Archive of Our Own

𖦹

The dough finishes proofing when the rain stops. Soobin pops the tray into the oven and removes the gloves, scurrying to the front door to observe the street.

The pastry that he is having for breakfast has scrunched up, bland on his tongue and dry in his throat. The sky is still dark, engulfed in indigo; faint streaks of cloud muddle the horizon. Soobin taps his foot to the small hum of the oven, smiling as the fresh air pecks the tip of his nose.

Rain glazes the world in a glossy shine. Everything feels so romantic, except for the guy lying on the sidewalk in front of the bakery.

A frown etches on Soobin’s forehead. The guy doesn’t look homeless; his jeans are ratty, but they must be ripped on purpose, holes littering from his upper thighs to his ankles. He doesn’t look dead either, his chest rises and falls with each breath. His eyes are wide open, tilting up the starless night.

Soobin sighs and unties his apron, shoving the digital timer inside his pocket. The guy can be on drugs, for fuck’s sake, and Soobin needs him to fuck off before Old Man Kang wakes up and makes a fuss out of everything.

When Soobin opens the door, the stranger’s gaze is still fixed upward, firm. Dirt from the asphalt coats his pink streaks of hair in a muddy brown, splashing onto his pale, slender neck. He looks maximum twenty-two; Soobin guesses he is just done clubbing somewhere in the neighborhood, but he doesn’t smell like alcohol. He smells nice, actually, floral and clean, amidst the puddle of rain.

“Hi?” Soobin asks, curious. “Do you need help getting up? Or should I call a cab?”

The stranger finally recognizes Soobin’s presence, shifting his gaze and scanning Soobin from head to toe, unblinking. “It’s funny that you think I got down here by accident.”

“So you are lying down there… on the sidewalk… on purpose?”

“Uh, not really,” the guy replies. He laces his fingers on top of his chest, smearing the mud on his ratty T-shirt. “But it’s cool down here.”

“It’s also dirty. But you don’t seem like you care.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” he says, wiping his mouth with his dirty hand as if to prove a point. Particles of dirt freckle the apples of his cheeks.

“It’s Soobin actually.”

“Okay, Soobin.” He looks at Soobin, aloof. “Can Soobin please shut the fuck up and come lie down with me?”

Soobin laughs. It’s getting ridiculous. “I can’t. My croissants will be done baking in a bit.” Soobin squats down so he can talk to the guy better. The stranger’s eyes are clear, sparkling like distant stars. “Can you tell me why you are lying down here instead?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you are in front of my bakery.” Soohin points to the store. “At least give me something that I can work with. What’s your name?”

“Oh.” He stares at the shop and flicks his gaze back to Soobin. “Sorry about that. I’m Yeonjun. Am I trespassing on your property? Do I need to move to a different spot, or?”

“No.” Soobin laughs. “The sidewalk isn’t my personal property, so you can stay here for the time being. But you really need to leave in an hour, before our old neighbor wakes up and attacks you with his cane. It’ll be war, I tell you.”

“Oh,” Yeonjun says, nose scrunched up cutely. “I am a pacifist. War will make me very sad.” He props his weight onto his elbows and lifts himself from the ground, meeting Soobin’s eyes. “Are you not going to ask me why I am lying on the sidewalk again?”

“Are you going to answer me this time?”

Yeonjun’s mouth presses into a thin line. He stares at Soobin’s shoes solemnly for a second, before his shoulders untense as he heaves a sigh. “You know, Soobin. There are just nights when you feel like the world is moving too fast for your own grasp. When you feel like you are just a grain of sand in this bottomless pit of life. What is a more suitable place to contemplate all of this other than the dirty sidewalk?”

“I usually do that over my morning coffee, with a croissant, of course,” Soobin says, face stern. “What inspired your existential crisis?”

Yeonjun stills. He flips over and plops back on the ground, splashing rainwater onto Soobin’s shoes and the cuffs of his pants. “The boy I love doesn’t love me back. It makes me feel like shit.”

Ah. To be so young and so affected by love. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“Do people say that because they’re truly feeling sorry, or is it just a nice thing to say?” Yeonjun smears his face against the cold asphalt, and Soobin thinks he’s beautiful. “Anyway. I’m trying to understand why he doesn’t love me back. What is it about me that he doesn’t find interesting? Look at my face, Soobin. Do you think I’m not pretty?”

Yeonjun rolls over, tipping his face up for Soobin to examine. Soil clings to his skin, blotchy, rainwater dripping from his chin to his collarbones, smearing a diluted gray. Soobin takes a moment to appreciate his prominent jawline, his plump lips, his sparkly eyes.

Yeonjun is pretty, soaked in dirt and mud and all, but pretty is the least interesting thing about him. Soobin smiles. “I see that you’re still not done contemplating your existence. Let’s see… Do you want to do it my way?” He pulls out his digital timer; there are forty-five seconds left. “My croissants should be done now. Let’s say, do you still want to continue your train of thoughts over a croissant and some coffee? On the house, of course. I’ll give you something to clean up.”

𖦹

He hands Yeonjun a towel and Huening Kai’s spare uniform. The pants are a bit big on Yeonjun, draping over his chunky platforms.

“How’s the coffee?” Soobin asks. He places a croissant on Yeonjun’s table. The dough for tomorrow's batch is resting on the counter.

“Bitter,” Yeonjun says. He eyes the croissant curiously before inhaling half of it in one bite, crumbs dusting his mouth, falling onto the table. “This pairs well.”

“Eat slowly,” Soobin says over his latte. “Or else you’re going to choke on it.”

“Are you usually this nice to people?”

“Do you usually ask this many questions?”

Yeonjun grumbles. He shoves the rest of the croissant into his mouth and takes a large gulp of coffee.

The sky outside is a pale blue, hushed with pink, seeping into Yeonjun’s skin and giving him an otherworldly glow. His round cheeks are coated in a buttery shine, soft like milk bread. Soobin… kind of wants to take a bite. He blames the fucked-up part of his brain that longs to munch on things it finds cute.

Cars start crowding the street. Soobin still needs to check the inventory, but he is too busy staring at the way Yeonjun’s face lights up as he chews. Now that Yeonjun is finally clean, Soobin realizes how young Yeonjun is: bouncy skin, unblemished face. It will take a while for time to come and rob him of his youth.

“Freshly baked croissants are always nicer. It’s your lucky day,” Soobin says.

“It will soon be yours too,” Yeonjun smiles. “Is it time I suck you off?”

“I’m sorry. What?”

Yeonjun’s face is blank. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Isn’t that why you took me in? Sexually deprived old man who gives young boys delicious croissants in exchange for sexual benefits?”

“What the fuck? I am not sexually deprived! And I am not old!” Soobin says. He should be offended, but he hasn’t known a bashfulness quite like this. “I invited you in because Old Man Kang is going to kill you and I didn’t want anyone to die in front of my shop!”

