A/N: I’m kind of mulling over a second part to this one, let me know if you’d like me to continue it a bit. ^^~

You moved slowly, piping the batter across the tray with a practiced hand. Jumping slightly at the sound of an alarm, you turned to remove the other batch of pastries from the oven. They looked perfect. The kitchen was pleasantly cool, with the quiet sound of a baseline pumping several doors down.

Working for the prestigious music company was rewarding. You sighed, resting your head on the counter in front of you. Rewarding, as you were told. The hours were alright and the pay was suitable, but you found working as an assistant to the chef for a company obsessed with status and power to be less than satisfying.

As you continued to cook for the upcoming company dinner, you found yourself so focused on the delicate tarts, the creamy filling and fresh berries, that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps pacing softly into the kitchen.

“Hey,” a friendly voice greeted you, startling you with a jolt. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I was just finishing some practice and it smelled amazing in here.” You blinked silently at the person before you, still processing the situation. He was gorgeous. Surprisingly, it wasn’t often that you ran into celebrities while working. You generally operated under the unspoken rule that non-musical employees were to stay out of sight, as invisible as the pipes and supports that kept the building itself standing tall. He extended his hand forward, unfazed by your silence. “How are you today?”

Remembering your manners, you bowed politely to the visitor and wiped a line of flour from your cheek with the back of your hand. You introduced yourself, happy to see a friendly face in the lonely kitchen. He leaned against the countertop, admiring your work.

“Those look really good. Are they for dinner tonight?” He smiled. “Are you the chef? You’re a great cook.” You shook your head in response.

“Yeah, they’re dessert. I’m not the chef. I mostly just clean and make the desserts when they’re requested for events. Which isn’t very often,” you said with a frown. He gave a sympathetic look in your direction. You gestured to the tray of completed desserts. “Do you want one?” you asked. He looked at the pastry with hungry eyes, but looked away and frowned sadly.

“You have no idea how badly I do. But they’re going to yell at me if I go over my calorie limit for the day.” You weren’t surprised, but it was uncomfortable to hear the details the infamous contracts in person.  

“Calorie limit?” you asked, with an unintentional cringe marking your face. He nodded.

“It . I keep bending the rules and I just know if I gain any weight this month they’re going to kill me.” Your eyes scanned him involuntarily, taking in his small frame and light stature.

“I’m sure you’re fine.” He shrugged, turning around to rest his palms behind him on the counter.

“How come I haven’t seen you around before?” he asked. You shrugged as well, turning away for a moment to turn down the oven behind you.

“I don’t leave the kitchen unless I have to, honestly,” you remarked. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking for an explanation without interrupting you. “Well… I really shouldn’t say anything.” You hesitated, not sure if your words would remain unrepeated. He gave an encouraging nod, and you trusted his honest impression. “This company seems to kind of have a stigma about the employees who aren’t artists or producers or something musical and important. If you’re a janitor, or a chef, if you’re not working here to make a name for yourself, you’re just sort of supposed to stay quiet and unnoticed. Sort of like servants.” Frowning again, he watched you with unwavering eyes as you continued to explain. “Even the trainees are above us. And me, being the chef’s assistant? Well, that puts me pretty low, even for the list of unimportant staff.”

“The trainees?” he looked incredulous. “They shouldn’t disrespect you guys. After all, they’re the lowest rung of the ladder.” You looked at him with a tired expression.

“You would think, wouldn’t you?” You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I’m at the bottom. This place is really like a castle.” Suddenly irritated, you stared at him with unwarranted intensity. “Why are you even talking to me? You’re one of the artists, you’re like a prince here. Why talk to a petty servant.” You said the last word with more maliciousness in your voice than intended. His face looked weary, almost disappointed. Staring in your eyes, he spoke with a voice more controlled and severe than before.

“A prince? Do you know how we’re treated?” He slid to the floor, laying his arms over his knees and resting his head against the back of a cupboard. You did the same, the heat from the dishwasher behind you warm against your braided hair. “They don’t care about us. We’re the means to an end. If this is a castle…” he scoffed, sounding angry. “If this is a castle, we’re the horses.” His eyes met your again. “I know it probably sounds really arrogant and stupid for me to complain, but it’s seriously like being an animal. ‘Don’t do this,’ and ‘You need to focus on that’. It’s like being an animal prodded and herded wherever they feel like we need to be led. I’ll be honest with you, I regret signing that stupid contract. They rope you in when you’re young and naïve. Sure, signing here will get you the fame quickly, but what they don’t tell you is that it reels you in tight and starts to suffocate you. They’ll give you the name and the reputation but in exchange you have to give them everything you are and everything you stand for. It’s killing me.” Looking suddenly pale and ill, he looked to the floor. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this though. Everyone who hears this kind of thing from an artist jumps right over to the nearest press office to sell the story,” he continued. You glared, offering a critical and insulted glance in his direction.

“If you really think I’m that shallow, you obviously don’t know me very well.” You paused, rolling the thought back over your mind. “In fact, you don’t know me at all, so I don’t understand why you’re getting upset. After all, you came in here; you started the discussion about this company.” He stood up, offering a hand to help you do the same.

“You’re right,” he remarked. “I’m sorry, that sort of thing just kind of builds up and all comes out at once. And you’re working, I shouldn’t be jumping my complaints on a random girl I met in the company kitchen. I’m really sorry.”

You grinned politely, shaking your head at his statement. “It’s alright. It’s not like this job is every interesting anymore anyway.” He laughed, grabbing the dishes you were beginning to wash and insisted he help. “You really don’t have to do that. I’m getting paid to clean these things.” Joining in his laughter, you eventually gave in as he theatrically begged to assist in cleaning. When you finished, you picked up one of the fresh pastries and placed it in his hands. “Look at all the work we did, you deserve it!” He smiled, carefully splitting the dessert in half.

“Only if you have some of it too.” You ate the portions quietly for a moment, his eyes sparkling like that of a young child. “This is amazing! You’re a really good cook.” You laughed, waving your hand in disagreement.

“I think you’re just saying that because you don’t get to have sweets,” you insisted. He shook his head.

“No, this is really great!” He finished the tart, his bright smile sending a quickened pulse pumping in your chest. You sat in silence for a moment, until the ringing of his phone startled you both.

 “Hello?” he answered. “Yes sir. Sorry, I’ll just be a minute.” He hung up the phone, his eyes dulled again to a spark-less brown. “I have to go now. I’m late.” His demeanor was downcast and weary, his shoulders slumped with disincentive.

“Well, feel free to come back and visit again sometime. It’s really nice to actually see a person once in a while. I’m here practically every day.” He grinned again, turning to leave.

“I will, for sure.” He turned around, pulling you into an unexpected hug. “And thanks, for listening to me rant. You’re great for putting up with that!” He walked to the doorway, giving you a final smile before walking out the door.

As you removed your apron and prepared to leave, you grinned at the kitchen around you. Getting up for work tomorrow wasn’t going to be nearly as burdensome as it had before. Perhaps there was a flash of hope, a chance for you to find happiness somewhere inside the intimidating network of one of Korea’s most influential music corporations. You’d have to wait and see.