It’s been a week.

          This would mark the first Thursday that Mingyu doesn’t have to worry about styling his hair in the last month. He knows it’s silly to feel anything different, but he had strayed from routine and now he has to stray from his new routine. Something is missing, something is vacant. He isn’t done yet; they aren’t done yet. But they are. There’s nothing left to say and nothing left to do. Minghao will probably never set foot in the clinic again—him nor his stubborn —and Mingyu can just sweep all his troubles about high school under a metaphoric rug and vacuum well afterwards. It’s simple. Life moves on. Life continues.

          He can continue living as he had for the past decade.

          As if.

          When he left high school and moved for college with his full-ride scholarship and mass amounts of professional connections, he had also left behind his guilty conscience. It was a period; an end to what he believed was his and Minghao’s story. The book was complete and they’d never have to cross paths again. It was a weight off his shoulders and he would never have to look back, but having Minghao show up out of the blue on some random Thursday mid-way through September- just being reminded that he exists; that was already enough to destabilize him. Now he has to live knowing that Minghao is in town and any trip to the grocery store might force them to meet again.

          He's going to need to sleep on this.

          But against his luck, Joshua picked yesterday to take the voting jars down and put them behind the counter to tally the votes. They would learn the results after their lunch breaks, but Mingyu has a good idea that he’s won. His jar was filled to the brim with receipt stubs by last week and he’s been glad to see Wonwoo dreading the prospect of waking up before the sun and driving downtown to DonutBoo’s. This would be adequate revenge for the teasing that happened earlier in the month.

          “DonutBoo’s is great. Even their plain glazed donuts are amazing. You have to try their croissants and on Fridays Mama Boo sometimes makes hoddeok from scratch, but it’s on their secret menu and-”

          “Why don’t you just go with me?” Wonwoo asks.

          “And get up while it’s still dark outside? No thanks.”

          “Oh c’mon. It’s just one time and it’s my first time there. I won’t know what to order.” Sometimes Mingyu forgets that Wonwoo’s only been in town for a few weeks. Sure, he’s visited Soonyoung several times in the past years, but he hasn’t ever stayed more than a couple days and has never had time to explore their town’s little gems. They just click so well that Mingyu can’t really imagine not knowing him for years. Maybe they were friends in a past life. Who knows, maybe in an alternate timeline, it would be Mingyu and Wonwoo who might’ve dated during college, but in this universe this Wonwoo belongs with Soonyoung. Mingyu can’t see it any other way. And in this universe, this Mingyu wants to belong.

          “Just get two dozen original glazed. That should be enough for our office and the imaging center to share.” It’d be enough for everyone to get (maybe) two. He knows that Joshua isn’t a big fan of sweets unless it’s chocolate—and despite dating the human embodiment of a Lemon Head, he’s pretty sure Wonwoo doesn’t have a sweet tooth either—, but the rest of them will definitely be having more than a couple.

          “That’s kind of boring, isn’t it?” Mingyu shrugs. Getting only one type would make it fair for everyone, “And if I’m waking up so early, I’ll want to get something for Soon and his work friends.”

          “Where does he w-”

          The breakroom door swings open with a loud bang. Mingyu and Wonwoo look over as Joshua holds the two jars over his head, one in each hand. As it appears, he had opened the door with his foot, “Mingyu, you’re a ing nerd. Wonwoo kicked your in the fist-fight.” The manager seems a little loopy because of the results. Can someone physically kick  in a fist-fight?

          “I won?” Wonwoo’s deep voice is bright and surprised.

          “Hell yeah, you won.” Joshua gives him a high five.

          “Wait-wait, okay, but by how much?” Again, Mingyu was sure his jar was full and Wonwoo’s wasn’t. It’s clearly filled with more votes even as Joshua’s waving the two jars around. The one labeled ‘Mingyu’ has receipts up to the brim.

          “One vote.” Joshua puts the jars down on the table, “You can recount them if you want, but you really did lose by one vote.”

          When Mingyu approaches the jars and picks them up to take a look, it’s actually clearer now. He remembers that a lot of Wonwoo’s patients has crumbled their receipt stubs earlier that month and Mingyu’s patients usually curled theirs or just tossed them in without a second thought. He feels likes this is somehow foul play. At face value, Mingyu still looks stronger than the other PT, but Wonwoo really does look meaner in the face.

          He flops down into his chair, defeated.

          “There, there, young Gyu, that’s no way to admit defeat.” Wonwoo teases, earning a laugh from Joshua.

          “I want a butter croissant, a salted-caramel puff with pumpkin spice crème, and a chocolate-filled coconut whip bar.” That’s a ing tall order, Joshua Hong.