Yeonjun stares at him, eyes gleaming. “How old are you, Soobin?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Basically ancient,” Yeonjun says, leaning back on the chair and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The faded pink ends are brassy, almost white under the fluorescent light. “That’s kind of hot, though. I have always wanted to be with an older guy.”

“What about the boy that doesn’t love you back?”

“That didn’t work out. That must be why you are in my life now.”

“You’re so ridiculous,” Soobin says. He wants to tell Yeonjun to fuck off but Yeonjun’s sweet smile is making the words stuck in his throat. “My shop is open in half an hour! I do not have time for this!”

“Of course. Big boys are always so busy with their big boy jobs.”

Soobin stomps off to the counter, ignoring the mischief plastering on Yeonjun’s lips, and the butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

𖦹

Huening Kai runs through the backdoor when Soobin finishes icing the strawberry cake.

“You’re two minutes late,” Soobin mumbles as he spins the cake one last time, before grabbing the knife to mark eight even pieces.

“That’s my fault but,” a frown, and Kai secures his apron around his waist. “Why are the croissants for tomorrow still not in the fridge?”

“Fuck.” He hands Kai the knife. “You do this. I’ll take care of the croissants.” He dusts his hands on his apron and shoves the tray inside the fridge, noting down the time so he knows when they are ready for the proofing chamber.

When Huening Kai hands Soobin the cakes, the sky is bright. Cars flood the street, honking in morning traffic. Old Man Kang is reading the newspaper in his garden, face all scrunched. Soobin flips the sign to open.

“Oh, cake,” someone mumbles behind him. Soobin has been so busy that he forgets Yeonjun is still here, face smudged against the table and back hunched uncomfortably. He yawns, seemingly just waking up from a nap. “Is there a slice for me?”

“You need to pay for it. Our cakes sell out fast.”

“Ah.” Yeonjun rubs his neck, and then his lips edge up in a smirk. “What about the offer earlier?”

“Yeonjun.” Soobin massages his temples. “We are opening soon. You can’t keep talking like this.”

“Ah. Then should I keep this conversation out of business hours? Noted.”

Soobin’s face flushes; he can feel Huening Kai’s curious gaze from the counter. Maybe it was a better idea to leave Yeonjun out there withering in the cold. Soobin should have known that Yeonjun was trouble from the terrible ripped jeans that he wore. He has no one to blame except his soft useless heart that melts instantly at the sight of misery.

Yeonjun’s phone buzzes and he flips it up, a frown creasing in between his eyebrows.

“We really need to discuss your blowjob some other time. I forgot I had class this morning.”

He pockets his phone and runs out of the door, not forgetting to send Soobin a wink, but it looks very silly, because he closes both eyes instead.

Soobin’s cheeks are still hot. He tries to ignore Kai’s pungent glare.

“What the hell was that?” Kai asks from the counter.

“Ah. Don’t worry about it. Just some random guy I picked up from the street.”

“Then why is he wearing my uniform?”

“Fuck,” Soobin groans. He fists his hair as he runs into the backroom. “His clothes are still in the washer. I didn’t even get his number. Kai, what am I going to do with those ugly jeans?”

Huening Kai just sighs as he places the strawberry cakes on the shelf.

𖦹

Soobin’s life isn’t entirely perfect, but he likes how simple it is. He wakes up at four every day, takes a shower, and rushes downstairs to work. His flat is right above the bakery, but it isn’t really a flat, more of a shoebox to sleep and watch television sometimes. Soobin can’t really afford two places at the same time.

But it doesn't really matter, because he spends three-thirds of his day in the shop. Soobin is the first to arrive, making sure that there are enough croissants and sandwiches for the morning rush, and also the last one to leave, checking up on records and orders for the next day. He can barely fit an open window to eat, occasionally snacking on stale pastries from the day before, not wanting them to go to waste.

Running a bakery is demanding, but it’s also mundane. Soobin has sacrificed a lot for this ordinary. Days of kneading until his arms sore, his back aches. Nights of analyzing spreadsheets until his eyes haze. Changmin used to help with calculating revenues and expenses sometimes, since he is an accountant, but ever since the divorce, Soobin has tried to handle everything on his own.

Still, there is nothing in this world that Soobin would give up for the exchange of his tiny shop, his safe haven, where every day feels just like every other day with the same cadence from dawn to dusk.

In retrospect, Soobin could have seen this coming. It’s only natural that his cadence gets disrupted. Things have been going quite simple for a while.

“Hey sexy,” Yeonjun says, knocking on the door of the bakery. Streetlights paint his cheeks a burnt yellow, streaming through his eyelashes. Soobin sighs. He just finished baking his last batch of cookies.

“There’s nothing sexy about a guy covered in flour. But I digress,” Soobin says behind the glass door.

“Oh. Not from the front, of course. But the back is very sexy,” Yeonjun says, moving his hands in the air as if miming groping Soobin’s buttocks.

Soobin sighs. “Yeonjun. Are you… flirting with me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Do you always… flirt like that?”

“No.” Yeonjun’s face is blank, and Soobin can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious. Yeonjun breathes on the glass and draws a heart on the surface. “Only when it comes to you, bakery DILF.”

“Then I regret to inform you that it is not really working,” Soobin says.

“Okay,” Yeonjun pouts. Yeonjun is a menace, but he is devastatingly lovely. “Are you not going to invite me in?”

“Give me a reason why.”

Yeonjun lifts a plastic bag from the ground. “I brought your clothes back. Washed them and all. Kai Kamal Huening is a ridiculous name, by the way. Do you know how many people at school laughed at me for that?”

The wind ruffles the leaves, fluffing up Yeonjun’s hair, too. His cheeks are red and Soobin unlocks the door. “How can you be so sure that they were not laughing at your face?”

“Usually people pass out in front of my beauty,” Yeonjun says, darting through the small gap of the door and plopping down on the table near the entrance, blinking cutely. Soobin still hasn’t passed out, but his head is sure dizzy.

Yeonjun’s hair falls onto his face, pink streaks have now faded into a coral, like a muted sunrise. Peaches in the fall. “Black coffee and a croissant, please. And I’d love to have my jeans back.”

“We aren’t open for another hour.”

“Oh. I know that.”

Soobin rolls his eyes, but he still grabs a plate. “Your jeans? The ones with a lot of holes? I already got rid of them.” They’re underneath the counter, ironed and folded. “They’re so fucking ugly. Maybe you should try wearing real pants.”

“Fuck you! Those jeans are designer.”

“Oh sorry. They are some fucking ugly designer jeans.”

“What do you know about fashion? You dress like a dad. Your pants are terrible!”

“So what? At least my ass looks hot in them.”

Yeonjun’s face is red. His cheeks are puffed like a loaf of bread, and he looks incredibly adorable. Soobin wonders if his oven is big enough for Yeonjun. He understands why cannibalism is illegal, but society should normalize baking cute things into sweets.

