When Junmyeon pushes the door open, the single bell hanging above takes a second to ring, as if returning from a state just one shift away from drifting off to sleep. Its soft tinkling sounds as tired as Junmyeon feels, for a first-year university student on a full-time scholarship is pressed for time and money, neither of which he has enough of. Even stripping away other so-called necessities never fills the gaping holes that ticking clocks and empty wallets constantly remind him of. Still, he finds himself eating only half the meals of everyone around him, replacing meal time with study time if he finds his class ranking slipping by a place. Weekends are a little bit different. Even though there are plenty of places to go within a few blocks of the university, Junmyeon finds himself drawn to the same place one street away every Saturday. He prefers the muted red of a worn shopping basket and the inky blue of handwritten price tags to the neon signs plastering the streets of Seoul, and he’d rather breathe in the steam of homemade soup than the fumes of automobile exhaust. And so he lets the sounds of the city fade behind the tinkle of the doorbell and the faint shuffle of footsteps a few aisles away.

Junmyeon heads to the back, where the smell of radish floats around in the air. He knows that by the time he leaves the scent will have embedded itself in his clothing, but he's hungry and doesn't mind. He orders a large bowl of the stew, settles down at one of the three tiny tables available, and opens one of his calculus textbooks. Staring at one problem for seven minutes makes his head ache and he nearly forgets to get his order from the counter. As he stands up, he nearly falls over to avoid colliding with someone else and ends up awkwardly bent over his chair grabbing the table for support.

A boy about the same size as him is clutching a tray with what must be Junmyeon's radish stew accompanied by several overflowing side dishes of kimchijeon and gaeranmari, although really, the stew is overflowing as well, seeing as a good third of it is now on the boy’s orange shirt and dripping on the worn tiles. Junmyeon is still a little dazed, but he grabs an unnecessary amount of napkins and hurriedly starts mopping the floor. He instinctively starts dabbing at the boy’s sweater as well, too busy mumbling “oops” to realize that his fingers are only centimeters away from the boy’s stomach and belt. Both of them start to stutter, but the boy cuts off Junmyeon’s apology with a shy shake of his head.

“It’s okay, really. Don’t worry about it.”

“But your sweater--”

One side of the boy’s mouth curves upward in an attempt to be cool but ends up just looking awkward. “I never really liked this sweater anyways. It’s my favorite color, but still, it’s ugly, isn’t it?”

Junmyeon starts to protest, saying that he wouldn’t mind wearing it, but the boy brushes past him and sets the tray of food on the table before returning to his place behind the counter. When Junmyeon finishes his meal, he starts to get up but is intercepted again; the empty tray is whisked out of his hands with a smile that’s still timid but is tinged with more confidence. He is a little surprised when the boy doesn’t say anything to him, not even a customary “thank you”, but thinks nothing beyond it.

Later, when he attempts to finish his calculus homework in his dorm, he finds a napkin with blue numbers scribbled on it stuck in his textbook. He blushes even though no one else is there -- someone else giving him their phone number is always flattering -- but then realizes that the numbers are attached to letters, and the napkin is actually an explanation of the one math problem he had been looking over in the supermarket cafe. He thinks a little longer, and figures that it must have been the supermarket boy, since he was the only person Junmyeon had had contact with earlier. Only then does he remember details from the afternoon, like the boy’s ink-stained fingertips and how the stew-soaked orange sweater had clung to his thin frame. He manages to push the thoughts away, but not before briefly wondering why his mind would store such irrelevant information.

`

A week or so later on his next trip to the supermarket, Junmyeon is welcomed not only by the ringing of the bell by the door but also the aroma of something baking in the oven. He starts humming to himself before realizing that the music playing overhead is familiar: one of Chopin’s piano etudes, Opera 10, No. 5, but unusually slowed down as if asking the listener to sing along with the melody. A few years ago he had played this too, although probably more clumsily. As he makes his way down the third aisle, his fingers dance lightly over the hand-written price tags in time with the music from the speakers. Junmyeon has a peculiar way of shopping compared to most people; instead of taking the shortest walking path through the store starting from aisle 1 and ending in aisle 10, he finds everything he needs in order of when he eats it in a day. Kimchi comes first, then eggs, various vegetables, tofu, and a little chicken if he has room in his basket or budget. Rice goes last since it’s the heaviest, and on the way out, he grabs a few packets of dried seaweed or ramyeon to snack on during late studying sessions. He never takes the first package on a shelf (it’s more likely that people touched the ones in front), but instead always chooses the third one back. Other people would probably find his habits strange, but after watching his mother do the same he’s used to it, and no one else cares anyway.

Junmyeon starts to make his way towards checkout, but a metal clanking interrupts his soft humming. A glass case that he hasn’t noticed before is set next to the cash register and is half-full with cute little cakes, the rest of which are sitting on an aluminum tray that must have been the source of the noise. The employee arranging them for display looks up at Junmyeon and smiles, and he recognizes the boy from last time’s stew and calculus problem incident.

