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silvfyre-writings · 24 days

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Patty cake, patty cake, bake me a cake (BSD Fanfic)

Crossposted to AO3

In the many years that Yasui’s known Ranpo, he’s gotten used to the man’s many strange habits. Not being able to take the train, having a very strong penchant for candy over anything remotely nutritious, and ultimately not giving a shit about what others thought of him. All things that he’d since adapted to and is no longer bothered by—not that he’d really been bothered by them in the slightest before—which supposedly makes the two of them friends, much to the chagrin of everyone he works with, considering his new job as police commissioner means that whenever work comes by that Ranpo invites himself into, he’s not there to play the buffer.

There’s been a lot of complaints since he was promoted, which just amuses him honestly. You’d think after twelve years, that the police force of Yokohama would have some idea of how to handle their resident genius, but apparently not.

Well, except for Minoura, but really, he saw that coming a mile away, which is why he’d recommended the younger detective as his replacement in the first place. He hadn’t quite expected the two to get so involved with each other so quickly, but then again, this was Ranpo; he’d flirted with Yasui on their very first case together.

He’s not surprised.

The same way that he’s not surprised when he opens the door to his apartment to find another set of shoes that very much don’t belong to him, already in the doorway. It’s not the first time that he’s come home to find the genius that he considers to be one of his closest friends already here, and it certainly won’t be the last. Although it has been a while since he’s last seen Ranpo, considering his job keeps him busy, and the Agency too, is swamped with work, especially after the whole terrorist plot that they’d found themselves wrapped up in—in which they’ve since been proven innocent.

Thank god, because if he’d had to track down Edogawa Ranpo to try and arrest him, he would’ve lost the last of his sanity.

Yasui pulls off his own shoes and places them beside Ranpo’s before stepping into his apartment. The fact that it’s quiet unnerves him, because quiet and Ranpo simply do not go together—the two are like oil and water, destined to never mix together no matter how hard one tries for them to be. It could be a simple reason in that perhaps Ranpo is asleep, which happens far more frequently than Yasui thinks it should, or it could be far more complicated and involve him needing to help his friend pick apart his emotions again, or it could be something completely unrelated.

And it looks like it’s going to be that third option when he walks into the kitchen to see Ranpo sitting at the dining table, head on his arms and seemingly dozing, with a plastic bag on the table in front of him. Yasui raises a brow and steps over to peek into the bag to see it is that Ranpo’s brought over, looking into it to see flour, and eggs, and—

Oh.

Ranpo’s brought over the ingredients needed to bake something. Now that’s a surprise; he can’t remember the last time that Ranpo tried to bake something, and he’s curious of the why.

So he reaches over and pokes Ranpo square in the forehead, grinning when the younger flies upright, eyes flying around the room until they land on him.

Naturally, Ranpo pouts. “You work too much now.”

“Only because a certain someone decided to try his hand at being a terrorist. We’re running a little behind schedule.” Yasui says, crossing over to the fridge to grab a couple of drinks. He shuts the door and holds one out to Ranpo.

Ranpo takes the offered drink and cracks the can, taking a few mouthfuls before saying anything. “You still work too much. I’ve been waiting hours for you to get home.”

“You have my number, you could’ve called.”

“Hours, Yasui, hours.” Ranpo repeats, spreading out across the table, kicking his feet like a child throwing a tantrum. On anyone else it might’ve been, but this was Ranpo, and Yasui knew it was anything but.

Yasui rolls his eyes fondly and reaches over to ruffle Ranpo’s hair, the younger preening at the attention. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You broke into my apartment with a bag of baking ingredients and waited hours. Are you going to tell me why?”

“Maybe. If you ask nicely.”

“Need I remind you just who’s apartment you’re in?”

In the next second, Ranpo stops moving, and Yasui waits patiently for him to figure out what it is that he wants to say. He takes the chance to sip at his drink, studying Ranpo carefully to see if he can figure out for himself, why Ranpo’s decided to show up in his apartment tonight of all nights. The baking ingredients are indicative to his friend asking him for a favour without actually asking him, and the way he’s sitting there, muddling over his thoughts, tells Yasui that there’s something important on his mind. It’s just a matter of what.

Finally, Ranpo speaks, his cheeks flushing as he refuses to look Yasui in the face.

“It’s Minoura’s birthday in two days—” Ah. “—I wanted to make a cake. But as everyone so reminds me, I can’t bake.”

It’s such a sweet gesture, one that has Yasui feeling proud of how far Ranpo has come since he and Minoura started seeing each other. As much as he loves to tease the younger two for failing to keep out of each other’s pants for at least a week when they started working together, he’s also incredibly happy for them. He’s watched Minoura over time become less of a hardass and learn how to actually have fun with his life—and also how to cope with having circles run ragged around him by the tiny detective they are both acquainted with—and he’s also been able to witness Ranpo meeting someone who is capable of understanding him, despite not being on the same level of genius, and not be expected to carry the world on his shoulders.

Both were people that needed someone to buoy them up, and he’s just glad that they can do that for each other.