“Talking to you really stresses me out,” Yeonjun says as he collapses on the table. “I need to take a nap. Leave the coffee on the table and I’ll get to it when I wake up.”

Soobin just sighs. He places the croissant back on the rack and gets back to work.

Yeonjun wakes up when the sun bleeds into the horizon, orange yolk bursting in the sky. Soobin only starts pouring the beans into the espresso machine then.

“Drink it when it’s hot,” he places it on Yeonjun’s table along with the croissant, and watches Yeonjun eat as Old Man Kang waters his roses.

“Thanks. That was really good,” Yeonjun says, wiping the crumbs with the back of his hand. Soobin hands Yeonjun his ugly ripped jeans back, and pretends that his heart doesn’t skip a beat when Yeonjun jumps up and down, overloaded with joy. Soobin’s ears are toasty, despite the morning fog.

Yeonjun pays this time, with crumpled cash that he digs straight from his pocket. Soobin forgets to charge Yeonjun for the croissant, but he doubts that it’s just a mere mistake.

𖦹

He sees Yeonjun so many times after that.

Somehow, Yeonjun has become a part of his life, wrapped perfectly into his routine. Soobin starts looking out for Yeonjun: in the early mornings when Yeonjun half-naps, half-watches Soobin restocking the sandwiches with intent; at nights right before closing, when Yeonjun crouches down on the curb as Soobin wipes the tables.

But Soobin likes it best when Yeonjun pops up at midday, with notes scattered all over the table and a blank document blinking on his laptop, glasses hanging low on his nose.

“You just come here to zone out instead of studying,” Soobin says as he places the cookies on Yeonjun’s table. “That’s all you got for like, what, two hours?”

“You’re so obsessed with me,” Yeonjun groans. He stretches his body and Soobin pretends not to notice Yeonjun’s pale waist peeking out underneath his white tank top. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you that blowjob?”

Soobin hisses. “There is a kid in here!” He flicks his gaze to the baby on the other side of the bakery, cradled in his mom’s arms.

“There will be one more when I’m done with you.”

“Stop talking like that, please, I beg you,” Soobin says, and Yeonjun lets out a breathy fit of giggles. Yeonjun’s mouth is slightly open and Soobin is confused. He doesn’t know if he wants to punch Yeonjun or kiss him. He decides just to scrub the empty chair instead.

“You know,” Yeonjun says after a while, his gaze still fixed on Soobin as he melts against the table, laptop closed. “You’re really cute when you’re blushing.”

“I’m a decade older than you. I don’t blush, and I’m not cute. Didn’t you say that I was basically ancient before?”

“That was a joke. I didn’t know that you take everything so seriously.” Yeonjun smiles. Maybe not everything. Maybe just Yeonjun’s words. Soobin is really miserable, isn’t he?

“Cool. Didn’t know everything is a joke to you.”

“Oh. Not everything, no. I’m serious about having sex with you.”

“Goodbye, Yeonjun,” Soobin says. He slings the cloth over his shoulder and strides back to the counter, ears all warm. He wants to scrub the flush off his body too.

“Move,” Soobin says to Huening Kai when he gets back behind the counter. Yeonjun’s order is popping up on the POS system; Soobin checks it again and removes the cookies from the bill.

Huening Kai arches an eyebrow.

“It’s a bonus deal.” Soobin smiles. “Don’t fucking tell Beomgyu.”

From his table, Yeonjun gives Soobin a wave, and then makes the silliest kissy face. Soobin hides himself behind the cash register. He needs to run upstairs and screams into his pillow. He needs to take a shower, and maybe a nap that lasts forever. He needs to stop letting gorgeous college boys with dyed hair and ripped jeans have this effect on him.

“Not a single word, boss,” Huening Kai says sweetly next to him.

𖦹

Soobin also needs to fire Huening Kai, apparently.

“Shouldn’t you save your pastry for the baby bird that you found on the street?” Beomgyu says as he rolls out the dough. Soobin stops mid-chewing, the dry croissant stuck in the column of his throat.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Drop the pretense. Huening Kai told me already. I didn’t think he was your type.”

“He’s not my type! I’m not into him like that.”

“So you know exactly who I’m talking about?” Beomgyu’s smile is coy. “Denial is a river in Egypt.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about most of the time.” Soobin tosses the rest of the croissant into his mouth and takes a large gulp of water. “He’s twenty-one! I don’t— I can’t like him like that!”

“What’s the problem with being twenty-one?”

“He’s too young!”

Beomgyu just rolls his eyes. “I don’t see the problem here. I fuck men your age all the time.”

“It’s different. You do it for money!”

“Are you implying that I’m a whore?”

“I– Hey that’s not–”

“You’re not wrong. I am somewhat a whore. And I am not ashamed of that.” Beomgyu grabs the pastry wheel and starts measuring the dough. “What makes you think he’s not into this for money?”

Soobin gives Beomgyu a funny look. “Beomgyu. What kind of money do you think I have?”

“Man. I thought you got money from the divorce settlement.”

“It’s–” Soobin mumbles. He opens the proofing chamber and then closes it, just to have something to do with his hands. The air is toasty and it grazes his cheeks. Butter is sweet on his nose. “Well. We did sell the apartment, but then I used all that money to renovate the bakery. Got some new tables, and a 30-litre dough mixer, you know. That’s all I got from the divorce.” And a lot of emotional baggage, of course.

“Man… so he must be really in love with you.”

“He’s just trying to suck my dick! It’s not the same.”

“Without money involved? That’s the definition of true love these days, old man.”

“Shut up.” Soobin winces. There is a bare cake that is waiting for him to ice, sitting neatly in the fridge, but Soobin’s hands are too busy fisting his hair in a thousand directions. “He just got his heart broken. I’m afraid that I’m just a rebound of sorts.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Beomgyu groans, slamming his knife on the table. “Soobin. The guy literally comes every day and he waits for you to fold your stupid butter into your croissant dough. Which must be extremely long and boring because you’re so fucking anal and you want all the edges to align perfectly to create uniform layers or whatever! If anything, he’s probably in this for the long run!”

“Are you done?” Soobin mumbles. “Finish shaping the rest of the pastries. We don’t have all day.”

“Your head is full of dough, man.” Beomgyu frowns. Beomgyu doesn’t understand. He isn’t the one with a failed marriage. It has left Soobin in ruins. What if what remains isn’t enough to sustain another love?

Soobin sighs. He knocks the surface of the fridge and the cold seeps into his knuckles.

𖦹

Yeonjun shows up at midday today, but it doesn’t feel the same.

“Who the fuck is that guy?” Soobin mumbles as he restocks the sandwiches. The hair at his nape fuzzes up, an itch that won’t go away no matter how hard he scratches.

“It’s the first time I’m seeing him too,” Beomgyu says, leaning against the display and Soobin hisses. He shoves Beomgyu aside and wipes the fingerprints off the glass. “He’s hot, though. Do you think they’re on a date?”