          “Do you want to right that down, or?” Mingyu hasn’t opened his eyes. He’s still recovering from the fist-fight. Joshua doesn’t give him a sliver of his attention as he waltzes out of the room, leaving the two jars behind.

          Wonwoo slaps his shoulder, “It’s okay. I’ll go with you if it’ll make you feel better.”

          “Nah,” Mingyu looks up at the ceiling, “this is my punishment for being a huge weenie.”

          Wonwoo laughs that warm, hearty laugh. Most people wouldn’t agree to wake up at 6:30 in the dead of Fall to go out and get pastries, “It’s okay, Weenie Hut Jr., I don’t mind. Soon gets up at 7:30 anyway, so it’d be nice to surprise him with breakfast for once.”

          Again, this sickeningly sweet friend of his is absolutely made of boyfriend material, “If you really want to, sure.” They’d be getting in half an hour after it opens, but from experience, Mingyu knows that the queue is usually out the door by then, “Dress warm.”

          DonutBoo hasn’t changed that much since the last time he was here. The logo and storefront sign have gotten a nice upgrade to something that looks a little more contemporary, as has some of the décor on the interior, but the walls still remain a dusty rose with the lower half lined with dark, wooden slats. The Starbucks across the street that he used to do homework at is now gone and replaced with a local coffeeshop called Garnet. It looks classy, but not really Mingyu’s taste.

          Mingyu is five minutes late, but that’s forgivable. What’s less forgivable is that Wonwoo’s already gone inside, placed his order, and come out with a half-dozen pastries for Soonyoung in hand and a hot drink in the other. The older male is wearing a thick scarf and red, knitted gloves with little, white hearts cross-stitched into the wrists. Mingyu wouldn’t be surprised if they were from Soonyoung’s mother.  As he tosses his box in the car and greets Mingyu, he apologizes for going in first, but the queue was getting long and he didn’t want to hold them up. True, the line is just barely inside the entrance.

          “You can wait out here if you want.” Wonwoo appreciates the pardon. Mingyu predicts that Wonwoo’s the type that might get claustrophobic if he’s packed in like a sardine, “It should be pretty fast.”

          “Eh, I can wait with you.” He’s not going to turn Wonwoo away to wait in the cold. As much as Wonwoo might hate crowded places, he probably doesn’t want to stand outside where he can see his breath. After straightening his cap and wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck, Mingyu shuffles into the bakery, holding the door open for Wonwoo who follows in behind him, letting the warm smell of puff-pastry and butter hug them from the inside out. There’s a blanket of noise inside. It’s not incredibly loud, but everyone is chatting and the kitchen is operating—as it should be—and there’s a coffee grinder going off in the background. The neon ‘Hot Boos!’ sign hanging above the checkout is on, meaning that everything was fresh off the press and hot out of the oven.

          In his pocket, Mingyu has the list of orders that he’d gathered around the clinic. He knows that they’ll all work this Friday, but he doesn’t know the imaging department well enough to figure out who needs to place an order and receive it the next day aside from their manager. The compromise was just to get them their own box of original glazed donuts. That makes it fair. The list isn’t too long, but ordering twelve special doughnuts for everyone is a little pretentious, so he just hands the list to the man behind the cover.

          He has to double-take on who the worker is because he looks a little different from a decade ago. He’s a little taller, his cheeks are a little rounder, and he’s not wearing his Riverside hoodie, but he still retains that old, soft sweetness that comes inherently from working in a bakery for so many years. The embroidered title of ‘Littlest Boo’ on his apron gives him away. It was one of the few details Mingyu could remember from his spot across the street. His nametag says ‘Seungkwan’, a name that Mingyu doesn’t recall. The more he stares and waits, the more familiar Seungkwan looks. He looks less cute and more mature now, but there’s something about him that seems ageless.

          “Is this it?” He beams brightly at Mingyu. Is it physically possible to be so lively this early in the morning? It takes Mingyu a minute to remember what he wrote down.

          “Oh, and a dozen original in a second box.”

          “Got it!” Maybe it’s a coincidence that he got Seungkwan to cater to them because there are four other workers shuffling around helping customers (or ‘Patrons of the Pastry Arts’ as the welcome sign had stated). Seungkwan flaps open a baby blue box, folding it in half-a-second flat; something that can only be achieved after working there for so many years. He grabs a set of tongs and starts plucking the original glazed doughnuts out of the display case. The lifespan of a doughnut in the case is touch-and-go. They literally come off the conveyor belt, into a tray, and thrown into the case before the workers start pulling them off and into boxes. The pace is fast, but Seungkwan takes an extra few seconds to make sure everything looks nice and the doughnuts are evenly spaced.

