Jealousy is a foreign concept to Baekhyun Byun. Reiterating his ineptitude at the art of seduction would be repetitive. He likes to think he did well at snatching Yongsun Kim’s hand in marriage. If the first interaction were a miracle, the ceremony opened a rift in both space and time. 

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, celestial forces surely blessed the late-to-blossom architect. Dedicated wife; successful career; reliable friends: insufferable puberty was offset by a future dreams are made of. Three years made him forget how to covet. “My wife” already feels familiar to his tongue.

“Captain Wu?” Baekhyun is surprised by the police officer’s appearance at Pink Funky: Highgate Ridge’s local bakery. “Taking a break from your pre-wedding diet?”

“I wish, Mr. Byun.” The significantly taller man tips his hat, hiding knowledge he quickly traps beneath it with a slight of hand, “Unfortunately, a beer belly would probably put a hamper on the honeymoon.”

“Probably?” Yongsun Kim, otherwise known as Solar, emerges through the “employee only” kitchen door. Fluttering inky lashes on smiling eyes. “Most definitely.” 

“Most women don’t share your appreciation for visible happiness — unfortunately.”

An underhanded comment that almost flies over Baekhyun’s head. When he catches it, the meaning fumbles. “If cupcakes are the key to happiness, what do men get married for?” He laughs sarcastically, misguided in perceiving the inside joke. Unfortunately, this isn’t the last time Yifan Wu appears unexpectedly. The curious circumstance repeats itself every lunch for a week—

Until Pete knocks sense into him for the umpteenth time. From failing football tryouts to parsing philosophy homework, the skeptic always asked “why.” Ready to gleefully undercut Baekhyun just when he thought he was flying high. Cloud nine wobbles in suspense at Pete’s newest inquiry. 

“Isn’t it odd?”

“What is?” Baekhyun asked, trepidation trapping a gulp in his throat. 

How hard he falls for the bait. Like a scolded schoolboy, he sits at attention in his chair. Awaits the wisdom Pete imparts with a whisper, “I adore Mrs. Byun’s pastries as much as the next guy, but,” before pausing. Anticipation builds. Pete loves watching Baekhyun squirm.

Bangs on the door of his office has his soul leaping from his body — as Pete is his witness. “I’m heading out, Mr. Byun. Have a nice night!” Miss Kim, his secretary, yells past cherry-stained wood. Capability stuffed into a woman prone to procrastinate spoiled many-a-Saturday plans. Her saving grace was her coffee. 

Slightly above room temperature. Creamy in consistency. Strong enough to stave off the craving for real sustenance. Perfection.

Pete stole a long sip, then continued, “Captain Wu’s got quite the needy sweet tooth.”

A regular customer at Pink Funky, Pete recounted the encounters. Short exchanges. Doubtful evidence gathered with his gut. Yet previously ignored suspicions are solidified through these observations. It’s the word “cheating” that stops the argument short. 

“He’s getting married in three weeks,” Baekhyun immediately rebukes.

This, coupled with foreign concepts unconceivable by the dimwitted, reaffirms Baekhyun’s trust in his own capability. Yongsun Kim was prime real estate. Ripe for the building. “Come back to bed, Baek.” He was her demographic. “Soulmates don’t exist,” Pete denies the “why.”

She had no reason to betray him.

“Alright, Baek. Since you’re so smart, where’s the fiancé?”

Name. Height. Weight. Favorite fusion fruit variant. Rumors spread fast in suburbia. Despite frequent news coverage, Yifan Wu’s intended was nowhere to be found. Conspiracy theories aplenty, Baekhyun Byun showed up at Pink Funky’s an hour earlier than usual.

“I hate surprises” was his wife's mantra — though she orchestrated grand events with ease. 

Take the empty front parlor, for example. Shelves filled with baked goods waiting for the lunch rush. Tile floors squeaking, freshly mopped. Quiet except for a black cat clock. Eyes wide. Tail swinging.