“A date?” Soobin’s frown creases. Yeonjun is smiling brightly at the guy across from him, gently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Could this be a date? They seem close, bouncing back and forth in a conversation that Soobin wishes wasn’t happening in front of his eyes. Yeonjun is so touchy, too, occasionally reaching across the table and brushing the guy’s hair out of his face. Soobin’s stomach is upset, knots twisting and clenching despite just having had lunch.

Soobin sighs. What does Yeonjun see in this guy, actually? Sure, he is gorgeous, curly brown hair and a dimple cutely pressed on his cheek, lips always wearing a default half-smile. His skin glows healthily as the sun casts a golden shine on his arms. But besides that, he has a laugh of a squawking seagull and eyes so big that they are almost scary to stare into. Are Yeonjun into men with big eyes?

Beomgyu examines his nails, as if trying to show Soobin how much he really cares about Soobin’s Yeonjun-induced overthinking. “Say. If you are not into Yeonjun, then why are you mad that he is on a date?”

“I was just looking out for his tender heart!”

“Excuses. What are you, his dad? Do you want him to call you daddy that bad?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Soobin says. Warmth rushes to his cheeks and Soobin thinks that he must not be very much different from the red velvet cake that he just iced this morning. “You’re getting fired.”

Beomgyu tips his head back and laughs. “Yes, of course,” he says. “And then you’ll make coffee and ice cakes at the same time because you have four hands.”

“I can call Huening!”

“We both know that he’s spending his sweet time with his family, and there is no way that you would take that away from him even when you’re on your last breath.”

“It’s because my best employee deserves to be happy,” Soobin says. “You, on the other hand, deserve a pie attack.”

“And that will happen before or after you pie Yeonjun’s date?” Beomgyu smiles sweetly, pointing to the door. “Look, Soobin. Look who is calling you over.”

“Fuck,” Soobin says, trying to swallow the dry pastry flakes stuck in his throat. Yeonjun is smiling at him, cheeks all round. “Fine. I’ll take this.”

Soobin’s hair falls into his eyes and he doesn’t bother to brush away. He feels safe, hidden, like this, when Yeonjun is just a mere streak of color, blurry and small.

When he gets to the table, Yeonjun’s smile is still lingering around the edges. Soobin wants to die.

“How can I help you?” Soobin feigns a smile. He tucks his hands behind his apron and grabs a handful of it, shifting his weight between his legs. On the table, the half-eaten cookies are staring back at him.

“Wow, what’s with you today?” Yeonjun says to Soobin, and then flicks his gaze to the other boy. Soobin isn’t jealous when he spots Yeonjun’s fond smile and flushed cheeks.

“What’s with me? I am perfectly fine.”

“Not true. You’re incredibly nice. Like… you’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

“I don’t feel the need to talk all the time, unlike some people.”

The other boy looks up at Soobin, lips pressed thin. A storm gathers in Soobin’s stomach, and he feels sick and all twitchy. His gaze shifts to his nasty flour shoes and Yeonjun’s terribly shiny platforms.

The boy clears his throat.

“May I have a croissant? Yeonjun said that you guys have the best croissants in town.” His tone is kind, his big, shiny eyes are staring straight into Soobin’s sad, little soul.

Soobin just nods. He turns as fast as he can, almost bumping into the nearest table. When he brings out the croissant, Yeonjun’s gaze is still fixed on him.

“You’re acting really weird today. Are you sure you’re not sick?” Yeonjun lifts his arm and brushes Soobin’s hair away. The gesture upsets Soobin’s stomach even more, because his forehead is so sticky and warm and Yeonjun’s hands are so cool; it makes Soobin want to lean into the touch. He flinches away instead.

“Not sick. Just tired. I’m sleep-deprived. Enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you, Soobin,” Yeonjun says, his voice heavy. He retreats his hand immediately and quickly glances at the floor. Something coats Yeonjun’s eyes, glossy and frail. Not quite hurt, but something very, very similar. Soobin turns around before his brain seizes the chance to overanalyze it.

When he gets back behind the counter, Yeonjun’s hand is on the table, clasped underneath the other guy’s hold.

Soobin wants to run upstairs and hides. Emotions rise in his throat and they are all so ugly, jumbled up in a concoction that urges him to throw up. It’s so silly that he’s so affected by this. What does he even know about Yeonjun?

𖦹

What does Soobin even know about Yeonjun, actually? He knows that Yeonjun likes black coffee, no sugar, and his favorite pastry is almond croissant. Soobin knows that Yeonjun must live somewhere in the neighborhood, and that he can basically nap everywhere despite the discomfort, that he has a collection of terribly uncomfortable shoes.

The more Soobin thinks about their relationship, the less it makes sense. Yeonjun isn’t really a customer, because Soobin doesn’t charge Yeonjun for his pastries sometimes, and their conversations surpass false pretenses and pleasantries and meaningless chatters. But Yeonjun isn’t really a friend either, because Soobin doesn’t know Yeonjun’s favorite color, his last name, or even the university that he goes to. Soobin misses out on the simplest details about him.

“Sounds like you’ve just adopted a cat,” Changmin says on the phone. He’s so blurry, pixelated and distorted, because Soobin has terrible connections upstairs. “Popping up out of nowhere expecting food and attention? Cat behavior.”

“Well…” Soobin thinks about it for a second. Yeonjun may be a cat, but there is absolutely no adoption involved because that would make Soobin Yeonjun’s hypothetical cat dad and Beomgyu would win. Somehow. “In many ways he is a cat. You’re not entirely wrong.”

“Was I ever wrong?” Changmin says, face still a haze but Soobin is sure that Changmin’s lips are curving up in a smug smile. “The next logical thing that you should do is to ask him to move in and cook him breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Maybe dessert while you’re at it too. You should put your baking skills to good use.”

“I already put my baking skills into good use? I own a bakery?” Soobin says. “But that won’t make me his owner. That will probably make me his dainty little wife.”

“Then embrace it. Fuck feminism. Be his dainty little wife.”

Soobin winces. “Why does this sound like my ex-husband is giving me dating advice?”

“Because I am,” Changmin says, fuzzy, “You won’t take advice from anyone else when you’re afraid, baby.”

“Afraid.” Soobin rolls his eyes, slowly, so that it can show up clearly on Changmin’s phone. “Enlighten me, Changmin. Am I fucking afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Of what?”

Changmin’s pixelated body moves sluggishly on the screen, scooting closer and Soobin can’t tell if those two black dots are Changmin’s eyes or his nostrils. His voice, however, is clear. “Reciprocation?”

Soobin winces. “You’re not making any sense. Why would I be afraid of reciprocation? Isn’t reciprocation something I’d want?

“Well. You can want something while being terrified of it at the same time. That’s what makes it so desirable,” Changmin says, suddenly seeming less like a broken pixel and more like a hologram that carries some sort of an encrypted message. “You’re scared of reciprocation because then you’ll have to do something about the way you feel. And that fucking frightens you.”

