It was a stretch to assume that the professor would be in two days in a row on a weekend, but Mizuki was hopeful. He’d mulled it over since the day before, and finally decided to go by his office.

He gently rapped on the door with his knuckles.

“Come in!”

Mizuki nudged the door partly open, slipping through the crack. He clicked the door shut.

The professor looked up from his desk – at least Mizuki presumed there was a desk somewhere under the stacks of books, papers and mugs.

“Mizuki,” the man removed his glasses. “How may I help you?”

The professor motioned towards the nearest chair.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Mizuki hesitated, shuffling over to sit down. “I…wanted to ask you a question.”

“About the essays? You still have almost two months to—“

“No,” Mizuki shook his head. “About yesterday. You seemed to know a lot about…”

He gestured towards the red plant riding high on a stack of hardbacks.

“Oh!” the elderly man looked delighted. For a moment, Mizuki wondered if perhaps he had wanted to be a botanist rather than a professor of European history. “Well, I do know some things. Was there anything in particular that caught your interest? For instance, did you know that although it’s called a flower—“

“It isn’t,” Mizuki echoed. The professor looked delighted, but Mizuki found the words suddenly unpleasant. He gathered himself; “I know. I just… I wondered if you knew of any stories, or like…myths about it..?”

“Myths?”

“Or fairy tales!” he offered, eagerly. “For instance, are there any stories about Poinsettia turning uh…human?”

“Human?” the professor looked surprised.

The excitement waned, replaced by embarrassment.

“Yeah, see… A friend of mine… Well, he said that—“ his voice died out. What was he even wasting the professor’s time on?

“I’m sorry, I guess that’s silly, huh?”

“I’ve never heard anything of the sort,” the elderly man replied, “but I suppose it’s not unlikely?”

Mizuki’s chest heaved. He leaned forward, hanging on to every word.

“Poinsettia has a vital place in many cultures during the season. It wouldn’t be odd if there were all kinds of myths and magic about it somewhere. I suggest you have a look in the library. There should be a book about the Euphorbia family there somewhere.”

The professor smiled mildly. “See what you can find, and report back if you find anything interesting, okay?”

“I’ll do that, Sir!” Mizuki bowed. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“Not at all. Just don’t get so absorbed it really does interfere with your essays.” The man winked at him.

Mizuki promised, and excused himself, hurrying through the corridors to get to the library before closing time.

                                                         ❋❋❋❋

He returned home, ready to immerse himself in the compendium immediately, but that was not how the evening turned out.

“Home!” he kicked his shoes off. A lively scent of spices and baked goods wafted towards him, tickling his nose.

“Settia?”

The sight that met him had his heart beat faster; the red-haired male, standing at his tiny counter, wearing an apron Mizuki could not recall owning, with a rag tied on top of his head, keeping his hair away. “Are you…baking?”

He felt somewhat unnerved.

“Saffron buns!” Settia beamed at him. “I’ll bet you’ve never had them before!”

“Actually they serve them at— Wait, did you go out today?”

“I went shopping.” Settia said proudly, “You’ve got nothing in the house you know. Maybe you should lay off the instant food…”

“You say, but you’re making pastries? Are you my mother?”

“I am not,” Settia replied, returning to the dough he was kneading. “But I love you.”

“D-Don’t say things like that!” Mizuki felt his skin turning the same shade as the other man’s hair. Settia was like a ticking bomb who would just go off, spouting the most random things. He was never prepared, and always at a loss of how to handle it. How exactly was he supposed to respond to these emotional ambushes?

“Mizuki,” Settia grinned. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re sweet to me, and I love you.”

“Okay!” he almost shouted. “Fine. Why are we baking saffron buns? We had cake yesterday.”

“Because they’re delicious,” Settia replied, unaffected by the awkwardness. “There’s already a tray baking in the oven. Help out with these? It’s pretty easy.”

He divided the dough into smaller lumps, showing Mizuki how to roll them out, then form them into S-shaped figures. Finally, he added raisins. “See?”

Mizuki rolled up his sleeves and headed towards the sink. Settia prattling on as he washed up.

“It’s a Scandinavian tradition to make these on the 13th, though I have no idea what it has to do with St.Lucy.”