Yasui stands up, and grabs the bag from the table, gesturing with his head for Ranpo to follow him over to the kitchen. “Alright, come on lover boy, I’ll help you make a cake for your boyfriend.”

“Yasui’s the best!” Ranpo lights up and bounces after him, not even hesitating to hop up on the bench right beside where Yasui plans to prepare the cake. Oh well, that means he can make Ranpo actually help him instead of sitting there like he usually tries to do.

“I’m going to remember those words for the rest of my life.” Yasui says, pulling out each ingredient and setting it on the bench; flour, eggs, vanilla—interesting choice considering he knows that Ranpo prefers chocolate or caramel, often calling vanilla the… basic bitch of flavours, which Yasui finds vaguely offensive considering he likes vanilla. There’s no milk or butter in the bag, not that that’s a problem since he has some in his fridge, and he realises then that Ranpo had already deduced what he owned and what he didn’t. “Did you buy this yourself, or did you steal your Agency’s credit card and deem it a work purchase?”

Ranpo huffs, and accepts the mixing bowls and utensils that Yasui hands him. The blush on his face burns brighter. “Minoura gets really happy when I do things for him…”

“You have it so bad.”

A piece of paper hits Yasui in the head; the receipt from the store. “You could’ve had this, but you said no.”

He looks up at Ranpo to find the other smirking, and turns away, only to grab the flour and baking soda and slap it into Ranpo’s hands with a smirk of his own. “Still not interested. Now mix those together will you?”

“I thought you were going to bake the cake.”

“I am, but that involves you helping. Otherwise, I will give this to Minoura myself and leave you in the doghouse.”

“You’re so mean to me, Yasui.” Ranpo pouts, even as he measures out the ingredients and puts them into a bowl. He takes the spoon that Yasui offers him and starts to mix at a steady pace. “You and Minoura.”

“And yet you love us anyway.” Yasui places the butter and sugar into a bowl and moves off to find a mixer.

He’s pretty sure he has one, but it’s been a while since he last baked something, so he isn’t quite sure where he put it. Rummaging through the cabinets, he keeps up a steady chatter with Ranpo, listening to the younger talk about the cases that he solved that day, about the shenanigans that he and his co-worker’s at the Agency got up to—which apparently involved dragging poor Nakajima all over the city to hunt down a limited edition pocky, that they did eventually find. In return, he too, tells Ranpo about his work as the commissioner, not that it’s the most exciting of work; meeting after meeting, more paperwork than anyone could ever imagine, and more idiots than he ever dealt with when he was a detective.

One would think the higher up you were in the food chain, the smarter you’d be, but no, everyday Yasui finds his patience being tested by the morons that would rather ask pointless questions than actually do good.

Before he knows it, the cake is mixed and poured into the pan, and then all that’s left to do is wait as it bakes. And the icing, but since that’s the fun—and easy—part, Yasui knows it won’t take long to do. While they wait, he starts to clean up, grabbing dishes and putting them next to the sink to deal with later; he fills them up with water though so that the mix that’s left over in the bowls doesn’t get a chance to harden and become infinitely harder to scrape off.

A noise catches his attention, and he turns to see Ranpo’s slid off the bench and is now focused on the oven, head resting on his arms and watching the cake bake away.

Uh oh.

Yasui takes a second to dry his hand before joining Ranpo on the floor, biting back the groan as his knees protest the motion, and slings an arm around his friend’s shoulders, pulling Ranpo close. “What’s on your mind?”

The silence ticks by before Ranpo speaks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“He’d be a fool not to.” Yasui gives Ranpo a quick squeeze. “You’re making this cake for Minoura, he’s gonna appreciate that.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll shoot his ungrateful ass, and we can enjoy the cake ourselves.”

Ranpo snorts, lips stretching out into a grin, as he leans into Yasui’s side. “Please don’t shoot my boyfriend. I do actually like him.”

“Then stop your worrying, Ranpo. Put all that energy into decorating the cake—and not eating the icing.”

“But, Yasui, that’s the best part.” Ranpo complains, pushing himself to his feet and offering his hands out to help pull Yasui up off the ground.

He can’t stop the groan this time.

“Don’t you dare.” He says, seeing the thought forming behind Ranpo’s eyes. There’s still plenty of life in him yet, and he’ll chase Ranpo around the apartment if he dares to call him old.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to.” Yasui huffs, and then spies a container from the corner of his eye. He bites back the grin that threatens to form, and snatches up the container, prying off the lid, and scoops a small amount of icing onto his fingers. “Hey, Ranpo.”

Ranpo turns. “Wha—HEY!”

Yasui laughs at the mock offended look Ranpo throws him, icing smeared across one side of his face. He’d been aiming for Ranpo’s cheek, but the younger man moved at the last second, so gone across Ranpo’s ear and straight into his hair. He’s not sorry.

“Oh you think you’re clever, don’t you?” Ranpo lunges to the bag and produces another container of icing. “I came prepared, Yasui, I bought more than one flavour to snack on!”

The grin on Yasui’s face widens, and he arms himself with another scoop.

“Bring. It. On.”

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