Soobin swallows. “I didn’t ask to be psychoanalyzed, Changmin. Why did you become a subpar accountant when you could have made a great therapist?”

“If I were not a subpar accountant then who else would help you with this subpar report?” Changmin groans, but the movement is stuck, leaving a frozen gaping mouth on the screen. “Oh, here, I spotted the mistake. You didn’t fill in the invoices for the first week of September, so your entire report is just wrong.”

“Ah. Fuck. Right. I saw it now.”

“Soobin. You need accounting software. You can’t just keep doing manual bookkeeping like this.”

“I know. I know,” Soobin sighs. “It’s just too complicated.”

“But manual bookkeeping complicates everything,” Changmin says. Soobin can even see his eye roll before the connection loads. “I know a program that is rather easy to use. I’ll come to install it before work tomorrow.”

“Changmin. You don’t really have to do that.”

“What? Not everything is about you. I’m doing this for myself, so you can finally stop bothering me every quarter.”

“But what are ex-husbands for?”

“For reminding you that you should not repeat the same mistake, baby,” Changmin says. “Don’t be so fucking passive all the time. If you like something then you should really show it, you know.”

Like? Like is an understatement for what Soobin might be feeling about Yeonjun, even when his heart screams otherwise. “Well. Mistakes won’t be repeated because I’m not planning to fall in love again.”

“You keep saying that as if it’s within your control.” Changmin’s audio is muffled, but every word is slamming into Soobin’s eardrums. “Soobin, baby. You think that you’ve already closed the door to your heart or whatever, but the truth is you’ve never fully locked it. If someone is quick-witted enough, they will certainly find a way in.”

𖦹

That must be how Yeonjun gets in this morning, face mushed against the table as he sleeps, quiet noises occasionally escaping as his body vibrates, a dreaming cat. His coat is dripping wet, hanging lazily on the chair. A few droplets hit the wooden flooring. Drip drop.

Changmin comes when the sky is flushed pink. Outside, the rain has now faded, dwindling into a soft winter drizzle.

“Is that him?” Changmin says, peeking over the laptop.

“Can you focus on your work instead?”

“What? We both know I’m never wrong.”

“Of course you’re not wrong,” Soobin sighs. “But I’d appreciate it if you could be right in a more respectful manner.”

At one point, Yeonjun wakes up, gaze shifting between Changmin and Soobin as he rubs sleep out of his face. It’s so cute. Soobin… Soobin doesn’t know if he wants to give Yeonjun a cookie or bake Yeonjun into a cookie, and it’s confusing. Maybe baking Yeonjun is a better option, perhaps, then Yeonjun would disappear and Soobin could finally stop fidgeting with his apron clumsily. A flush climbs onto his neck and colors his skin.

“You’re really pathetic,” Changmin says, shutting the laptop and grabbing himself a paper bag. He fills croissants and fruit tarts to the brim, while Soobin just stares in despair. Sometimes Soobin regrets that he ended their marriage in a mutual consent divorce rather than a domestic homicide.

Changmin winks at Yeonjun on the way out, dimple gleaming. “Have a nice day, baby. Good luck dealing with him.”

“Who is that?” Yeonjun asks as soon as Changmin shuts the door behind them.

“Ah. He’s my accountant.”

“He seems… quite sassy to be your employee.”

“Well. Changmin can be a bit overbearing,” Soobin says. That’s why they broke up, didn’t they? So Soobin can be unassertive in the comfort of his own bedroom and Changmin can go back to finding himself a control freak who can keep up with his antics. Sometimes things just don’t work out. It’s nobody’s fault. Soobin smiles. “But he has a good heart. Don’t worry.”

Yeonjun drags his chin across the table. “You must know him really well.”

Soobin rubs the back of his neck. “Well. He’s also… my ex-husband.”

Yeonjun’s eyes widen. Something flits in his face, piercing and unreadable. “Ex-husband? I didn’t know you were married?”

“That was a long time ago,” Soobin says. He turns on the espresso machine and grabs Yeonjun a fresh croissant. The beans grind with a steady hum, harmonizing with the rain.

When Soobin places Yeonjun’s usual order on the table, Yeonjun is staring at a spot on the table, unblinking. Yeonjun has a vast collection of blank expressions but somehow, this makes Soobin worry the most. “Marriage? I don't understand why anyone would get married.”

Ah. Yeonjun is twenty-one, after all.

“What is it about marriage that you don’t understand?”

“I don’t know. Why would I want someone in my house?”

Soobin laughs, and then ponders for a second. Why would he want someone in his life, at all? Why would he want Yeonjun in his shop? “I don’t know. I just wanted to be happy.”

“Well. Did your marriage make you happy?”

Soobin shrugs. His brain hasn’t fully woken up for the conversation; his legs weary. It’s time he restocks the sandwiches for the morning rush.

“I guess I was, but does it really matter? We’re divorced.”

“That is a very cruel way to see it,” Yeonjun says, tapping against the surface of the coffee cup but still hasn’t taken a sip. “So the happy times don’t matter to you now that your relationship ended?”

“Our marriage ended. Our relationship didn’t,” Soobin takes a breath. “Changmin and I are friends.”

“Friends? That just means you’re waiting for the right opportunity to get back together.”

Soobin’s cheeks burn. So much for trying to avoid a conversation. “No. What the fuck? Yeonjun, we’re divorced.” They kept the distance. They healed. “There is no fucking way that I’m doing that again.”

Yeonjun’s mouth thins. “Did you even love him?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. Being friends with someone that much involved in your life only means two things. It’s either that your feelings are still lingering, or there weren’t any feelings at all to begin with.”

“Can you please stop?” Soobin’s voice bounces off the walls, echoing back to him. “Are you implying that I should have got rid of Changmin after the divorce? So only the happy times matter to you but the person who you literally grew with doesn’t, and you had the nerve to call me cruel? Are people that discardable to you?”

Yeonjun is silent. It’s supposed to be a calm morning, with the drizzle clattering against the glass door and the quiet hum of the espresso machine. Anger simmers in the pit of his stomach as Soobin clenches his fists. “Yeonjun. You don’t get all of this. You’re just a kid.”

Yeonjun’s face tenses. He stares at Soobin pointedly and then looks away. “Oh. Of course, I don’t get it. I’m just a kid, aren’t I?” His voice is hoarse, as if something is stuck in his throat. “So all this time you have been thinking that I’m just some kid? That’s why you took me in and gave me pastries for free? I don’t need your fucking pity.”

Yeonjun stands up and leaves. His coat still drapes haphazardly on the chair.

𖦹

A kid. In a lot of ways, Yeonjun does seem like a kid to Soobin, with clothes that are too trendy for Soobin to understand and phrases too modern that Soobin can’t quite catch up. Yeonjun’s skin glows with a shine that only youth can offer. His legs are strong and steady, walking those uncomfortable platforms with such ease.

