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Regardless of what time it is, if Tyson walks into the bakery and immediately catches sight of EJ, he knows something’s wrong.
EJ, who isn’t actually the most well off when he’s stuck in a room with some ingredients and an oven, but that’s part of his charm. Owning a bakery without spending much more than a few moments in the kitchen when he’s around. It’s why he has his bakers, at least.
But he’s standing behind the counter today, lovingly setting out a tray of samples with a glittery note folded up next to them that reads take one, please! and Tyson’s left a little dumbfounded at just how pretty the food out on the tray is. It’s just a cake, one coated in what looks like chocolate buttercream, but it’s the M&M’s that catch his eye. Meticulously stuck to the sides, with swirls of icing overtop each little slice.
Tyson did not make that. Fuck him if he could even hold a piping bag properly. He doesn’t go there.
So, “Josty must’ve stayed up all night making these,” Tyson says, just barely curving the urge to pop a piece in his mouth. He’s actually a lot more proud of himself for making it behind the counter without mentioning just how great the cake looks. Josty doesn’t need the ego boost.
EJ reaches for the back of his neck and it’s nearly like he rubs it absentmindedly, because his eyes are still glued to the cake. “Does it look okay? I wanna at least do it half the justice it deserves.”
“It looks fine,” Tyson says, and then frowns at EJ. “I said, Josty must’ve—“
“No, yeah, I heard you,” EJ proclaims. “Josty only baked it.”
Tyson blinks at him, waiting for the gears to start turning in his head. Nate’s out sick and there isn’t a whole lot of a chance that EJ actually picked up a knack for decor, but anything’s possible at this point.
“You’re taking cake decorating classes?”
“Even better,” EJ insists, and Tyson hates the way he says it. He’s giddy about something, or just overly excited, and that’s probably not a good thing. “So, you know how you’ve been complaining about having to decorate when you obviously can’t?”
“Not even once.” Tyson isn’t lying, he’s just stretching the truth. Complain is a very strong word and all Tyson’s been doing is lightly bitching. That’s a whole other realm.
EJ ignores that, even if Tyson’s got the sneaking suspicion there’s a new hire somewhere out there utterly responsible for so gorgeously crafting a double chocolate cake that looks like that. EJ takes to the kitchen and doesn’t even look over his shoulder to confirm Tyson’s following after him. Not like he had any reason to suspect he isn’t.
“Well, just to make your life easier, I worked on it.” EJ tosses a deliberate look back at him and flashes Tyson a big grin. It would be all teeth if he had them.
“Worked on what exactly.”
He stops at the kitchen door, patting the frame. “Go make friends, I have things to do.”
Tyson feels oddly similar to a kid being left at daycare for the first time and nearly turns to EJ to plead for like, the hire’s name or something just so he can skip the awkward small talk. But then there’s an encouraging hand on his shoulder followed by an equally encouraging shove, both of which are entirely helpful.
The state of the kitchen is a lot more cleaner than Tyson’s used to, and then there’s the guy standing by the centre table carefully squeezing out a piping bag of pink icing onto a round sugar cookie.
He glances up just in time for Tyson to stop gaping at the little fondant flowers sitting next to the cookie and offers a little smile. It’s soft and kind and Tyson can’t help but immediately think it suits him incredibly well. It does, but that isn’t the point.
“Oh, hey,” the guy says, and goes right back to his cookies, switching out the one he’s working on for a blank one. Tyson thinks he recognizes the cookies as his own, but then again, they could be Josty’s doing. “You must be Tyson, right?”
Tyson isn’t self-aware of how stupidly he’s standing there until the guy glances back up at him, probably expecting a response, and he’s gotta resort to trying to look busy with grabbing an apron. “Yeah,” Tyson says, because he’s stupid. “Uh, sorry, EJ never gave me a name?”
“Gabe,” the guy returns, and Tyson watches him switch out the piping bag in his hand for a scribe tool.
Tyson never really noticed the way Gabe ties his apron leaves a little bow hanging right over his hip, but he’s noticing it a lot more right now. All while he’s trying not to stare as he ties his own off.
“Nice to meet you, man,” Tyson offers, even if he’s still gauging whether this guy is even worth being nice to. “Saw the cake you decorated sitting outside, it is—wow.”
He moves a little closer to turn the deck oven next to the table on. He’s supposed to retrieve the prepared loaves of bread from the cooler, but he’s sort of stuck staring at the fondant flowers again. They’re so tiny and intricately made, he’s not sure how he’s supposed to look anywhere else.
“Thanks.” Gabe laughs, almost something sheepish. “I’m hoping for more orders of cake so I can flex that muscle a little more,” he says, dotting the corners of a cookie sitting in front of him. He’s got about fifteen of them settled on the table, all frosted in different colours. They’re bright, bright, bright, in pinks and yellows and greens.
“Totally welcome to do that,” Tyson tells him, as a moment of weakness, and heads right over to the cooler. He slides the loaves out and sets the pans down on the counter. This is feeling oddly comfortable all of the sudden, having Gabe in the kitchen.
Tyson was pretty convinced it’s be odd to do this whole introductory thing again, but. Okay.
“Do you decorate, too?” Gabe asks.
“Only if I have to. I’m not the best at colouring inside the lines.”
Gabe huffs out a chuckle and it’s all sugary sweet and beautiful, so Tyson decides to listen for the ding of the oven a little harder. It’s taking all too long to preheat and he kind of just wants to stick the bread in there and restock the racks. Instead of being stuck in here where he’s supposed to be around Gabe creating art on the smallest canvas in the world and pretend not to be amazed.
Gabe responds by picking up one of the flowers with his tweezers and sticking it to the dotted cookie. “Then I’ll let you in on a secret,” he says, fixing Tyson with a serious expression. It looks feigned, but draws him in regardless.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t bake,” Gabe admits, practically scandalized by his own confession. “I can cook, I guess. But baking is so far off the table, you have no idea.”
Tyson raises his eyebrows at him. “You work in a bakery.”