“Hello sir, would you like to try one of our new products? They’re just out of the oven and still warm!” The boy’s eyes sparkle as he talks, and Junmyeon notices his name tag, reading Jongdae, for the first time.

“Ah... I’m on a tight budget. I don’t think I can buy one today.”

The boy - Jongdae - widens his eyes and shakes his head, almost as if he’s confused, but then breaks out into another grin. “Lucky for you, our store is actually trying out something different! Since this is a new product, we want to make sure customers will like it, so we’re offering it for free today! We have strawberry, vanilla, and green tea right now, but why don’t you try all of them?” Jongdae is already packing up three small cakes, one of each flavor all together in a neat white box with a white ribbon, and he holds it out to Junmyeon, his smile bigger than ever.

Junmyeon is smiling too, although more tentatively. “This is really generous... are you sure these cakes are okay? They’re not a bad batch, are they?”

“Never! I can attest - I made them myself!” Jongdae protests loudly. “Although some people may say that’s a reason you shouldn’t trust these cakes,” he mutters to himself.

“Don’t worry, I’m just joking,” Junmyeon laughs at Jongdae’s pouting face. “I’ll be certain to enjoy these - thank you so much!”

“No, thank you for patronizing our tiny store! For future reference, what kind of flavors or other baked goods would you like to see us provide?”

Junmyeon thinks for a minute. “I think most people would really like coffee? And maybe macarons, since they look really cute.”

“Ah, really?” Jongdae nods enthusiastically, and rings up Junmyeon’s card. “Your total is $29.54... Junmyeon-ssi,” he reads off the computer screen with a small smile. “Thank you, and have a nice day!” He waves cheerfully as Junmyeon walks out the door, the bell clinking behind him.

Later, Junmyeon opens the box of cakes, planning to have a pre-studying snack, and notices that each cake is decorated with a letter written with thin icing on top. Lined up next to each other, one cake reads ㅈ, the next ㅏ, and then ㅎ. They’re just letters, but Junmyeon wonders why they’re there. Anyways, they taste good, he thinks as he wipes the sugary ㅈ  off with his finger and it.

`

First, down the third aisle, one jar of kimchi. As usual. Until Junmyeon places the jar in his basket and realizes there’s a bright orange sticky note, reading ㅈ, attached to the lid. Curious, but after a quick examination of the glass container, nothing seems amiss. He leaves it in his basket and makes his way to the refrigerated section to pick up his eggs. He grabs the carton third from the front, as usual, and there’s another orange sticky note, this time marked with ㅜ.  Again, the eggs are fine, and so he doesn’t bother replacing them with another dozen. The produce section is marked with more squares of orange, conveniently by the vegetables of Junmyeon’s normal choice, and by the time he makes it to checkout he’s accumulated a whole stackful, about ten or so. He could have sworn he just saw Jongdae sweeping in the adjacent aisle, but now he’s behind the counter, beaming more than ever. Junmyeon wonders if this kid ever stops smiling.    

“How were the cakes?” Jongdae’s lower lip flushes as he bites it in anticipation,, and Junmyeon thinks he feels his own cheeks flushing too.

“They were wonderful! The amount of sweetness was perfect, the ratio of icing to cake to cream was perfect, all of the textures were just right...” Junmyeon rambles on about how well-executed the cakes were, surprising himself with how much he remembered about something he ate a week ago and too busy in the process of explaining to notice that Jongdae’s ears are now nearly the same color as the strawberry cake on display.

“Really?!” Jongdae’s voice rises and cracks at an embarrassingly high pitch, and his resulting laugh cracks a little too, matching the crinkles framing his eyes as he smiles, Junmyeon thinks. He also thinks that Jongdae would probably look even nicer if he didn’t cover up his smile. He almost says this out loud, but luckily Jongdae talks before he does.

“Anyway, I tried making the coffee cakes and macarons, like you suggested, and they’re selling really well! But I’m thinking we should have something more unique, like a flavor that’s not available at every bakery, but not something so weird that no one would buy it... any suggestions?”

“How about... orange? That’s my favorite.” Junmyeon almost giggles when Jongdae’s eyes light up as he exclaims, “Really? That’s my favorite flavor too!” He playfully slaps Junmyeon’s forearm, and Junmyeon might be imagining it, but it seems like Jongdae’s fingers linger for just a second longer than they should. “I’ll be sure to try it out! You’ll be here next Tuesday, right? I’ll have a special cake for you then!”

As Junmyeon walks out the door, he’s grinning much wider than usual, probably because of a certain infectious smile and the fact that 2NE1’s “Please Don’t Go” has just started playing from the supermarket’s speakers.   

At his dorm, he lays out the sticky notes in the same order that he collected them in.

ㅈ ㅜ ㄴ ㅁ ㅕ ㄴ ㅇ ㅏ ㄴ ㄴ ㅕ ㅇ

One dozen orange squares, lined up as neatly as the dozen eggs in the carton he had bought earlier. A straight line, but a jumbled meaning. But wait! If you actually put all the letters together, the notes read... 준면안녕... Hi Junmyeon.