But who is Soobin to judge? For Soobin still feels like a kid sometimes. He is in his thirties now. He sort of knows how to do taxes; he’s feeding himself fine. He’s sold a condo before and he’s saving up to get a place for himself in a few years. Soobin feels completely different from when he was eighteen, but in a lot of ways, he still doesn’t know what the fuck is going on most of the time.

The problem with adulthood is everybody expects you to have everything figured out at a certain age. As if the day you turn twenty-five, you wake with a new brain and suddenly all your problems are gone. No more sadness. No more adolescent rage. No more bad decisions; everything just slots perfectly the way it’s supposed to be.

It was a surprise when Soobin found out that nothing really changed. He still makes mistakes, he still lashes out now. In a lot of ways, Soobin is an overgrown kid, with bills, of course, and chronic back pain. And slower metabolism. And existential dread. And a disposable income to spend on figurines sometimes.

And misery. A lot of it actually.

“You've been staring at that croissant for the entire morning,” Huening Kai taps his shoulder. “You can eat it, you know.”

“It’s for Yeonjun,” Soobin says. The sun is high in the sky; the rain has ceased. Yeonjun’s table is now occupied by Old Man Kang with glasses sliding down to his nostrils, a book cradled in his palms. Yeonjun’s coat is no longer there. It’s hanging neatly on the backroom door, finally dry.

“Oh, boss. You’re not hungry,” Huening Kai says, voice soft. “You’re yearning.”

“Yearning,” Soobin sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you could shut the fuck up, but then there’s nothing to drown out the voices in my head.”

“It’s really a prison in there, I know,” Huening Kai nods. He pours new beans into the espresso machine and grinds the coffee. “What makes you yearn so bad?”

“I,” Soobin mumbles. He flops down on a chair and clutches the edge of his apron. “I fucked up, Hyuka. Yeonjun got mad at me and now I can’t fucking find him.”

“Have you tried giving him a call?”

“What a fantastic idea, don’t you think?” Soobin says. “Except I don’t have his fucking number!”

“You still haven’t asked for his number? He’s been around for at least three months.”

“I didn’t feel the need to! Why would I need his number if he kept showing up every day?”

It’s stupid. Everything is stupid. Soobin knows that Yeonjun didn’t really accuse him of anything; that Yeonjun has a penchant for rhetorical questions and a tendency to say things before his brain can catch up. Soobin is older; he should have been more considerate. He should have sat Yeonjun down and explained how the divorce had left him in ruins, how it was difficult to smile at Changmin even two years after that; how everything is not as easy as the way it appears to be.

Huening Kai crouches down until they are eye-to-eye. His arms fold on Soobin’s lap and he talks with a soft, caring voice, as if Soobin was still a child. “If he shows up every day then he’ll probably come around. Maybe you just need to let him steam off for a while.”

𖦹

Yeonjun doesn’t come the day after that.

Or the day after that. Or that weekend. Or an entire week later.

Soobin waits. He doesn’t lock the door. He keeps one last croissant on the shelf, just in case. Mornings are always too quiet, evenings too long. He tries to tell himself it has nothing to do with Yeonjun.

Yeonjun’s coat is still there, waiting for him on the backroom door. It has stopped smelling like rain and started smelling like a weird combination of yeast, vanilla extract, and cinnamon.

By Tuesday, Soobin is heartsick. By Friday, Soobin is lovelorn. Yearning is a flu that he can’t quite get rid of; his head hurts and his chest longs. He kneads the dough with the little strength he has left in his arm muscles, his head low.

“Why so glum, chum?” Beomgyu flicks his forehead. “Do I need to call Changmin?”

“Don’t call Changmin. He’s going to call me names and tell me things that I have already known.” Soobin pouts. He turns the dough over and folds. “I need the world to be soft to me right now.”

“Oh, big boy,” Beomgyu says. “You just want to be babied.”

Soobin gives Beomgyu a look, and then gathers the dough into a ball. He throws it in the fridge and stares forlornly at the peaches purée that he has prepared for the fruit tarts. Peaches make Soobin even sadder; they remind him of Yeonjun’s cheeks.

He slams the door and slides down onto the floor.

Maybe Yeonjun won’t come back. Maybe Yeonjun has forgotten about him. Maybe it’s not people who are discardable to Yeonjun; maybe it’s just Soobin.

Soobin wants to hate Yeonjun, but he can’t.

“Beomgyu,” Soobin says, wistful. “Do you think it’s ever too late for someone to suck your dick?”

Beomgyu grabs the rolling pin and hums nonchalantly.

“It is never too late or too early when it comes to blowjobs. I like doing it early though. Preferably in the morning.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Blowjobs make the best breakfast, Soobin. It keeps me energized all day.”

“Oh.” Soobin deapans. “Have you tried a croissant? I think a croissant keeps everyone energized all day.”

“There are other things that keep you energized all day, chickadee. Namely, cum, or a lot of it,” Beomgyu says, and it’s so ridiculous that Soobin finds himself smiling. Even when he’s cocooned in this yearning disease that is turning him into a sad, wilted creature, Beomgyu is still Beomgyu. The world remains exactly the same, and that thought comforts him a little.

“You’re ridiculous, man,” Soobin laughs. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah. It’s written all over your face,” Beomgyu says. “Look. He’s coming back, okay? So chin up, buttercup.”

“That’s also what Huening Kai said to me.”

“Well,” Beomgyu stops rolling his dough and rests his hands on his hips, eyes suddenly earnest and Soobin feels a little bit less hopeless. “Look at yourself, Soobin. How could he not?”

That makes Soobin’s insides all warm, soft and gooey, like melted chocolate. “But what if he won’t?”

“Man. Do you want him to suck your dick that much?”

Soobin stills. He plays with his fingers while his mind drifts to hypothetical blowjobs. “Not really. Well. You see. I used to think that I was fine being all alone but when he barged into my life and he just… changed everything that I had ever known about myself? Like now he isn’t here anymore and I just feel like my cadence isn’t the same. Did I really miss my chance at love? Is my soulmate a twenty-one-year-old who wears terrible jeans? There is this void in my heart, Beomgyu, and now I don’t know what to do with it.”

“You’re rambling. Does this come with old age?”

“Well. You love me, right?”

“We all do,” Beomgyu says, dusting his hands on his apron and pulling Soobin up in a hug. Soobin rests his head on Beomgyu's shoulder, his body deflating. It brings him a great sense of solace, even when Beomgyu’s newly dyed hair smells like apple cider vinegar and the decaying corpse of a wild animal.

“We all love you. Huening Kai and I,” Beomgyu says. “Changmin, too. So even when Yeonjun is not coming back, you still have all the love you need.”

“Thank you,” Soobin says. He holds his breath and plays with Beomgyu’s hair.

“You'll be fine.” Beomgyu smiles, patting Soobin’s back.