“I decorate things, you know, make ‘em pretty. But I can’t do that if I’m the one putting them in the oven.”
“There’s no way you’re that bad.”
Gabe laughs again, shaking his head easily. “I wish I could lie, but I’ve never been good at, like, any of that stuff. I mean, I’ve got you to help out, so that’s good.”
Tyson wonders if he’s imagining the way his face warms up at that, because convincing himself that his mind’s messing with him is really the only way he can keep anything unwelcome out of his head. “Yeah, yeah, me and Nate, the other baker here. I mean, he’s two-way, so he decorates too. But don’t worry, no one’s out to steal your thunder.” Tyson watches him move onto another cookie, still careful as ever with his flower placement. “Except Josty, maybe.”
Gabe glances up at him, clearly confused. “Wait, what?”
That stumps Tyson for about half a second, until he realizes just what he’d called him. “Tyson Jost, I mean,” he tries again. “Kid’s a rookie, but he’s got a lot of promise.”
That gets the corner of Gabe’s lip to quirk up just a little, but it’s stomped down by another bout of confusion. “No, I know who you mean, I just. We’re talking about the Tyson Jost who transferred, right?”
It’s Tyson’s turn to be confused now, because that doesn’t make any sense. He’s met a few Tyson’s in his lifetime, but another Tyson Jost specifically isn’t very coincidental. “I‘m talking about the Jost that works here,” Tyson says, waving his hand broadly to gesture at the kitchen. “You know, brown hair, probably shorter than me, uh—he normally decorates.”
“No, yeah, we’re talking about the same person,” Gabe says, nodding along. “The one who transferred.”
Tyson blinks.
The oven pings.
Through the kitchen doors, Tyson can see EJ unlocking the front door. He doesn’t waste a single second before bursting past them just to catch him before he leaves.
Gabe, who’d just finished decorating his cookies, had been happily setting them all into a tray.
Tyson didn’t think much of that because, “you fired Josty,” he blurts, and EJ looks unfazed when he turns to face him. “And Gabe is his replacement, you replaced Josty with some uppity gourmet decorator.”
EJ laughs, but it’s hollowed out, lacking any sort of humour. “No, that’s not—no, Josty transferred,” he explains.
“And you decided not to tell me.”
“I figured you already knew,” EJ explains, and he looks sympathetic for all of three seconds before it’s waved off. Which Tyson gets. This is the part of the job where EJ’s gotta be more of his boss than his friend, but hello, what the fuck?
Tyson tries not to sputter. “I didn’t.”
“C’mon, man, it’s not that big of a deal. You’ve got a job to do here. If you’re really worried about it, talk to Josty yourself.”
EJ’s shoulders relax a little when the kitchen doors open and he looks right around Tyson to where he assumes Gabe’s sauntering out with his stupid artsy cookies.
As much as Tyson wants to stand there and throw a fit, he glances around to see Gabe slipping the tray into the display and he immediately wants to hit his head against the wall. “What if I quit,” he threatens, low enough for just EJ to hear.
“You won’t,” EJ returns, which is frustratingly true.
Tyson makes an offended sound. “You don’t know me well enough to just assume that.”
EJ, who Tyson has known for just about half his life, gives him a look that just about screams for him to back off. “You two have a great day now,” he announces to the both of them, and Tyson is just short of pleading for him to stay.
“You hate me,” he accuses.
“Wow, right on the nose. Very observant,” EJ claps him on the shoulder, not looking at all serious. “No property damages,” he adds, and he’s looking directly at Tyson when he says it, too.
Gabe laughs from behind Tyson anyways and all the packed away irritation comes rolling right back.
new hire ur gonna HATE him, Tyson texts Nate at his next break, while Gabe is all faux cheery and handling the people out front.
He got a little tired of facing it after a while. Like, Tyson bakes for a living and even he can’t handle how sickeningly sweet Gabe is with customers.
The response comes back quick enough that Tyson knows Nate wasn’t sleeping, instead maybe wallowing in bed. That’s what he usually does when he’s sick, if he’s not begging Tyson to make him soup.
oh god what did he do
Tyson types, josty transferred and he’s basically replacing him?? He follows that quickly with, he’s fucking PERFECT
Three grey dots fade on and off his screen while Nate types and it happens long enough that Tyson thinks Nate’s going off on a whole rant about how that’s absolute bullshit and nobody should be replacing Josty of all people, but the dots come and go for about a minute. It’s radio silent.
Then, and that isn’t a good thing??
no!!!!!! josty’s gone!!!!!
tys his new location is like right by his place, Nate sends, much faster this time. he’s a broke college kid u rlly think he has gas money
Tyson frowns at his phone. yes!
okay so you can still father him from his new location?? long distance relationship. make it work, pops up on his screen barely a second later. stop complaining make new guy feel welcome
no! Tyson sends, very aware of just how difficult he’s being, and powers his phone off when the kitchen doors open.
“Hey,” Gabe offers, with that perfect little smile Tyson had the audacity to call nice an hour ago. “Nobody’s left out front, but keep your ears peeled for a bell, I’m gonna finish up the last of these.” He sticks his thumb in the direction of the half done up cupcakes he’s got sitting out on the counter and Tyson almost rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, whatever,” he complies, and pockets his phone.
“I hate this guy,” Tyson says vaguely, the second Nate picks up. He’s just hanging out in his car after work, pretty much incapable of driving himself home after 8 hours of thank you, come again! “I can’t stand him, never not stood anyone more, actually.”
When Nate coughs, he sounds distant, like he’s pulling the phone away from his face to do it.
“Oh, right.”
“Yes, right,” Nate says. “You call me up when I’m sick and compromised and basically forced to listen to you complain and you have the balls to hate new guy.”
Tyson runs it through his head for a minute. When he was out with the flu, Nate facetimed him on three different occasions to gush about how EJ gave him the look. He pretty sure he’s allowed to talk shit about Gabe.
