Chapter Text
"Nii-san, your hand!"
The words came a second before the pain, searing through Mitsuki's finger where it pressed against the oven-hot pan.
"Oh, damn," he said mildly, careful to manoeuvre the tray with its 180° cookies onto the pot holders before pulling his hand back to with a hiss.
"Stay there. I'll go get the first aid kit."
Mitsuki brushed him off. "It's just a little burn." He ignored Iori's instructions, moving to stand before the sink and flip the tap to cold. The water stung where it hit his skin, but the relief it brought was immediate. It'd hurt again as soon as he shut it off, but it wasn't really that big a deal. He'd had worse before, and he probably would again.
Burns were an inevitability as a baker. His hands were covered in little scars and shiny welts where he'd gotten a little too zealous with an overly hot pan or a not-quite-boiling batch of caramel. Grease splatters dotted his wrists and up his forearms, old and almost unnoticeable unless they caught the light just right, and his left index finger still bore the mark from when he was young and trying to chop peppers for the first time.
They looked like his parents' hands. Meant for hot ovens and hard work, nimble fingers on piping bags and strong arms kneading dough. Clean fingernails and shining scars and no adornment. They were a baker’s hands, not an idol's. Even now, when he only occasionally had the time to go over and help with the shop, he still collected burns like Tamaki collected bread stickers.
But that was alright. It was nice to be able to look down and catch a glimpse of his scarred hands and speckled forearms and remember where he came from. He might be an idol now, but he'd always be a baker, whether that was piping cupcakes at the Fonte de Chocolat or making curry and pudding for dinner at the dorm. He liked having that connection to his roots.
Even if he wasn't super fond of the way his hand was going to throb for the rest of the day.