Kyungsoo’s expression was a strange cross between anger and pity when she told him the next day.

The spring sun still glowed, beams of gold beating against half-cleaned windows. Kyungsoo had arrived bundled in a coat that swept past his knees and the spring draft at heels. His smile was slight but his eyes were warm; it was easy to see why her parents adored him so much.

Sundays often saw an influx of customers at her family’s humble bakery, and even between her and her parents, there were never enough hands. Kyungsoo had fingers made to whisk batter and shape bread, so he was always a welcome help. He wasn’t an official employee (he cited that in his current situation, he couldn’t comply with the hours a proper shift demanded) but he came around sometimes, often in weekends, at Gayoon’s request.

They were alone in the kitchen when Gayoon retold yesterday’s events. With all her fumbling and choking, Baekhyun alone had taken the better part of an hour. The boy with the flowers though, she only mentioned when Kyungsoo asked where the beautiful carnations came from.

“I’m so sorry, Gayoon,” he said finally. He was clutching the counter, leaning forwards on flour-dusted hands.

She looked into his big brown eyes and shook her head. They brimmed with too much sympathy, too much concern.

“It was a fifty-fifty thing anyway,” she replied, twisting two strands of dough into a braid. “I guess I got the unlucky half.”

Kyungsoo was biting his lip.

“Go ahead, Soo. Tell me ‘I told you so’.”

Kyungsoo’s lips parted, breathing a sigh in place of the words he couldn’t seem to bring himself to say.

“I think it’s better this way,” she said. She was staring at her dough-encrusted fingers, towards the sheets of flour coating her bony wrists. “At least I wasn’t publically humiliated.”

“It’s not always a good thing to put all your eggs in one basket,” Kyungsoo said wisely. He was kneading dough; his hands were strong as he pushed his thumbs in, dragging the mound across the board. The way he worked was sure and capable and professional.

“You’re saying that I should have two crushes?”

“Well… a backup plan’s always nice.”

She flicked the cheese she was supposed to sprinkle over the bread towards him. “Stop being silly, Soo.”

“Hearts are not so easy to invest, I know,” he said. He dragged a pan over and squeezed out a lump to roll between his hands. “What about this other boy you told me about? The one who conveniently decided to take your cake in exchange for his flowers?” He clapped his hands and flattened the dough with one smack. “You do know that’s a bit weird, right?”

“I was upset, Kyungsoo, and he made me feel better,” she said softly.

“You’re lucky you weren’t stuffed in a van.”

“Kyungsoo! He wouldn’t do that; he’s nice. And besides, how old do you think I am?”

“Stanger danger, Gayoon. I don’t think you seem to get that concept.”

She rolled her eyes, wringing both fingers exasperatedly. “He looked about our age. And with those kind of eyes, I doubt he could be any more dangerous than your pet hamster.”

“Eyes?” Kyungsoo managed a low whistle in the maelstrom of wafting flour. “Aren’t you paying attention.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He grinned. “So, what’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

His brows shot up. “You gave him your cake and you absolutely have no inkling of his name?”

She shook her head. Her cheeks felt slightly pink but it was okay. She doubted Kyungsoo could see much, given that her cheeks were stained white.

“Good grief. What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Nothing. Because you are going to shut up and finish those butter buns.”

“Are you going to Baekhyun’s birthday party?”

The question caught her off guard. She let it linger, thumbing through responses and rolling it over the contours of her tongue.

“He invited the whole grade,” Kyungsoo reminded her. He looked serious now. She felt his gaze from across the counter, heavy and unyielding. 

“I don’t know,” she finally replied, and scooted away to put the trays into the oven before Kyungsoo could say anything more.

Kyungsoo left when it was barely into one.

He left behind him a whirlwind of a kitchen: buns baking in ovens, cookies stacked to cool and spinning cakes waiting to be iced. It was easy to memorise his brisk footsteps over the jangle of metal trays, even simpler to think of his flour stained cheeks and the earth brown coat he hurriedly tugged over his shoulders. His last service to the bakery was popping open the register himself to slip in some money to pay for the hot cross buns he took.

Baekhyun was an unexpected occurrence, the scribble across a cake spelling name that didn’t sound quite right.

He came in trailing the scent of sweet spring blooms, a wispy scarf wreathing his neck like smoke. His cheeks were pink and his hands were curled into tight fists. When he stepped into the threshold, the first thing he did was sneeze.

