On Friday, the cake was boxed, wrapped. She did it alone; Jongin had pled lateness for a project that needed finishing. He sounded exhausted over the phone, breathless. She pictured him in a studio, walls echoing, shoes squeaking against floors as he breathed fog into the mirror.

The party was supposed to be tonight.

She was fidgeting, uneasy. She glanced at the box and away. She picked up brooms and swept away dust and plastic, dug out ribbons and boxed away cookies. Her heart hammered the whole day, giddy, for the party, for Baekhyun’s expression when he saw the cake.

Her mother came in when she was in the midst of lifting the sides of the box up. Her face was alight as she peered in to look at the contents. She exclaimed over the smoothness of the icing, the texture of the cake. She examined the sides, measured its degree of moistness with expert eyes, and exclaimed that she’d given birth to a true baker. Gayoon smiled into her embrace, heart hammering with excitement, with pride.

She was supposed to go with Kyungsoo an hour early. He was to help her with the cake; they needed two sets of hands to carry it out of her mom’s van. She had chosen her dress: simple chiffon with a playful, flirty skirt. She thought of pulling back her hair, but something about the words Jongin’d said to her made her pull away the band. She felt it cascade, past her shoulders, down her back. She remembered it being prettier when she was younger, more luscious, glowing. She lost some of its lustre in puberty, but kept enough that it remained thick, flicked into waves.

The phone rang then. She picked it up and Kyungsoo’s voice trailed into her ear. Despite the static, she detected the urgency that frothed the edges of his voice. He was also frantically apologetic.

“What do you mean you can’t make it?” she asked, staring at the mirror above the sink in her bathroom. She saw panic in her eyes, and with a bit of guilt realised that there was also a feeling of betrayal.

“Everything’s going wrong,” he fretted, and she felt his agitation as clearly as through it were her own. “The computer’s hanging on me. I can’t access everything I need to print.”

“Don’t you have backup somewhere?”

“No!” Kyungsoo moaned, taken entirely by regret. “I was too tired when I finished everything last night. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move except to drag myself to bed. I’m so, so sorry Gayoon.”

“No, no, it’s…” she rubbed her temples, tried to think of words to offer to Kyungsoo. He was guilt-ridden already, not to mention half delirious over the thought of losing his precious hard work. He’d always been the tightly winded one, that poor Kyungsoo. “It’s fine. I’ll just ask someone else to go with me.”

There was a sigh, a grunt of defeat. “I’m not glad for this, you know. I’m every bit as upset as you are for myself.”

“I’m not mad at you,” she answered automatically, because Kyungsoo was starting to lose himself in his misery. “Soo, it’s alright.”

There was a pause, hesitation. “Will you be okay? The cake’s heavy and all. You need someone who’d be able to hold its weight –”

“Jongin could,” she blurted without much thought. “Jongin’s more than capable in helping.”

“I thought you said he’s coming in late,” he said, sceptical.

She twiddled with the hem of her dress, chewed on her lip to keep her uneasiness from showing. “I’ll ask if he can speed things up.”

“If he can’t?”

“Then I’ll ask Mom.”

That seemed to decide it for Kyungsoo. “If he can’t come, you ask me again,” he told her, strictly and surely. “Project be damned. I’ll take you to that party.”

“Don’t you dare drop anything. I won’t have you risk it. I’ll ask Jongin, and I’m sure he’ll come.”

Kyungsoo barked out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s your employee, Gayoon, but you can’t force the boy.”

“Neither can I force you,” she pointed out.

“I’m willing to do what I have to do.”

“I’ll ask him,” she promised. “Consider this discussion closed.”

“Tell me how it went,” Kyungsoo said sternly. “I’ll take you if he can’t. That’s a promise.”

She huffed, partly in irritation, mostly in affection, and hung up. The next few minutes she spent staring at the mirror, debating, carding fingers through strands of hair and running water from the tap.

Did Jongin finish whatever he needed to do? Kyungsoo had a project but to be fair, so did he. That was the reason why she heard music echoing against walls and hard breathes in the receiver. It was the very reason why Jongin pled mercy for being late.

But the cake was heavy, and she couldn’t bear to drag Kyungsoo away when he’s obviously so agitated…

She took a deep breath and swiped the screen.