For the record, he still has no idea what the look is, but he’s 99% sure Nate took it as something sexual. Which—no thanks, Tyson doesn’t really wanna be in the middle of that.
“Uh,” he says, unsure of just how to respond to that. “Yes? Yes, yeah, that sounds right.”
Nate sighs, long suffering and pretty much a sign for Tyson to just hurry this along before he goes ahead and hangs up. Tyson’s almost surprised he hasn’t hung up all on his own yet.
“He’s just annoying,” Tyson explains, because he doesn’t really know what to do with the freedom to talk about Gabe. He was kind of just running off the idea of hot and annoying, but he’s pretty reluctant about mentioning one of those. Plus, half a conversation isn’t really the most enticing thing in the world.
Nate makes an interesting noise regardless. “Did you have exclusively one-on-one time with him? Like, all day?”
Tyson wishes he didn’t know where this was going. In fact, he hates that he understands Nate as quickly as he does. “Yeah, but—“
“Oh, I see,” Nate says, and cuts himself off to cough again. “I never pegged you for the kind of guy into the whole hatesex thing, but I mean, you do you. Single you is kind of a dumb slut anyways.”
“Are we in high school right now?” Tyson asks, trying to stray away from the conversation. “I barely know him.”
“Seriously, just take all that frustration out on him and blow his mind at the same time, you win.”
“I’m not even kidding, where did you go to high school?”
Tyson can practically hear Nate roll his eyes. “Speaking of high school, do you like constantly acting like a horny teenager?”
“You’re the worst friend I have,” Tyson complains, even if he knows he’s lying. They both do.
Nate laughs, right into the phone. “That’s why I’m here.”
Tyson’s entirely familiar with the fact that he should probably be focusing on rolling snickerdoodles in cinnamon sugar and sticking them on a tray, but is it really his fault that he’s coworkers with Gabe.
There’s a lot to look at. His very own chocolate cupcakes, the little apron bow over Gabe’s hip, or like, Gabe in general. Tyson’s watching him sprinkle crushed graham crackers on what looks like a melted marshmallow disguised as icing and the whole thing is just really appealing.
Because Gabe’s all lost in his own world, topping every cupcake off with a little piece of chocolate stuck into the marshmallow topping and Tyson’s just so fascinated with the way he loses himself in prettying things up. All in these creative ways that Tyson tries his hardest not to linger on, but it’s late and he gets to go home in an hour and Gabe is somehow like that.
He has really steady hands.
Tyson almost recoils at the thought. Instead, he kicks all his attention back to focusing on the ball of dough in his own hand and sets it down on the tray before moving onto the next. Balling it up, rolling it in cinnamon sugar, setting it on the tray, rinse and repeat.
Gabe writes up a little sign for the cupcakes, all in looping lettering, and clips it to the front of his tray. S’mores Cupcakes
When he catches Tyson’s eyes, because his gaze is very difficult to avoid, he just shrugs and says, “I used to go camping every summer as a kid, lots of s’mores. And when you said you went with milk chocolate ganache, it’s the first thing I thought of.”
“No, yeah, they’re. They’re really nice,” Tyson tells him, and wants to immediately fling himself off a bridge.
They’re supposed to be the cupcake of the day tomorrow, and Tyson wants to say they look spectacular, or that they should be charging extra just for the way Gabe handles them, but he bites all that back and tries to focus on doing what he’s best at.
The kitchen smells the same as it always does, besides that little tinge of cinnamon in the air that comes with baking snickerdoodles. Tyson’s never actually going to be used to it, but he’s desensitized enough to his own baking that he can let the cookies cool out in the open without biting the bullet and stealing one.
The air is warm and welcoming and it feels just like home, or like a blanket Tyson could wrap himself up in, and maybe Gabe’s thinking the same thing. He’s looking at Tyson with something shining in his eyes, something far away that looks nearly like a galaxy full of stars.
“How do you even do that,” Gabe asks, attention locked on the cooling rack full of cookies.
Tyson isn’t sure what he’s looking at, the smattering of cinnamon sugar, the cracked surface, or how they’ve come out about as golden as Gabe’s fucking hair, but Tyson’s reckless enough to feel a swell of pride deep in his chest. He shouldn’t take compliments from him, he really shouldn’t. But.
“I could say the same about you,” Tyson returns, too quick for him to actually think much of it. He wants to say, “the bakery’s a whole lot prettier with you around,” but he doesn’t. Because he’s just trying to live his life and do his job. Flirting with the guy he’s decided to hate is on the bottom of his to-do list right now.
“I just get my points for presentation, you’re the one running the show,” Gabe says, and when he pulls his eyes off the snickerdoodles, Tyson has to look away.
The bell signalling a customer’s waiting outside rings and he immediately blurts, “I’ll take that.”
Tyson could say the customer’s his number one priority, but it’s that swirl of nerves in the pit of his stomach that mostly drives him off. He shouldn’t be dealing with shit like this right now.
He doesn’t know what it is. He hung around with guys like Gabe all through culinary school, guys that took baking as seriously as anything else. Guys that could actually bake, but here Gabe is with his fancy fondant and probably the ability to turn a burnt crooked cake into something beautiful and Tyson is pretty much unable to handle it.
As far as he knows, he doesn’t have a type. But. Then again.
can u hurry up and come in again, Tyson texts Nate, pushing the button on the stand mixer.
Again, he gets a text back quick, despite it being 7 in the morning.
i’m sick, Nate sends, cough cough
baking is a lifestyle! sorry a couple viruses got u down but they sleep we grind😤💪, he texts, maybe only half joking.
His stand mixer is loud, just about demanding his attention. Tyson strays away from his phone just to watch it spin his brownie batter into something creamy and smooth. Around and around.
uhhhh no, shows up after a minute.
He’s about to type something equally as obnoxious back when, hey is ej in?? shows up
👀👀👀??? Tyson texts back, erasing whatever he was going to send instead.
just tell him i said hi?