“Who?” Mizuki reached for the kitchen towel.

“Aren’t you a history major?” Settia’s green eyes glinted.

“Scandinavian saints aren’t my forte, believe it or not.” Mizuki replied. He’d barely known where Scandinavia was before beginning his studies. “So, what about Lucy?”

“She sacrificed her riches to help others, but refused to marry, and ended up being burned on the stake. Except, she wouldn’t burn, so they killed her with a sword.”

“And that’s…celebrated with buns?” Mizuki studied the strips of dough.

“Not sure how the buns fit in,” Settia admitted, smiling crookedly. “Apparently she represents the light, and in processions the acting Lucy often hands out sweets. Maybe that’s why.”

“It’s a sad story.”

Settia turned his gaze on him, full of concern. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad, I mean, it’s thousands of years ago, right? Just, many of these traditions have really morbid roots, and then they just fix them by adding sweets and songs. What’s up with that?”

For once, Settia seemed to be at a loss of words.

“You know what else is morbid?” he started.

“No.”

“Traditionally these are baked with saffron, but because it’s pricey many choose to substitute it with other spices. Like turmeric.” He looked aghast.

“Is that your idea of a joke?” Mizuki’s lip twitched.

“Not intentionally…?” Settia’s eyes glinted playfully. “But you’re smiling.”

Mizuki chuckled. “Because you’re silly!”

“But I made you laugh.” Settia laughed warmly back at him. Actually, all of Settia seemed to exude warmth, from his voice to his physical features…

“What’s the difference?” Mizuki pulled himself together.

“Everything!” Settia said, dramatically. “The flavor!”

He held a piece of dough to Mizuki’s face. “Taste.”

“Dough?”

“I swear, it’s yummy! Just don’t eat too much.”

“Am I a child?” Mizuki asked, jokingly.

“Just taste.”

Their eyes met as he took the piece of dough, tasting it. The consistency, as expected, was doughy, but the flavor was rich and pleasant. Clearly Settia could do more than read recipes.

“You see?”

“Stupid,” Mizuki smiled, licking his lips. “How am I supposed to know the difference?”

“I can assure you,” Settia said, “That saffron buns made with turmeric don’t taste like this!”

“You bought saffron?”

“It’s no good without!” Settia countered, picking up more dough. “Only the best is good enough for you!”

Mizuki couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud; it just bubbled up inside of him in response to this whole bizarre situation.

“You’re so silly!” he exclaimed again, nudging the other man playfully. “I guess I have to eat then, since you spent a ridiculous amount of money on spices?”

“Yes!” Settia caught his arm from behind, and pulled him close, holding up another scrap of dough.

Mizuki squirmed to get away, still laughing, but also acutely aware of how warm Settia felt, and how surprisingly strong he was. He looked up, catching those green eyes with his own, and in that moment letting his guard down enough for Settia to slip the dough as well as the tips of his fingers, into his mouth.

“Now, eat up,” he chuckled affectionately into Mizuki’s ear, withdrawing the digits. Flushing from head to toe, Mizuki obediently chewed and swallowed.

Meanwhile, his hand closed around one of the lumps on the counter, and as soon as Settia’s grip loosened, he chucked it at the other man.

“Consider that payback!”

He laughed, watching the dough momentarily stick to Settia’s cheek, before falling to the floor, leaving a trail of flour in its wake.

“You want war?” Settia challenged, picking up the bowl containing the rest of the dough – evidently he must’ve tripled the recipe – and then the timer went off.

“Saved by the bell.” Mizuki teased, threw him an oven mitten.

“Lucky you,” Settia grinned.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be throwing your extravagant ingredients around,” Mizuki replied, shifting his eyes to the mess of flour and dough on the floor. “Truce?”

“Truce.” Settia placed the plate of buns on top of the stove. “For now.”

“For now?”

“Next time,” Settia smirked, “I want to make a gingerbread house.”

Mizuki didn’t get the time to protest before a hot, sweet-tasting bun was shoved into his mouth. He chose not to pursue the topic, and dropped down on the bed, eating in silence.

It did taste different than the ones in the cafeteria.

I commissioned my friend @Gabbiewolf for these adorable chibis!
Go check out her art and comics~