It took a while for Jongin to answer, and when he did, there was no more music. The room he spoke from sounded empty and hollow, bouncing echoes with the lilt of his voice.

“Yes?”

“Jongin,” she played with her hair again, watched the movement of her lips, “how fast can you get to the bakery?”

“Twenty minutes,” he answered, voice duplicated a hundred times over. “Fifteen if I run. Why?

“Where are you now?”

“Locker room.” That explained the echoes. He must have had his head in one right now.

“Can you get there as soon as possible?”

“Why? Is there a problem?” A slam. A muffled reply. She wagered Jongin was pulling a shirt over his head.

“I need you to come with me to the party.”

There was a pause, just a heartbeat too long. “Is something the matter?” Jongin sounds guarded, but also entirely, truly concerned.

“Kyungsoo can’t come, and the box is ridiculously huge. I need an extra set of hands to help carry it.”

“Shouldn’t Baekhyun be there to get it?”

She felt the heat, the creeping blush. Jongin was being sensible, but she couldn’t seem to tell him that she chickened out every time she picked up the phone to dial his number.

He understood anyway. “I see.”

“Pretty please? I’ll get Mom to give you extra pay for the month.”

 There was amusement in his reply. “You don’t have to pay me anything. I’d be honoured to come.”

She breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Thanks, Jongin.”

“The only problem is that I don’t have the right clothes, unless the dress code states ‘faded hoodie and rumpled sweats’.”

That got her a bit more agitated. “What about jeans? It doesn’t have to be formal. Just… appropriate.”

A thoughtful pause. “I’ll have to check in my other locker. But I’ll be a bit late.”

“As long as you’ll be here. Loads of thanks, Jongin. You’re turning out to be my lifesaver in every situation.”

“Anything for the lady,” he joked.

He came dressed far more stylishly than she expected him to.

A ding of the doorbell announced a tall figure in a blue shirt and dark jeans and an open jacket. He’d combed gel through his hair and fashioned crescent eyes out of a crooked smile, and Gayoon wondered how long it’d been since she’d seen so fine a sight.

“Everything I could find on such short notice,” he said. She realised that she’d been flicking her eyes over him in a once-over.

“You clean up good.”

The crooked smile grew wider. “It’s good to have friends that wear the same size.”

To be honest, he would have made more money as an online shopping mall model than he would a baker. She kept it to herself through, and tried not to stare when he crossed the threshold.

“So… the cake?”

She snapped out of the reverie. “Oh, right. At the back. Come on.”

Working with Jongin was going to take a lot of getting used to.

If he noticed her slight distractedness, he didn’t comment. He followed her like a puppy into the kitchen, where he was immediately accosted by her darling, through incredibly embarrassing, mother.

“Jongin! So glad you could make it. Gayoon here was almost in tears,” she beamed.

Gayoon smiled stiffly, and steered her away. “I think its time to glaze those loaves, Mom.”

“He’s incredibly dashing, isn’t he?” her mother tittered, though with the grace to keep her voice low enough for just her daughter to hear.

“I don’t know, Mom.”

“Darling, you have eyes. And you don’t need to lie, I saw how you looked at him.”

She gritted her teeth, tried not to blush. “I looked at him as how I would Kyungsoo if it were him who walked through that door, or any other boy for that matter.”

“You’re being so prickly, darling. Admitting to his good-looks is hardly a thing to be ashamed of.”

Her mother patted her cheek with a floured hand and then glided away to tend to her loaves. Gayoon breathed a sigh of relief and ambled back the way she’d come, finding Jongin bent over the box, completely absorbed.

“It looks so good,” he said as she approached. “But then again, everything looks good when they’re out of your reach.”

 He straightened, rested long fingers over the counter to hunch his shoulders. “Baekhyun should be honoured.”

“I’m just doing what he asked,” she said, fussing over the box.

“Well I don’t know much about how bakeries run, but I’m pretty sure this is more than what he paid for.” He twisted, sidestepping when she sidled nearer to fix a bent corner.

“You’d have done it for her too, wouldn’t you?” She kept her face turned away, though she was able to imagine the look on his face. For some reason, it stung more than it should.

“Yes. I would.”

She shrugged, and then composed herself and pushed one end to him. “Now help me carry this.”