Tyson considers being a pain in the ass for a minute, it’s a very compelling way to deal with just about anything, but he’s feeling like a good person. So, sorry no ur boyfriend is not in right now would u like me to leave him a message
Nate doesn’t text him back until Tyson washes up again and leaves the batter in the cooler to chill, moving on to empty out the deck ovens afterwards. The bread looks just like it always does, fluffy and big, and Tyson’s making sure it’s all evenly cooked when his phone buzzes again.
k ur texting me a lot is ur man not in yet?? is sitting on his home screen, and Tyson almost cries.
haha u are so funny, he types stiffly in return and ignores his phone until his break.
Normally, Tyson makes coffee in the mornings for him and Nate. It’s almost a tradition, especially on Friday mornings when they’re prepared for one of their busiest day of the week.
But Nate’s not here, so Tyson just fills up a cup with one espresso shot for every time he’s stolen a glance at Gabe this morning. It’s definitely too much caffeine to be considered even remotely normal.
“Oh hey, wanna see something cool?” Gabe says, out of practically nowhere, instead of warning Tyson with a good morning.
He startles, and tries to tamper down the glare that settles over his eyes as Gabe gets in front of him, taking the tiny pitcher for milk and filling it.
“Sorry, what am I seeing?” Tyson looks up at him while he’s warming up the milk.
The espresso machine hisses in response.
“Latte art,” Gabe says simply, tapping his pitcher against the counter top. “I literally took a class in this stuff. Might as well.”
“You can actually do that?”
“You can’t?”
Tyson feels the tips of his ears prick with heat. “No, um, only hearts and leaves. The basic shit.”
He leans into Tyson’s space to snag the cup. “So you want something that isn’t basic then,” Gabe says, and he’s not even asking, like he’s daring Tyson to test him. His lips are curled up at one end as he tilts the cup and gets to work. “Who made the lattes before me, then?”
Tyson smiles weakly. “Josty, usually.”
Gabe doesn’t look up, pouring milk in little patterns down the middle of the cup. “Shit, right.”
“No, it’s—I heard he’s doing great at his new location. Kid’s a star,” Tyson says, not sure if this is uncomfortable small talk or if he can actually calm down and converse with Gabe without, like, malicious intent.
Gabe smiles up at him when he pulls the milk away and it’s something all wrapped up in warmth between just the two of them. Tyson isn’t sure what to think of it, where to let his mind go, and he throws his gaze down towards the cup and watches Gabe go in for one last detail.
It’s a little crown. Right over top the swan he’d carefully poured out. There are swirls of milk all around it and it’s pleasing enough to look at that Tyson almost doesn’t want to drink it.
Despite that, he still kind of doesn’t wanna drink it. You know, with the six or so espresso shots.
“Holy shit,” Tyson says. “I really mean it when I ask is there anything that you can’t do right?”
Gabe wavers a little before handing the cup over and to Tyson’s complete shock, his cheeks are dusting with this soft pink before he turns away just to recap the big jug of milk on the counter. “Watch me bake. All the high praise always goes away in an instant.”
Tyson looks him over, considering, considering, and then, “okay.”
Gabe apparently doesn’t understand what that even means. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Tyson repeats, firmer than how he’d usually say it. “I mean it, bake something.”
“I don’t know how badly you wanna be charged with arson, but this is the way to do it,” Gabe explains, almost looking terrified. It’s probably the least confident he’s seen him look since they first met.
“It’ll be fine,” Tyson says, waving him off. “There’s no way you’re that bad, nobody’s that bad.”
“Not true.”
“Bake sugar cookies, I’ll decorate them, whatever you want, and then we can probably give them out to customers. Maybe run EJ out of business,” Tyson explains, flashing him a thumbs up.
“For transferring Jost,” Gabe says simply.
Tyson gasps. “Oh my god, you’re good.”
He takes a sip of his latte and nearly coughs it up. Death by espresso might not be the way to go, he realizes.
Gabe can’t bake.
Which is now common knowledge. After the thirty times Gabe had insisted it. While coughing into the flour puffing up around the mixer, after accidentally spilling sugar all over the counter, and when he forgot to lock the top of the stand mixer.
In fact, Tyson left the kitchen once to take an order and by the time he came back, Gabe had flour all in his hair with something traumatized weaved right into voice. “Tyson, problem,” he’d said.
“Yeah, no, I see that.”
Gabe leaves the cookies in the oven for too long, insisting over and over that they still look raw while Tyson leans up against the centre table trying his best to keep from laughing his ass off.
And, to nobody’s surprise, they‘re rock solid when Gabe pulls them out of the oven. They aren’t burnt, just cursed with some crispy pieces, and Gabe could probably give someone a concussion if he threw one right at their head.
“Wait, hold on,” Gabe blurts, as he’s pulling out the piping bags for Tyson. “Did I use baking soda or powder?”
“Look at you ending my whole career.” Tyson snorts and takes a piping bag. “Too late now, chef, what do you want me to do?”
Despite just how stressed out Gabe looks, staring down at his cookies, all llumpy and barely circles, he comes to the conclusion of, “a rose.”
Tyson blanks a little trying to picture one, let alone actually pulling apart the pattern to put on a fucking sugar cookie. “Do you have some kind of vendetta against me?”
“Nope,” Gabe answers, popping the ‘p’. “Here,” he pulls out his scribe tool and sets it down on the table. “You’re gonna need this. Like, really need it.”
Tyson almost uses the blue icing.
“You missed a spot,” Gabe comments lazily, gesturing to a random place on the cookie.
Tyson doesn’t see a single empty spot on the entire thing. “Liar.”
“No, see, right there.” It isn’t very helpful, considering he points to what looks like the whole cookie.
Tyson almost squeezes the entirety of the piping bag out right then and there. There wouldn’t be an empty spot then at least. “I’m trying to do this,” he insists, even if his rose is looking a little more like—he doesn’t even know. It’s just not a rose. Or even a puddle. It’s just a lot of icing.