“Sorry!” he called out. She had jumped almost a mile at the sudden noise and he must have noticed it, because he looked almost sheepish.

The door closed at his heels and he was quick to scoot away from the draft snaking its way in between the cracks. He came to her in a stride as sure-footed as any adult’s yet with eyes as fascinated as a child’s.

“Hi,” he grinned at her from the other side of the counter.

She was coherent enough to form a reply, however choked up it ended up being.

“Gayoon right? We’re from the same school. I’m Baekhyun.” His eyes remained pleasantly friendly as he stuck his hand out.

That he introduced himself as if he never noticed her was a punch in the gut. But it was still hard to hate him, not when her name sounded so musical coming out of his lips.

She was hesitant, but found herself taking his hand. His grip was firm, peppered with calluses: hard skin dead to the touch, coarse and raw. They shook once; he pulled away first.

“You got the invite right, for my birthday?” he asked. His lips were pursed, his finger idly tracing the glass front of the cake display.

“Everybody did.”

“Good. I was worried that I’d miss someone.” He shot her a grateful smile, and then it dulled into solemn eyes and thinly pressed, pleading lips. “Listen. I know this is embarrassing that I have to ask one of my guests for this, but,” fingers twitching with frustration ran through silk-soft hair, “I have… problems with the planner. The bakery that was supposed to do my cake backed out ‘cause the owner wanted to do a wedding instead and… to cut it short I need a cake.”

“Why’d you come here?” She blushed when she realised how rude the words sounded tumbling out of . “I mean, there a lot of better bakeries…”

“Because I heard you make the best chocolate cakes,” he stated. Nothing in eyes hinted that he was lying. She saw only faith, his deep-rooted belief.

She bit her lip. There was still that throb in her chest when she looked at him, the bitter misery. Baekhyun had managed to hurt her in so many ways and yet he was still infuriatingly oblivious. But his smile was so devastatingly infectious and her heart still beat to that gleam in his chocolate irises.

“How many tiers?” she found herself asking.

He laughed. “Oh God, no. People will think that I’m secretly getting married. No, nothing like that. Just a large rectangular cake with a little bit of décor would do.”

She scrawled his request on a spare notepad. “Messages?”

“Just ‘Happy Birthday to Baekhyun!’”

She bit her lip so she wouldn’t smile. “Any specific decorations? Or you can take a look in our sample book.”

When he didn’t answer, she looked up. It was a mistake because it sent her heart into an acrobatic, palpitating mess; Baekhyun was looking right at her with that curious, contemplative gleam she often saw when he was nose-deep in his compositions.

“I’ll just trust you to do what’s best.”

“That is…” a mistake? An impossible feat? “manageable.”

His wide, pleased grin made her world spin. “Great!”

He his hand across the counter, caught her fingers and crushed it between his. “It’s great doing business with you.”

And then he was off, leaving her slumping against the cash register, wondering what in the world had she gotten herself into.

“That was…” it sounded like a clatter on the other side, a crash of books flying to the floor, “not very smart. I’m sorry. I can’t phrase it any gentler than that.”

She waited in silence and listened to him huff. The thud of the book being replaced on his desk was a loud and decisive alarm. Kyungsoo’s desk must be a cluttered mess, as it was wont to become when he burned the midnight oil for unfinished homework. That he was willing to answer her call at all was a miracle in and of itself, but then Gayoon had always been his exception.

“What was I supposed to say? ‘I can’t take that order because I’m upset with you?’ Soo, I sound like a fool.”

“Broken hearts heal best when the knife that tore it isn’t within reach. You’re planning on cutting yours to ribbons, aren’t you?”

“I know it wasn’t a very smart thing to do,” she said through gritted teeth. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come to you, would I?”

“I won’t be of much use in this situation.” He sounded rueful, if a bit distracted. “I don’t have the hands to spare to oblige your request. My time is stretched thin with all these projects.”

 She sighed, disappointed. “Then what am I supposed to do? I need help if I am to finish that cake. And mom and dad have other things in their hands.”

“Hire someone new,” was the plain, matter-of-fact answer she received.

“That’s a plan. If there is such a person willing to bake a five kilo cake.”

Kyungsoo laughed. “Just put up a sign. Someone will heed the challenge, take my word for it.”