Jongin’s expression was completely sombre. “Are you sure you can do this? You’re wearing heels.”

“What? You don’t think a girl could function in heels?” She eyed him critically.

He laughed, light and easy. “Nah, they function well anytime.”

“Good,” she said, pleased. “Now let’s go.”

Baekhyun’s mansion was prominent, ostentatious and gilded.

Gayoon marvelled her way up the drive. Jongin’s driving was smooth, law-abiding. His turns were gentle, his steering not abrupt. Gayoon tried to hold her head up but it was hard to be proud of a powder blue van with her name in a frame of wheat.

“It’s cute,” Jongin had chuckled, as he squatted at the back to manoeuvre the cake into a marginally less precarious position. “Everyone will know you’ve made your entrance.”

“You should try to breathe,” he said now. His hand rested comfortably over the wheel, his fingers curling over its rim. She wondered if he held all the girls he ever loved just as dearly.

She did as she was told; the air choked her.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked. His eyes were crescents complimenting his smile.

“Because I’m about to make my entrance at the party of the year in a van with my name stamped all over it.”

He laughed then. “No one will see you. We’re the first ones here.”

“His closest friends will,” she said insistently and then added, “He will.”

“If I were him,” Jongin remarked, pulling up the drive. “I’d be glad. This cake is what’s going to make the party.”

One such friend greeted them as they were pulling the doors of the van open, a boisterous boy with an easy-spreading smile. Chanyeol wore smiles that rivalled the sun and is oft one in many a day. He was tall and good-looking and dashing, and he knew it, because he always dressed like a popstar.

His head bobbed at them once, his eyes took on the light of one perked up by the sight of something amazing, and his voice summoned Baekhyun by name from the depths of the mansion.

“I have to see this!” he remarked, bounding down the steps. He leapt like a gazelle, taking two at a time.

“You touch nothing!” a horrified voice said somewhere from above.

Gayoon’s heart leapt a little at the sight of Baekhyun with tousled hair. He wore a button-down shirt, the expensive kind, with fabric as velvet smooth as midnight.

Chanyeol’s grabby hands were on the box. In a split second Baekhyun curled his around his collar and pulled him away as though he was a naughty pet.

“You have no idea how thankful I am for this,” he said, standing over the box as though to protect it. Unfortunately, the step he took was also one step closer to her, and his cologne, its distinct sweetness, wafted to her.

“It’s nothing,” Jongin replied. She realised that she’d been frozen, both limbs and breath. “Technically, it’s customer service.”

Baekhyun’s eyes swivelled away from her, took Jongin in in his entirety. Jongin’s smile was pleasant, though his smile to Baekhyun was one of tolerance for a stranger.

“Is he your date?” he asked, not unpleasantly.

She nearly jumped. “No, no,” she said quickly. “He’s my friend. He is coming in Kyungsoo’s place.”

“You can say that I’m functioning in the capacity as an ,” Jongin supplied. She chanced a glance at him, suddenly apologetic. To her surprise, he brushed the back of her hand with his, a feather-soft touch. The gesture spoke the words that couldn’t come from his mouth: It’s alright.

“,” Baekhyun repeated, as though testing the words.

“Aw, come on,” Chanyeol said, reappearing by Baekhyun’s side. “There’s no need to be so formal. Baekhyun said in the invite that you could bring dates.”

“We’re not dating,” Gayoon insisted, almost desperate. She knew Baekhyun didn’t care –wouldn’t care because he had other things worth his time, his thoughts. But she just needed him to know.

“I work for her parents,” Jongin said. “And by extension, her.”

“Oh, okay,” Baekhyun said, nodding in understanding. “Just come on in, and help yourself to anything.”

He then moved, took the box from her arms. His fingers that brushed hers were light, but his presence was a weight, a breeze in the still air. “I’ll deal with this.”

“But I –”

“I’ve troubled you enough,” Baekhyun insisted. “Go. I’ll return him to you in a few moments, but go on in. Follow Chanyeol. He’ll show you where everything is. And make yourself at home.”

Her eyes found Jongin, confused and reluctant. He nodded for her to go, tilted his head to the manse. It’s okay, he seemed to say. Let me do it.

She trusted him.