“Kinda bumpy over on this side,” Gabe says, again basically waving his hand at the whole thing. He’s crowding Tyson enough that the two or three inches of a height difference between them is stupidly noticeable, and Tyson really should just keep focusing on trying to fix a cookie with a proper rose, but.
He flips his piping bag and squeezes it out right on Gabe’s cheek.
Gabe flinches, backing away, and he almost looks betrayed. It’s all in the way his eyes are just that much more blown, how his laugh comes out with this edge of malice.
“You didn’t,” Gabe says, sounding like he’s caught somewhere on the edge of disbelief.
“Hmm, yeah.” Tyson shrugs, all faux innocent. “You got a little something right there,” he says, and points at his own cheek. Keeping it vague.
“Yeah?” Gabe laughs out. “Okay, I see how it is.”
“How exactly is it?”
Tyson should probably be expecting it when he sees Gabe duck down to reach for the flour, but it’s still a shock when he comes up with a fistful to blow Tyson’s way.
Tyson thinks he makes a noise halfway between a scream and a gasp before swiping most of what he can manage off his face. “You’re making a really powerful enemy here, Gabe.”
“Oh yeah?” It’s a challenge, the way he says it, how it rolls off his tongue drenched in fucking confidence.
Tyson’s absolutely for that, Gabe should know, as he’s making his way around the table. “I just wanna say I’m sorry, in advance,” Tyson tells him.
Gabe looks like he’s about to say something, but it’s over when Tyson gets his hands on the powdered sugar.
Tyson gives him a once over and with barely any time in between throwing a fistful, he says, “close your eyes.”
He hurls the powdered sugar and it puffs up into a cloud, just like the flour had, and Gabe throws an elbow over his eyes just as it hits.
Then it’s the flour, right back at him.
They do it for five minutes maybe, chirping at each other, ducked behind their chosen side of the table while flinging ingredients at one another. It’s a fucking mess, Tyson already knows he probably looks like he just came in from a blizzard, judging by how Gabe’s equally decked out in white powder.
The cookies, Tyson doesn’t even think they can be classified as cookies anymore, are brutally caught in the crossfire.
It’s back and forth, back and forth, and then—
“Woah, woah, what the hell,” someone hisses, right as the kitchen doors swing shut, and there’s no way Gabe got over there so fast.
“Oh,” Gabe blurts, and quickly scrambles to his feet, confirming it isn’t him.
So Tyson’s gotta do the same because that’s EJ. That, without a doubt, is EJ staring at them with the absolute fucking wrath of a livid boss.
Tyson wonders if it’s okay to start fearing for his life.
“You two wanna explain what’s going on here?” EJ says, lacking just about any lift in his voice. His eyebrows are drawn, mouth twisted into a scowl like Tyson’s never seen it.
Actually, the last time Tyson can even remember EJ getting even slightly peeved was when he forgot to stock the bread in the morning and this, compared to that molehill, is mountain.
Gabe glances at Tyson, like he’s trying to communicate that he’s got no idea how to get them out of this. Figures. Tyson doesn’t either.
“Um,” Tyson starts anyways, feeling his voice jitter. “Nate said hi.”
EJ is the kind of person to have good and bad personality days. The good days usually overpowering the bad, because he’s an angel and would hurt a fly. Unless that fly, or flies, covered his kitchen in confectioners’ sugar and flour. That’d be a bad day and EJ’s bad days are when his worst come out.
“I could write you up for this,” EJ says, setting brooms and brushes out for both of them. “You know, when I was a kid and my mom caught me messing around with the ingredients in her bakery, she made me walk a mile to the supermarket and haul a sack of flour right back for her.”
Tyson silently takes a broom and EJ shakes his head.
“God bless her, she didn’t have to deal with idiots like you two.”
It goes like this: EJ mans the front counter while Tyson and Gabe clean up the kitchen. Tyson says, “bet I can clean up my half before you clean up yous.” Gabe looks up at him with a challenge in his eyes and grins.
On the bright side, EJ is a little less pissed when he walks into a clean kitchen some time later. More or less, at least.
Because Tyson isn’t going to admit to sweeping sugar underneath the table. Gabe probably won’t mention “accidentally” knocking some vanilla extract over on Tyson’s side either. But a little competition never hurt anyone.
Tyson’s in the bakery early to bake off the chocolate crinkles he’d left in the cooler the evening before, and he’s not expecting Gabe to be in as early as he is, but there he is.
Gabe’s usually the one staying in late to top off a cake he’s decorating, like when he’d gotten an order for a florist’s birthday and spent the whole night trying to perfect the fondant picket fence of flowers encircling the cake, or when he’d deemed an entire batch of cupcakes poisonous because he’d forgotten a chocolate base beneath the frosting.
But he’s in early today, drawing something up on the blackboard they’ve got the menu scribbled out on. His eyes are pinched in concentration, the chalk in his hand rolling smoothly over the board.
He looks over only to offer a, “hey, g’morning,” before the blackboard snags away the rest of his fleeting attention. “I found some of the chalk in the supply closet and decided to work at this for a bit. You don’t mind, right?”
Tyson wavers long enough that he nearly forgets what Gabe had said in the first place, watching him draw out a cupcake right by the bottom. It’s pink, with a little strawberry poking out the top, and Tyson’s seeing enough depth in the fucking icing of all things to toy around with the idea of Gabe being an art student.
He says as much. “Did you take classes on blackboard art, too, or is this just all natural?”
“All part of the charm,” Gabe says, switching out the soft shade of pink he’s using for something a little darker. “And I own way too many sketchbooks to keep track of them all. That might play a big role in it.”
Tyson circles around behind the counter, still zeroed in on the careful focus Gabe’s got turned to his cupcake. It’s the same as when he’s caught up in decorating and Tyson’s seriously at his wit’s end by now. “I can definitely tell,“ he comments, trying to keep enough adoration out of his voice that he can make it to the kitchen without having to talk anymore, but.
