#macaronshipping

However cliche this date was, such a romantic setting befit the two teenage boys.

It was their first “official” date as a couple, and Michio had picked something simple– a nice, calm, romantic dinner out. For once Sora was surprised and a touch disheartened not to be enjoying his dearest’s famous cooking; Yoko made his recipes almost all the time now, much to his best friend’s protest.

Michie knew how much a fan of his cooking he was, but insisted he’d rather lay down the spatula for once tonight. Sora couldn’t blame him. Even as a chef of his caliber, it had to be nice to let someone else do the cooking for you once in a while.

There was a small buzz in the air about them, a few people spotting the chef’s famous lightly freckled face out of the crowd. But not once did anyone approach for an autograph or anything petty. This restaurant may be packed with people, but everyone let the two be. Sora smirked a little seeing furious glances of a few young girls, assuming the chef was taken by him…as he was.

There wasn’t much real ordering on their behalf, as Michio had the date already planned out – the two would be sharing a large plate of spaghetti. For drinks, the sugar-obsessed boy chose a sweet flavored Italian soda, with extra cream, and for the chef a nice limonata.

As the candy-coated Duelist stared into Michio’s eyes, he remembered that moment, just the other week, when this was suggested. Sora had been curled up in his romeo’s lap like a kitten, and a blush was dusting his freckled cheeks.

“Mother wonders why we haven’t…actually gone out,” he murmured, trying to stifle an embarrassed chuckle. “I’ve thought about it. It’s…cliche, but, how does a romantic spaghetti dinner sound?”

“Sounds great!” Sora had cheered back, nuzzling into his neck with a purr. “Would you be cooking it?”

“No, silly,” Michio paused to laugh, “I know a nice restaurant across town. It’s a little ritzy, but nothing out of my league.”

And now, here they were. It was a little more classy than Sora had expected, and before he left, Yoko badgered him about his dress. He was in no more than his standard attire, save that his jacket had been switched for a small navy jacket, a hand-me-down from Yuya who outgrew it. He was out-done by Michie, who had cleaned himself up more than usual, head-to-toe in his Sunday best. It mattered nonetheless, he assured, there was no real uppity dress code to be followed where they were going.

Seated at the far end of the restaurant in a cozy booth, both boys were soon they were ignoring everyone around them; blissfully engaged in conversation, they were only fixed on one another. There was small talk, talk of schooling, and talk of dreams; whereas Sora dodged the bullet murmuring a few words of mixed interests and notes of indecisiveness, the blue-haired boy melted listening to his love on the topic.

Michio and his love of cooking had taken him to such heights thus far, and to hear him dream of higher, to hear him ramble about schools and travels and expanding his skills, that was euphoria. He was beginning to live just to hear this sweet boy talk. Such commendable, innocent dreams…

Just as they began to notice their emptying stomachs, the dreamy moment was disrupted by the arrival of their dinner. A huge plate of spaghetti now took up their table space. Both boys gathered themselves and their silverware.

"Time to eat, love,” Michio mused with a smile, “I hope you enjoy it. This is one of my favorite restaurants.”

"Oh, I will,” Sora said playfully, reaching into the depths of his jacket, “but not before I add this!”

Out of his jacket he pulled out a bottle of chocolate sauce and uncapped it. Michio was stunned, to say the least, but not for long. As Sora leaned over the table, ready to tip the bottle and pour the sauce over his side of the platter, Michio leapt up, raising a hand to the motion.

"Sora, what--” It appeared he was at a slight loss for words. “Just what are you doing?”

Sora blinked, green eyes bright in confusion. “Eh? I'm adding my own sauce to it, of course!” He whined. “I always add my own sugary twist go what I eat!”

"’Twist'?” Michio echoed. “Even to all the meals Mrs. Sakaki made from my recipes??”

Retracting from the platter, Sora gave a small, nervous laugh. “Well, kind of..” He replied sheepishly. “To...everything savory I eat, really.”

Michio gasped. “Why in the world would you do that?? It’s sacrilege!”

"It is not!” Sora countered. “I always have sugar! Haven't you noticed that?”

“I didn't know you had sugar with every meal, even my own food! I'll bet you haven't even tried my food on its own!” Michio snapped.

Sora retracted, sitting back against the booth seat. There was a genuinely hurt look glittering in his eyes. Quickly he tried to recover, pursing his lips in a pout. It almost looked as if he was trying not to cry.

"I have,” he murmured, “I have tried your food by itself.”

Now Michio retracted, sitting back down. “You...have?”

"I have,” Sora repeated, “every time I have something you've made, whether you made it directly or Mrs. Sakaki made it from your recipes. And every time, I've loved it.”

"Really?” Michio was taken aback. “Then why do y--”

"Because,” Sora cut him off, anticipating the question, “I can't eat too much savory food by itself, or go through a day without as much sugar as I eat. Sugar keeps me happy, energized, and most importantly, myself.”

Michio sat back in his seat, violet eyes open and wide in shock. But he found he couldn't form any sort of response just yet.

Sora blinked, suddenly looking vulnerable. “I did sneak sugar into dishes when you weren't looking, but only because I didn't want to spoil the moment.” He confessed. “I'm sorry.”

Michio blinked, but soon sighed, resting his hands at the side of the table in defeat. Guilt weighed on him heavily as he faced Sora again.

"Sora...” He paused to gulp, biting his lip. A look of guilt graced his features as he turned away. “...I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have leapt to conclusions like that.”

Before he could look up, Sora reached across the table and put a hand over his boyfriend's.