No one else is there, but even so Junmyeon clasps his hands over his mouth before he lets himself giggle. He realizes that Jongdae did the same thing earlier - slender fingers trying to conceal a moment of glee - and doesn’t stop smiling even when his cheeks begin to hurt.

`

“That can’t be right,” Junmyeon says to himself as he looks at the sign on the grocery store’s door. “They’re never closed on Tuesdays.” And Jongdae said next Tuesday, he thought.

Be back later! the familiar orange post-it note reads, written in blue ink and smudged ever so slightly. He sighs and decides he’ll walk away if nothing happens in five minutes, but as soon as the thought forms a dull thunk breaks the silence.

A few meters away, Jongdae is pouting over the remnants of a cake he just dropped, crumbs of which are splattered on the sidewalk and on his sweater. He looks up and sees Junmyeon rushing over, but the smile that forms on his face is apologetic and even a little nervous.

“Junmyeon-ssi... this was supposed to be an orange cake, like you suggested, but...”
“Ah, this is the second time you’ve stained your clothing because of me! What are we going to do with you, Jongdae?” Junmyeon is busy gathering up all the stray crumbs and reaches for the ones on Jongdae’s sweater without thinking, only hesitating after he realizes he just repeatedly rubbed his fingers over the other’s collarbones while trying to wipe a smear of cream away. They both stutter a little bit, but Junmyeon smiles in what he hopes is a friendly manner and Jongdae seems to relax despite the slight sheen of sweat forming on his hairline.

They both continue cleaning up the crumbs, the smell of orange hovering along with the slight tension, until Junmyeon notices a small white strip in the middle of the remaining cake.

“What’s this?” he muses as he pulls it out.

“Ah... that...” Jongdae’s ears turn red again, and his eyes crinkle into a smile. “You like cake, right? And isn’t cake better with something bitter to complement it, say coffee?” He looks at Junmyeon hopefully, but Junmyeon his head in confusion, and Jongdae’s gaze lowers in more shy embarrassment. “Ah... well, since I made you cake, I was hoping that we could share it? Over coffee?” He points to the white strip in Junmyeon’s fingers. “That’s sugar, by the way. If you turn it over, I wrote my phone number on the other side... it’s like the piece of paper inside a fortune cookie, except this is a cake and my phone number might not be your lucky numbers of the day.” Jongdae sighs, a little shakily, but continues. “I know I’m just a poor high school student and you’re busy in university, and we haven’t really talked much, but I like the way you smile and how you sing to yourself when you think no one else is listening and I even like the way you walk, and this probably makes me sound really creepy but I always look forward to you coming to the store and-”

“Jongdae?” Junmyeon cuts him off.

“Oh my god, wait, I don’t even know if you’re gay-”

“Uh, Jongdae? This... is a lot for me to take in? I’m... I actually have to go now, I’ll see you later?” Junmyeon doesn’t want to look over his shoulder as he walks away, for seeing a pouting Jongdae probably isn’t going to be good for him for the next few days.

`

Junmyeon isn’t rude though, and he texts Jongdae in the next few days, telling him to meet at the city library since he doesn’t have time to go grocery shopping this week. He has a stack of books next to him on the table, and he flips through his notes while he waits for Jongdae to arrive, looking up at the door every once in a while.

“Junmyeon-ssi?” Junmyeon looks up into Jongdae’s quivering eyes. “You... wanted to talk?”

Junmyeon looks back down at his notes. “I’m in the middle of a thought here, could you hang on a second?”
“Ah... no problem. Take all the time you need” The disappointment in Jongdae’s voice is subtle, but Junmyeon catches it and it manages to tug at his heart.

“Wait... can you take that book on the top of the stack? The one with the orange sticky notes? Yes, can you look at them in order and read them out loud to me? I think I can add them to my current thoughts here.”

Jongdae’s eyebrows arch in slight confusion, but he opens the book anyway.

“J.. there’s just a ㅈ here? o? ng? d? ae? Wait... you don’t really mean....” Jongdae rips the rest of the notes out of the book, lining them up in order just as Junmyeon had once done.

“Jongdae... I like you too?” Junmyeon smiles and pretends to read his notes as he waits for Jongdae to fully react.

“Really?!?? ME?!?” Jongdae’ jumps back in his chair with surprise, covering his mouth with his hand in a half-hearted attempt to stay quiet. “So you understood my message from before?? And you replicated it? Even with the same sticky notes?! You are so--” His exclamation is so loud that before he can finish talking the librarian comes up to him and sternly asks him to leave. As he gets up, still giggling, Junmyeon pushes his chair in for him with one hand and grabs Jongdae’s hand with the other. He takes one of the orange sticky notes sitting on the table and attaches it to the younger boy’s back. Orange is my favorite color, and my favorite flavor, too, he thinks as he presses his lips to Jongdae’s flushed cheek.