“Come back out again after you’re done your thing. We can have lattes,” Gabe says, wearing this little smile that’s practically all fondness. Which is exactly what Tyson was trying to avoid. “I mean, ones without, like, fifty shots of espresso,” he adds, lifting his brows in question.
It takes all of Tyson’s willpower to keep from ignoring that just to duck into the kitchen. He could pretend he didn’t catch his voice, or that his head’s just too in the game, but Tyson’s enough of a mess that he wouldn’t be able to play that off for the life of him.
So, “it was six. Six shots of espresso,” Tyson argues, avoiding the question.
Gabe rolls his eyes. “You might be able to actually enjoy this one, six is too many for the both of us combined,” he says. And no kidding, he’s kind of right.
“Alright, alright” Tyson lets himself say, before he gets too attached to the way Gabe looks at him, and pushes past the kitchen doors. He hates that he has to centre himself before even reaching for his apron.
There’s always something a person is absolutely useless at. For Gabe, that’s baking, he cannot go there for the life of him, clearly. And even while Tyson’s pretty sure he could get by decorating the simple little iced cakes anyone can do, he couldn’t even dream of decorating as pretty as Gabe does it.
It’s two things neither of them can do. It’s just. Gabe is fantastic at everything else.
Like when he hands Tyson a cup of coffee with a little rose looking up at him, his own sitting on the countertop, and Tyson’s hoping the way he’s looking down at the cup conceals the fact that he’s openly gawking.
“Not my best work, but you know,” Gabe says cockily, taking his own cup from the counter. He hides his smile behind it when he goes in for a sip.
“Oh yeah, I bet.” Tyson holds the cup painstakingly, careful not to spill. “At least you can actually make a rose.”
He didn’t really wanna think about the rose sugar cookie incident today, but he guesses that’s what’s happening now.
“It’s basically a truce gift,” Gabe says, just about looking apologetic. He presses his hip to the counter next to them, almost leaning into it, and Tyson’s afraid of swaying forward into his space.
“You’re apologizing for giving me the most traumatic experience of my life?”
Gabe shrugs, obnoxious grin already locked into place. “Pretty much.”
Tyson hums at him, trying to come off like he’s actually weighing the options he’s got here. But with the cup in his hands and the look on Gabe’s face, bright eyes and an even brighter smile, there isn’t very much wiggle room.
“Truce,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “But only because you’re basically DaVinci.”
“That’s fair.” Gabe laughs.
On the first day Nate’s back, Tyson barely even hears him come through the kitchen doors, too focused on the pleated cake border Gabe’s showing him.
He’s watching him, a lot more comfortable admiring Gabe out in the open now that he’s pretty sure it’s just about okay not to hate him, and Gabe humours him with the occasional joke about how it’s not as hard as it looks. Until Tyson tries the piped-frosting technique on a clean plate and brutally fucks it up.
They’re talking and Tyson’s saying something about how the person who’d ordered the cake is getting way more than they were expecting, focused on the bread he’s got in the deck ovens and the little quirk in Gabe’s lips all at once.
“It’s nice to go that extra mile sometimes, just for the joy in their eyes when they see the cake,” Gabe insists, and looks at Tyson with something sweet in his expression. That fades all too quickly, and Tyson’s about to question it, but he doesn’t actually get the chance.
“Tyson!” Nate cheers, out of nowhere, practically draping himself over his shoulders. “Guess who just got cleared, fucker!”
Tyson reaches out to touch the side of his face, laughing when Nate slaps his hand away. “Sorry, you’ve been gone for so long I didn’t think it was actually you.”
“God, thanks,” Nate says, and promptly ignores him to smile at Gabe, the same way he’d smiled at Tyson when they’d first met and actually tried keeping boundaries between them. “Hey, I’m Nate.” He reaches a hand out for a shake and Gabe, because he’s a good sport, takes it with a laugh. “And you must be new guy.”
“I mean, yeah, but everyone calls me Gabe.”
“I call him stuck up,” Tyson adds helpfully, and Gabe looks thoughtful when he nods in return.
Nate pats Tyson’s chest rather than his back. Probably because of the way he’s just about slung over him. “I expected nothing more from Tys, honestly. Sorry you’ve had to deal with him while I’ve been out.”
Gabe chuckles, it’s warm and bright, and Tyson can feel his face pool with heat. He hopes it isn’t visible, because there isn’t a chance in hell Nate’s going to let him live that one down.
“So you do like him,” Nate says over their lunch break, because Tyson is an open book. “I mean, I totally get it. I saw the heart eyes, bud.”
Technically, it’s only Nate’s lunch break, but he’s hanging out in the kitchen while Tyson slides a new batch of earl grey shortbreads into their tray. It’s what Tyson should be focused on, but the quiet mocking in Nate’s voice is unbearable.
“I’m a grown ass adult, my mind isn’t constantly on dick like some kind of teenager,” Tyson tells him, totally unconvinced by his own words.
Nate watches him re-clip the label to the front of the tray. “How long have you been lying to yourself, oh my god. That is brutal.”
“I’m doing just fine lying to myself. Or—or not lying, I don’t know. Shit.” Tyson keeps fidgeting with the order of the shortbreads. It’s the only way he can actually keep from seeing Nate making judgmental faces at him.
“Yeah, right,” Nate rolls his eyes and takes a sip from the cup of Tim’s he’s got sitting on the counter. “I have no idea how long you’ve kept him wrapped around your finger but don’t, like, let go of that.”
Tyson opens his mouth to say something in response. Shuts it. And takes his cookies out of the kitchen.
“Get it, Tys!” He hears behind him, as the doors swing shut.
Then, “get what?” Gabe asks from the register out front, eyes wide. There’s a woman in front of him, swiping her card in the machine.
“Uh,” Tyson stammers, glancing over at Gabe and then right back down. He raises the tray in his hands. “Cookies.”