Soobin smiles. He will be fine. He was fine after the divorce that tore him in half; he should be fine if a random guy that he found on the street disappeared from his life. The world is still moving; croissants are still baking. There's no need to get bent out of shape.

𖦹

Except Soobin isn’t really fine, because the guy standing in front of the cake display is unnervingly familiar.

Golden skin. Brown, round eyes. Soobin remembers this face vividly, ever since Yeonjun brought him over on the date that one time. It’s not something that is easy to forget; Soobin has stayed up many nights dissecting every feature on this face and comparing each one to his.

The guy stares at a spot behind Soobin’s ear, lips pressed tight.

“One croissant for me, please,” he says.

“For take away?”

The guy nods.

“It’ll be ready in a minute,” Soobin says. He grabs a paper bag and picks out the ugliest croissant, with a cracked surface that is slightly brown. Soobin considers licking it, but then he’s never been that petty, so he just sighs and folds the paper bag.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks,” the guy nods.

“Would you like anything else?”

”Uh, so.” The guy stills for a second. He searches Soobin’s face and then shakes his head. “No. Nevermind.”

Before the stranger has the chance to turn away, Soobin’s limbs work faster for his brain. He rushes out of the counter and wraps his hand around the guy’s wrist. “Wait–”

The stranger halts. He glances at his wrist and Soobin lets go, embarrassed. “Sorry. Is there something that you’d want to tell me?”

Soobin takes a breath. This might be the only chance that he could find Yeonjun. He misses Yeonjun so fucking much. He just really needs to do something about it. “Can I talk to you for a second?” Soobin says.

Something shifts in his face, but Soobin can’t really tell. “Is this about Yeonjun?”

“Sorry,” Soobin says, dropping his arm. “I just want to ask if he’s doing okay. He hasn’t shown up for a while.”

The stranger jerks back a little. A frown knits between his eyebrows and his expression sours. Is this… possessiveness? Maybe that was really a date and they finally went out. Maybe that is why Yeonjun hasn’t shown up lately, for Yeonjun to be busy with his new love. Fuck. Soobin is overthinking again.

A date. Yeonjun went on a date. A part of Soobin has always known that Yeonjun was never into him like that, because Yeonjun’s flirting attempts only revolve around blowjobs and sex, never implicating a dinner. A date. It’s just really hitting him now.

“Sorry… Do you… really care for him?” The guy asks, face still tense, his mouth curving downwards in a disappointing semicircle. Soobin feels so small.

“I’m sorry,” Soobin says. He was almost fine. Why did he have to act so silly like this? “I didn’t mean to check up on your boyfriend. You see, I have no way of contacting him at all and I–”

“My what? Boyfriend?”

“Sorry. You must be, right? I mean… You guy went on that date and I assumed that—”

“No. No. You got the wrong idea. I’m his roommate, Taehyun. Has he ever talked about me?” A small smile, dimple pressing softly on his cheek. “Sorry. That wasn’t a date. I insisted on coming that one time because I wanted to see what you were like. Yeonjun… he has this destructive pattern of falling in love with terrible men.”

Is Soobin hearing this correctly? “I’m sorry… he what? He’s in love with me?”

“Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that.” Taehyun scratches his arm, and then slowly blinks. “Well. He didn’t personally say that to me, but he did refer to you as sexy bakery DILF and that he wants to suck your dick. That is basically a declaration of love in Yeonjun’s language.”

There are barely any customers in the shop, but Soobin feels so exposed. His legs still, unmoving. “Wait,” he mumbles, and then stops, not trusting his voice.

Yeonjun loves him? It’s a revelation that Soobin has never dared to imagine, even when he daydreams about holding Yeonjun’s hand and kissing Yeonjun’s cheek sometimes, and maybe making Yeonjun breakfast, lunch, dinner; dessert when he’s at it, too.

It takes Soobin a while to come back to his senses. “If he loves me… then why did he disappear?”

Taehyun smiles. “I told you that Yeonjun had this destructive habit of falling in love with terrible men, right? Well. Usually they would be very unattainable and there would be no way that they would love him back. With you… he had some hope, you know? But when he saw your ex-husband it sent him on a downward spiral. He’s just very easy to break.”

Soobin feels so dumb. The entire time Soobin has known Yeonjun, Yeonjun is just one tender, bluing bruise. “He’s so silly.” Soobin sighs. “Taehyun… He smeared wet mud on his face the first time we met and he asked me if he looked pretty. He looked fucking ridiculous. How could I not fall in love right then?”

𖦹

Taehyun says he will pass the words. Soobin waits. And waits. He bakes croissants, he rolls out dough. He pretends that quiet mornings don’t really bother him.

Except they kind of do. The problem with the early hours is that it is the perfect time for your mind to drift away. There is something about empty streets and dark skies that makes you prone to ruminate over the passage of time, and the dreamlike nature of being alive.

Yeonjun was here, once, just outside his door, contemplating life. What was running through his mind? Did he feel the same, too? Soobin misses Yeonjun with a gnawing pain. He misses Yeonjun’s rhetorical questions, his cat-like eyes, even the terrible shoes that he wears.

Taehyun has said that Yeonjun is in love with him. What does Yeonjun see in him, even? It’s definitely not the failed marriage, or his terrible habit of folding butter into croissant dough in a very specific way or else his heart won’t be satisfied. Could it be the way that he fidgets with his apron, or his clumsy waltz to the backroom every time Yeonjun makes him flustered? Soobin doesn’t get this; it frightens him.

Reciprocation is a terrifying thing: maybe it’s the feeling of acknowledgment, when someone looks through him entirely and decides that his ruins are still worthy of something. That maybe he doesn’t have to continue yearning in vain, that maybe love isn’t meant to be difficult.

Outside, the rain coats the street in a glossy shine. Soobin shoves the tray into the oven, grabs his timer, and closes the door.

What is a more suitable place to contemplate all of this other than the dirty sidewalk? The asphalt is cold against his cheek, the rain is muddy on his tongue. Dirt clings to his shirt and rubs against his back, grazing him like sandpaper.

Water pierces his face, his eyes, his lungs. Soobin opens his mouth so the rain can get in, too.

“What the fuck are you doing?” A voice rings in his ears. Soobin’s eyes are closed but he can see Yeonjun’s silhouette so clearly, illuminating behind his eyelids. His heart sings.

“What am I doing?” Soobin smiles. “I just wanted to feel like you.”

There’s a thud vibrating in his left ear, and when Soobin opens his eyes, Yeonjun is lying next to him, cheek pressed against the sidewalk. His eyes are clear, gleaming in the dark.

“You wanted to feel like me? Like a grain of sand in this bottomless pit of life?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” Soobin says. His chest is light, giddy. He lifts his hand and pokes at Yeonjun’s cheek, making sure that he is real.

