, the sugar and the strength, instead of seeing the sugar as a means to an end.

A sudden curse from Aoyama – in French, but the tone was definitely cursing – broke him out of his reverie, and he looked over to see Aoyama struggling to shape his snowmen. He looked down at the hand mixer he was still holding as if it were a gun to be spun on his fingertips and smiled. He could plan for the future tomorrow. For now, there were treats to finish up, a holiday to celebrate, and friends who didn’t judge him for his wacky habits or his queerness to spend time with. The future looked bright.