When Tyson hears a bell and steps past the kitchen doors, he isn’t sure what exactly he’s supposed to be expecting, but a frustrated looking woman isn’t really the first thing his mind goes to. Especially since it’s this very woman that had only a few hours earlier picked up a box of thumbprint cookies he and Gabe worked on together. She’s back now, apparently, lips pursed into something similar to a frown with a box sitting out on the counter.
“Hi there,” Tyson greets, trying to come off as cheery as he can despite the ominous feeling settling deep in his stomach. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“Are you the one who made these?” The woman snaps, and Tyson’s used to the whole getting brushed off thing, but it still stings.
“I mean.” Tyson shrugs. “Mostly, yeah, my buddy decorated them, but—“
“Well, I came out here looking for cookies that my family and I could actually enjoy. Instead, I got something burnt to a crisp.” Her brows are drawn closely together, furrowed and twitching. “Do you have any idea how frustrated my twins were when I told them we couldn’t have proper cookies for their birthday? You ruined their day.”
“I’m—wow, I am so sorry,” Tyson blurts, blinking at her. He doesn’t remember handing out burnt cookies, there’s no way that would get past him. And even if they did, they wouldn’t make it through Gabe, who’d spent an hour decorating them and making sure they looked just right. Gabe, who is all too used to the smell of burnt baking to mistaken it for anything else.
“I can refund these for you no problem, how’s that sound?” he asks, and twists the box so the opening flap faces him.
The woman looks troubled at that, watching as Tyson undoes the ribbon around the cardboard. “Could you hurry it up, actually? I’m in a rush,” she says, with a quick frown. “I’ve gotta replace these at the place down the block.”
Tyson nods his head, figuring it’s best not to argue with that. He wouldn’t want to double order from a place that burnt his food either. “No problem, I‘m just going to—“ He pauses, staring down at the box after lifting it open. Then, right back up at the woman. For a second, he’s jumping between things to say, entirely unsure of exactly how to approach this.
So, “Ma’am, respectfully, you do know I can’t take back an empty box of cookies, right?”
The woman looks so over it that she swipes the box back, snapping it shut. “You don’t need the box full to refund me,” she complains. “They were wrong”
Tyson nods slowly, still trying to wrap his head around this. He’s been trained to deal with situations like this for long enough that he knows not to lash out, despite the fact that this woman had the gall to insult his baking. To accuse him of actually burning a dish. “No, you’re absolutely right, I don’t need the box of cookies, but I can’t refund you if you’ve already eaten all of them.
The woman looks at him like she doesn’t understand english all of the sudden and Tyson swallows down the sigh inching up his throat.
“That box you have there,” he tries pointing at it, to make it even more obvious, “is empty. Therefore, I can’t just—“
He’s interrupted by the bell sounding again, the woman hitting it once, twice, thrice, and practically shouting, “I want to talk to your manager.”
Tyson waits for the doors to open behind him, because someone ringing the bell like that would attract any one of them, and when he turns around to see Gabe looking concerned, all he can muster is a pleading look.
“My manager, uh. Right,” he says, voice pitched loud enough that Gabe can hear it. “Lucky for you, he’s actually in right now. Gabe,” he turns around, “you’ve got a visitor.”
It’s pretty clear on Gabe’s face that he has no idea what’s going on here, because neither of them are actually superior to the other, aside from when Nate had called Gabe chief decorator, which isn’t even a real position.
He goes along with it anyways, approaching the counter with the same confidence he always wears built right back up. “What seems to be the problem here?” He asks, that customer service persona he‘s perfected shining through in all its glory.
“One of your bakers burnt all the cookies for my kids’ birthdays and now refuses to give me a refund,” she says, tone snarky and unforgiving. She looks directly at Tyson when she says it too, just about seething.
“Okay, well.” Tyson can feel the questioning gaze Gabe hands him, before turning right back to the woman. “I’ll have that taken care of for you. You came by for the thumbprint cookies, right?”
The woman nods. She keeps the box to herself.
Tyson wants to roll his eyes so bad he’s convinced the only way to actually stop himself is to look over to where Gabe is tapping buttons on the register. He’s not actually doing anything, Tyson realizes.
“Gabe,” he says, firm. “The box is empty.”
“Really?” Gabe looks up, mock-shock written all across his face. “That’s so weird, because I don’t even remember the cookies being burnt. Ma’am, what do you think?”
“I think my children were forced to eat sub-par cookies as a punishment for your lousy baking,” she snaps, and Tyson wonders if he imagines the way her grip on the box tightens.
“Lousy baking,” Gabe mimics, looking like the woman’s insulting him rather than Tyson. His shoulders are stiff, and he’s still wearing that little curve in his lips he uses with all the customers, but there’s something harsh about this one. “Alright, with all due respect, I really don’t think I’m allowed to refund an empty box of cookies. Now, I’m sorry you were punished by such lousy baking, but instead of turning you away empty handed, I can do you one better.”
The woman still looks unhappy, but she seems to relax just slightly.
Tyson wonders if it’s too early to clock out for the day.
Gabe presses a few other buttons on the register, and the register still isn’t even on at this point, so Tyson has no idea what he’s playing at. “Since it’s the first Tuesday of the month, we can give you our senior citizen discount. How does that sound?” He’s smiling, sweet as honey, and the woman’s eyes go wide.
“Oh, my god,” Tyson blurts, and looks to Gabe with what he thinks might be fear splattered all across his face.
The woman virtually screams, “I’m not a senior citizen,” and her face twists into something painted with red. Furious and disgusted.
“Tys, I think I can smell your bread burning,” Gabe says mildly, knowing full well neither him nor Nate bake off loaves this late in the day.
Tyson tries not to smile and heads for the kitchen anyways. The, “thank you,” he whispers, is quiet and goes just about unnoticed.
Nate hollers, “here comes your knight in shining armour,” when Gabe walks into the kitchen. He’s planted behind his stand mixer, still red in the face from laughing about just what Tyson had told him went on out there.