Yeonjun’s skin is soft. He smiles at Soobin, lifting his hand and wrapping it around Soobin’s index finger. It’s warm. “Whatever. I hope you’re not feeling discardable. Because you’re not. If I have to be honest I was very jealous that day and it brought out the worst in me. I didn’t mean any of the things I said to you.”

“Oh. Jealous? Over Changmin?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun says. He tips his head to face the sky and the rain glimmers on his face. “I just feel like I can never be him.”

The rain is cutting against Soobin’s skin, harsh and cold, but his stomach is so toasty. “Good. You can never be Changmin, don’t you know?” He says after a while. The silence between them is so palpable, the darkness so thin. ”And that is a good thing. Because I don’t want to kiss Changmin. I want to kiss you.”

“Oh,” Yeonjun says. Soobin’s vision is so blurry that he can barely make out the shape of the world, but he thinks the soft curve of Yeonjun’s lips is beautiful. “Then kiss me,” Yeonjun whispers into his face, and Soobin does.

It feels weird at first; the asphalt is coarse against his cheek and their positions make it difficult for Soobin to hold Yeonjun’s frame. Their lips move in an awkward dance until it clicks, and then Soobin’s tongue is caressing the roof of Yeonjun’s mouth, the space behind Yeonjun’s teeth, everywhere.

The rain is pouring into the kiss but Soobin doesn’t budge. This is nice. Nicer than eating raw cookie dough, nicer than most things in the world. Soobin savors the taste; Yeonjun’s peppermint toothpaste mixed with the dirt from the sidewalk is an odd flavor, but somehow everything is soft and sweet and perfect.

When they part for breaths, Soobin’s cheeks swell up from smiling. “I’m also sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t think you’re a kid because I kind of really want you to suck my dick.”

“Then why didn’t you let me suck your dick?”

“Because… I want to take you out on a date first. I have a failed marriage; it’s not easy for me to jump into sex, even when it’s really difficult to control myself around you. I want to bring you to a nice café or something. And then maybe we’ll think about blowjobs.”

“Why didn’t you say this sooner?” Yeonjun asks, eyes twinkling. “A date. I can do that.”

𖦹

Soobin is glad that he lives right upstairs. He takes a shower and grabs towels for both of them, and a new apron for work.

He lets Yeonjun use his shower while he finishes preparing the dough for tomorrow, humming a song to himself. Yeonjun appears only a bit later, face clean, hair wet. He is wearing a dark blue polo and black slacks, which is a ridiculous sight, but Soobin still likes how Yeonjun looks in his clothes.

“These clothes are too formal. Don’t you have something that is a bit wearable?”

“I don’t think your excessively ripped jeans are wearable either, but I digress.”

“You sound like my dad,” Yeonjun says, and Soobin blushes a little. He does not want Yeonjun to call him daddy, not one bit, because that would be weird and Beomgyu would win. “What?”

“Nothing,” Soobin says. “I’ll finish laminating the pastry dough in a bit, and then I’ll join you.”

Yeonjun smiles, sleepy. He takes the usual table near the door, face pressed against the surface as he naps.

When Soobin places two croissants on the table, the rain has stopped. It’s still dark outside; the world dwindles to the noise of the oven and the few cars darting on the street.

Yeonjun slowly wakes up, rubbing sleep out of his face and softly smiles. It’s cute. Yeonjun is cute. Soobin leans over and caresses his cheek.

They talk, about nothing and everything at once: about Yeonjun’s roommate Taehyun, their shared love for rainy days, strawberry cake recipe, Old Man Kang. Little pieces of stories pass between them until light soaks the sky. Soobin is happy; he hasn’t felt like this in years. His heart grows large, swelling up in his chest, taking the entire space of his ribcage.

On the table, Soobin’s croissant grows cold. He still takes a small bite, teeth breaking through the delicate, flakey exterior.

“Not to toot my own horn, but this croissant is delightful,” he says.

Yeonjun arches an eyebrow. “What? You have never tasted your own pastries?”

Soobin shrugs. “I save the best ones for my customers.”

“Then what is left for you?”

Soobin smiles. He takes a sip of his latte and licks his lips. “I don’t know. You. Hopefully.”

Yeonjun’s eyes widen. He stares at the world outside and his ears grow red. “What? Are you… flirting with me?” Yeonjun laughs awkwardly. “What’s next? You asking me to suck your dick?”

“Why are you getting shy all of a sudden when it’s usually you who say these things to me?”

“Because it’s different when you say it. This is like… you want to have sex with me.”

“Oh, Yeonjun. Of course, I want to have sex with you,” Soobin stands up and pulls Yeonjun close, pressing a chaste kiss on Yeonjun’s temple. “Is it time I suck you off?”

“Didn’t you say that you wanted to take me out on a date?”

Soobin stares at their empty coffees on the table. “I think we just had a date. At the nicest cafe in the city, even. Wait,” he stops. “Is sex on first dates not your thing? I can wait, you know.”

“Oh,” Yeonjun says, nose scrunched up cutely, and how could Soobin resist this? He leans down and kisses it away, arms wrapping around Yeonjun’s waist. “I have wanted to have sex with you at first sight.”

“You’re so romantic. I am so lucky.”

Yeonjun laughs, breathy and light. He holds Soobin’s hand as they make their way to the bedroom. “I’m so glad that you live right upstairs, you know. I can’t wait to fuck your old manhole senseless.”

“I take that back. You’re not very romantic at all,” Soobin groans. He shuts the door behind them and shoves Yeonjun against the wall, feeling Yeonjun’s body instantly deflate underneath his touch. “You’re younger, so you should really listen to me, you know?”

A smile stretches on Yeonjun’s face. “We’ll see about that.”

Soobin surges over and nibbles at the pale expanse of Yeonjun’s neck. Outside, the sky is still dark. Huening Kai won’t probably come for another hour; Soobin has all the time he needs to revel in Yeonjun’s presence, adoring every patch of skin.

𖦹

Beomgyu was right. There are certainly other things besides a croissant that keep you energized all day. Namely, forehead kisses, or a lot of them.

Soobin presses his lips against Yeonjun’s temple, fingers digging into Yeonjun’s bare waist. The birds chirp, sunlight filtering through the curtain and casting a pale yellow on their entangled knees. Yeonjun huddles close and rubs his nose against Soobin’s neck.

Soobin’s timer goes off. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, grabbing it from the nightstand and turning it off. “What am I going to do now?”

“Do you need to go downstairs?”

He hears the click of the door, followed by Huening Kai’s faint calls.

“Don’t worry. He’ll get it,” Soobin murmurs into Yeonjun’s skin.

“You have terrible self-control,” Yeonjun says.

“I love sweets. It’s natural that I indulge,” Soobin smiles. Yeonjun laughs, buttery, and places a kiss on Soobin’s cheek.

Maybe it was a mere coincidence that Yeonjun’s place of contemplation aligned with the sidewalk in front of Soobin’s bakery. Maybe it was fate. Either way, Soobin is glad that Yeonjun is now softening in his arms, glimmering under the morning light.