“Yongsun?” Bangs from the “employee only” kitchen are his response. “Are you okay back there, babe?” The door pushes open, and Captain Wu steps out. Clearly, the lawful man spaced out during elementary english lessons.

“Early lunch, Mr. Byun?” He runs fingers through unruly hair, all twenty-eight pearly whites smiling wide. Hands down the most photogenic donut-eating officer on the force. Voted MVP on the high school basketball team. “His jawline inspires me to just do it,” Pete knocked his Nike’s sneakers together one day during senior year. 

Baekhyun’s inferiority complex rears its ugly head. “Early dessert, Captain Wu?”

Ponytail swinging, Yongsun Kim enters the scene. “Don’t forget your hat, Captain.” Fine fingers cradle blue felt with the utmost of care. Yifan gives it a pat and plops it on his head. Doesn’t forget to tip the lip. A secret almost spills out. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t indulge myself today. Good day to you both.” The bell above the door twinkles at his departure. “You know who to call if catastrophe strikes.”

“My husband,” Yongsun jests, embracing her betrothed’s waist. 

The black cat watches them, tail flicking with each tick. Tock. Tick. Taking the lead is Mrs. Byun — as usual. “You know I hate surprises.” She grabs the tulip bouquet Mr. Byun forgot he was holding. Admiring pinks, yellows, and blues, she shrugs. “They’re beautiful, though.”

Baekhyun cracks under the guise of normalcy. “Unfortunately. Unfortunately. Unfortunately.” He mocks with disdain, “What’s so unfortunate about being interrupted by me?” What he lacked in intuition he made up for in forthright speech. 

Reality twisted knots into his dream. Many ographic films depicted women with police officer kinks. A Captain was a step up. “Oh Captain, my Captain.” He imagines the scene with spectacular detail. 

Yongsun leaves the room, disappearing behind the ineffective “employee only” sign. There’re more bangs. Struggling sounds. Her seemingly dismissive answer to his “why” exacerbates his nightmares.

Are you cheating on me, Baekhyun wants to ask. His confidence is overflowing. Stopped by the floodgates she builds when she pushes through the kitchen door. Sets a large box on the counter with much effort. 

Canned fruits. 

“Captain Yifan Wu has been helping me collect donations for Highgate Ridge’s seasonal food drive.”

Everything clicks. Mrs. Byun took responsibility for this community service project over two years prior. Captain Wu delivered food dropped into the police department’s donation box. Short exchanges are all that’s possible for such an important man. Though the task is tiring and tedious, wedding cake bakers are not a dime a dozen. Humiliation sets in.

Foreseeing brutal punishment, he covers his bases, “You’re my cupcake, Yongsun.”

“I love you, too, darling.”

For Pete’s sake, Mr. Byun doesn’t mention the origin of his wayward thoughts. 

Wednesdays are slow. People are too busy working in anticipation of the weekend to commit crimes. Detective Yixing Zhang spins in his chair at Highgate Ridge Police Department. The ceiling fan spins on its axis. 

Droning on in circles. Looping back over and over. In motion but going nowhere. If he wants a break from the mundane, he needs to do something — even if it means doubling back on himself.

“Officer Brown.” The man dressed in blue at the front desk turns a head colored white with age. Complementary to his wizened appearance, he had an elephant’s memory. “Who filed the CCTV footage of Ahh Avenue. The video supporting Moonbyul Yi’s alibi?” A new mind might shed light on old news. 

“Captain Wu,” Officer Brown said without missing a beat. 

“Speak of the devil, and he’ll bless the masses,” said photogenic law enforcer, Basketball VIP, oh captain, my captain joked as he waltzed into the building. There was a shiny smile on his face and a Pink Funky donut box in his hands. “Need me for something, Detective Zhang?”

“It’s nothing, sir.”

Something wicked this way comes, guising itself as an innocent nothing.

A/N: Do we have a cheater in our midst?