Tyson wonders if his face is red as well, and decides to stop thinking about it when Gabe meets his eyes with a pleasant look. “A little bit of an overstatement,” he says to Nate, laughing along. But then it’s back to Tyson, and everything is just a little calmer between them. Private. “I took care of it.”
“She refused the discount?”
Gabe shrugs. “Pretty much. She was really persistent about not taking it before storming out.”
Tyson blows out a little breath. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m flattered, but seriously, what if she called EJ on you?”
“She didn’t.”
“She could’ve,” he insists, for means of trying to show at least a little bit of concern after nearly snapping at a customer.
Gabe shakes his head. “She tried to tell me you of all people burnt her cookies. Like, who does that? The only person here actually capable of burning food is me.”
“And you did a really great job icing them, so really, they were perfect.” Tyson crosses his arms over his chest, because he’s a little self-conscious about what to do with himself at the moment. Especially when all of Gabe’s attention is pinned to him like it is now.
He smiles, because he knows just how to make Tyson’s knees feel weak. “Everyone’s a critic, I guess.”
“She came in with an empty box,” Tyson stresses.
“People work in mysterious ways,” Gabe says, and nearly flinches when the bell out front rings again.
It’s someone else, Tyson confirms through the windows in the kitchen doors and decides to take this one. Because he can’t handle the vibes between them for much more than a few moments at a time.
Tyson’s supposed to be locking up. It’s the easiest part of the day. Nate’s already left after offering him an exuberant goodbye and he’s pretty sure Gabe’s just getting his coat on to head out, but there’s something swirling around in his gut that’s got him planted in place.
It’s relentless, taking his mind off everything else and sending him right back to Gabe. Over and over and over, and he knows he’s not supposed to be thinking about him like he is, but it’s hard to wave when they’re the only ones in an empty bakery. Just like they are in the mornings or in the late evenings, but Tyson can just go home today. There’s no unfinished business to take care of, no loaves to prep or batter to cool, but he just. Can’t.
Tyson hears, “hey, you’re still here,” from behind him, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Gabe. He still does, though.
Gabe’s at the kitchen doors, looking content and happy, all done up in a thin coat, and Tyson can feel his heart racing in his throat.
“Yeah, I—was just making sure everything was in order. I feel like I still owe EJ after basically trashing his kitchen,” he says reaching up to weave a hand through his hair. He hopes it isn’t sticking up anywhere.
“In order? Like,” he gestures a hand for Tyson to go on, but that’s basically where his well of words go dry. Especially when Gabe moves closer.
“Like, whether or not the place is clean,” he says, which is almost entirely bullshit, but it’s enough of a good excuse for Gabe to nod understandingly.
“Well, I mean, if you’re done stalling, how about you let me walk you to your car?”
“Oh,” he says, and finally locks the door. “Okay, yeah.”
Tyson feels his face go warm, even as they step out into the cool breeze. He sticks his keys into his pocket and lets himself shift into Gabe’s side just for the moment.
“You didn’t have to,” Tyson says, after a beat. “Walk me to my car, I mean.”
“You’re really going to talk to your manager like that?” Gabe jokes, his nose already pink from the weather.
Tyson rolls his eyes. “That was a one time thing.”
“You went with it,” Gabe reminds him, like Tyson wasn’t there in the flesh.
It gets a laugh out of him anyways and then they’re approaching his car and he almost has to fight himself to keep from slowing down. “Good thing you were here to protect me from anymore rabid customers.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Gabe chides him, but his tone is all gentle and smooth, nothing that Tyson isn’t used to. It still spikes up the pace of his heart, going, going, going.
“Right, because you’re a customer service star.” He fishes his car keys out of his pocket, unlocking the car quick and easy. Part of him says to stall. But.
Gabe shifts his weight from foot to foot, hands in his coat pockets. This feels eerily similar to dates Tyson’s been on, when the night tracks down to that one awkward moment on his porch before he leans in to steal a goodnight kiss.
Except. This is not that.
Tyson hears a breath, before Gabe says, “I’m gonna get going, but you drive safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And he could let this go there, but something in him pushes out a hasty, “wait, no.”
“No?”
Tyson wants to gape, but Gabe heard that and he’s gotta follow up with something. “Not no, just,” he waves a hand by means of explanation, which isn’t at all helpful. “Sorry, fuck, I’m awful at this. Can I just.”
Gabe reads him just like that, like Tyson’s actually saying words that makes sense. His lips quirk upwards and he tips a little more into Tyson’s space when he comes in closer. It’s a tentative step, but a step nonetheless.
Tyson holds his breath and Gabe kisses him.
And Tyson thinks a lot of things in that moment, when he lets himself feel Gabe’s hair beneath his fingertips, when he wraps himself up in the warmth emitting from him, when he can feel every part of him relax. Kissing Gabe is soothing, like those nights when he’s barely awake enough to keep his eyes open, all the sights and sounds around him blurring into its own soft buzz.
Kissing Gabe feels like waking up in the mornings when the air outside is still crisp and the sun has barely risen, just to fall back into an even slumber.
Kissing Gabe is everything Tyson needs and he lets himself hold on, lets it go on, until it can’t anymore and they part with short clipped breaths and sheepish smiles.
“I don’t know if you know this,” Gabe says, into the space between their lips. “But I think you’re really cute.”
Tyson almost laughs, so instead of saying anything amberassing in turn, he leans right back in to steal another kiss.
In the mornings, Tyson occasionally finds little sticky notes stuck to the cooler. Sometimes nothing but sweet talk, but other times they’re packed with drawings of hearts and flowers, most often little sketches of roses. All followed by a, good morningggg -g
Maybe it’s the sap in him that can’t help but cherish the notes, sticking them in his apron pocket and peeking at them throughout the day. Or maybe it’s just the part of him that’s practically whipped for Gabe, the part that can’t help but give him little pecks in the kitchen, or thread their fingers together underneath the counter, or the one that goes home with him for quiet dinner dates, practically asleep on his shoulder on the way.
But that’s just who they are. It’s them. And Tyson has never been more thankful to have something like this.