Youngjae could hear the brass bell tinkling as he turned the corner onto Dawoong Avenue. Cars plowed up the steep, rocky street one after another. A trio of geese waddled by before he reached the little store front with the painted cat clinging onto the door. Its sherbert-colored ears peeked out over the top while its spotted tail curved in around the wooden handle. 

He could see the beautiful rolls of bread glistening under the soft mellow lights inside. Served fresh and made daily, how could Youngjae ever have anything else for breakfast but the soft buttery rolls that gleamed at him from their first-row pedestal? 

Swallowing the lump of saliva in his mouth, he rolled his shoulders forward and stepped inside to the frantic Sunday morning hurrying of his favorite bakery. 

"Youngjae," a familiar voice called from somewhere off to his side. He turned and broke out into a half-smile plagued by his willingness not to laugh at the disheveled young girl before him. The red apple on her apron was now a mess of mismatched colors from its many uses. Splotches of purple from the time the Hoon family tried their hands at using grapes in their cookies to wisps of caked on blueberry cream from the day Yezi wanted to recreate an organic birthday cake she saw over the Internet formed an apron that could not be replicated. It was a work of art that celebrated Yezi's uniqueness but, also, her stubbornness. 

After her sudden growth spurt this past winter, the strings used to tie each side of the apron together no longer wrapped around her waist. For the longest time, the apron would flap around her as she went about helping her parents in the bakery. 

One day, Youngjae came in and made a comment about how many uniforms she had gone through since school started less than a month ago. 

"Girls who don't ruin their school uniform are much cuter." 

The following week, when Youngjae returned from his trip to the city, he noticed the apron no longer hung limp against her frame. It was cinched together with a string of colorful paperclips. When probed on the matter, she refused to answer. Towards the end of the day, her mother, Mrs. Hoon, gave him a box full of six decadent rolls. 

"For your help," she said, smiling. 

Youngjae wondered what kind of aid he offered that could warrant six free rolls of bread. Maybe they missed him? If so, he thought, I should leave town more often. 

"Yezi," Youngjae said. Worry creased his eyebrows as he caught her struggling with the weight of the heavy box cradled against her chest. "Let me help you." He set his canvas bag aside before dashing to her side. 

The eighth grader laughed as she hefted the box up higher, nearly obscuring her view. "It's fine. I've got this." 

Youngjae took a cautious step backwards, ready to grab the box from the side if she so need it. Yezi grinned at Youngjae as she took a step forward. Her left foot skidded against the polished floor, knocking her balance askew. Wobbling from side to side, she tried to regain her footing but the soles of her sneakers would not latch onto the wooden floor. With a soundless "oh", she fell back and crashed onto the ground. 

Everyone within the cafe rushed forward to help. Groaning, Yezi sat up as she rubbed the back of her head. She cleared her jumbled mind before scrambling towards Youngjae who lay in a puddle of opened glass jars. Pound after pound of apricot jelly oozed out over his upper body before plopping down onto the ground in thick clumps.

Yezi peeked her head over the crate that was resting comfortably atop his torso. "Sorry, Youngjae," she muttered, refusing to make direct eye contact with him. She couldn't believe Youngjae had such quick reflexes considering he rarely left his home. But, regardless, she was grateful. If he hadn't snatched the crate from under her fingertips the moment she stumbled backwards, it would have been her lying on the floor in a heap of stickiness. There wasn't anything else she could have asked for. 

The tense silence that once crept along the edges of the huddled mass now overtook the crowd. Sparked by a lingering interest in the situation, the customers held their breath as they waited for the young 23-year-old to respond. Mrs. Hoon came running down the stairs when Youngjae's rich laughter broke out amongst his apricot-stained lips. The customers exhaled collectively and looked back and forth between each other as if the world had been saved from an enormous catastrophe. It wasn't a surprise to Yezi that these people didn't know her friend well enough. She held her breath because she was waiting to hear his laughter. There was no way Youngjae could ever be angry. 

#

"It's quite alright, Mrs. Hoon."

Her cell phone rang and rang and rang. She sighed, dropping her chin to rest against her chest. 

"That's Mr. Hoon, alright," she said as she lifted the phone to her ear on the tenth ring. "I'll be going now then." She waved herself off and squeezed Yezi's shoulder on her way out.

Youngjae finished washing away the gooey mess that had begun to dry and crack on his arms. He dipped his fingers in the wash basin and let them rest there for a bit before heaving himself up. He turned and saw Yezi glancing down at her shoes from the steps leading up to the back door. 

Grinning, he pushed his rolled up sleeves higher before moving towards her. With an exaggerated sigh, he plopped down next to her. 

"We don't need any more fishy smells," Yezi complained as she threw her head back and pinched her nose. 

Youngjae laughed as he knocked his knee against hers. "Maybe I'm a prince from one of the  many underwate