          Mingyu glances over his shoulder to see if Wonwoo’s paying attention. Said man is distracted by what he deemed to be ‘the magical doughnut machine’; mesmerized by its intricacies. It’s really just a little conveyor belt that waterfalls the doughnuts in their glaze. They’re piped onto the fryer by a worker and flipped with a little lever. Seungkwan’s close enough to him that he could probably hear Mingyu if he spoke loud enough, “Did you go to Oakdale? I feel like I’ve seen you before.” Playing dumb never used to be a thing.

          Seungkwan looks up, smile still on his face, eyes bright and glistening, “Me? No, I went to Riverside, but I had a few friends that went to Oakdale.” Seungkwan briefly pauses his doughnut packing to think, “Do you know Jasmine Moreno?” Mingyu shakes his head, “Rebecca Patel?” he shakes his head again, “Minghao Xu?”

          Mingyu can’t help but smile. His lips to a weird spasm, trying to get rid of the reflex, “Yeah, kinda.”

          “Cool! Yeah, he comes in from time to time and we sometimes go out for coffee on the weekends. Can you believe that guy is still dancing?” Oh, yes, he can. And he really wishes that he’d stop for a little, “He’s really nice, have you seen him recently?” Mingyu nods.

          What the hell? Is this another pretty-boy in Minghao’s entourage? Is he some sort of collector of nice, beautiful people? “Yeah, I’m actually his physical therapist!” Mingyu tries to pack as much enthusiasm into his response so that he doesn’t dull in comparison to Seungkwan.

          “Oh! You’re Mingyu!” he continues the doughnut harvesting before shutting the box with a flip and handing it over to Mingyu. He takes the list out of his apron pocket and opens another box single-handedly.

          “He talks about me?” he questions as he receives the box over the display case and shuffles down the line a bit, a step closer to the checkout. Everything in the case looks absolutely mouth-watering. Some of the pastries are hot enough that they steam up the glass.

          Seungkwan sort of shakes his head and nods at the same time. It might be Mingyu’s imagination, but it looks like his happy expression falters for just a second, “Yeah, your name’s come up a couple times.” Or maybe he’s just focused on the list. Seungkwan falls silent when Mingyu doesn’t respond. Wanting to avoid an awkward stare off, Mingyu turns slightly to scan the interior of the bakery.

          At that time, a dashing man who isn’t in uniform shimmies his way through the crowd. No one seems to mind. He must be a regular. With a quick step to slide between Mingyu and the other customer in front of him, he makes his way behind the counter. He looks like he’s in a rush as he heads in the back, possibly late for work, but that’s debunked when he emerges after five seconds, shrugging on a black Sherpa jacket that he wasn’t holding earlier and grabbing a cup of coffee with ‘한솔’ Sharpied on the cup sleeve that looks like it’s been set out for him on the back counter. He looks more Caucasian than he does Korean since he’s got slightly-wavy, fawn-colored hair, but there are a lot of kids of mixed race in town. He quickly takes an order and fills a box or two as his coffee heats up in the microwave, barely having enough time to smile with his eyes as he pulls his facemask down to his chin. Mingyu looks at his watch, 7:01.

          “Morning. Sorry, I’m running late.” He calls to Seungkwan as he gathers his things and presses a warm kiss to his cheek, making way for the back door. Ugh, another couple full of tooth-decay. “I’ll stop by to help during my lunch break.”

          Seungkwan’s eyebrows pinch together, “It’s okay.” His voice sounds both hurt and worried, “I’d rather you go home and rest.” Hansol stops where he is and turns around, a gentle, tired smile on his thin lips. He quickly backtracks to Seungkwan, putting a hand on his shoulder.

          “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” Now Mingyu can hear the raspiness of his voice. It’s rough and probably isn’t from waking up late, “I’ll be here. I want to spend time with you.”

          Seungkwan smirks and rolls his eyes, “Fine, but try to take it easy today.”

          “I’ll try, I’ll try.” He pulls him close to give him another peck in his hair, above his ear before sprinting out the door. The Littlest Boo continues packing the doughnuts as listed, ears a flustered red.

          His attention turns to Mingyu, “Sorry, we’re out of Unicorn Tummies for,” he looks at the kitchen, moving his head around a bit to peak at every surface, “the next twenty minutes or so. Would you like to wait or do you want to get something else?”

          Mingyu tries to think as fast as he can. For a moment, he doesn’t remember who wanted the Unicorn Tummy pastry until he remembers that it’s him, “Yeah, that’s okay.” He shakes his head, “Just whatever is fine.” Seungkwan nods and picks a cute, round ‘Spoopy Boopy’ ghost doughnut off the top rack. Those were limited edition and only came out around Halloween.

          He can’t really shake the curiosity. What did Minghao say about him to Seungkwan? Was the impression good or bad? He has doubts that Seungkwan knows everything that happened in high school, but he also doesn’t know if Minghao is still that close to him. It’s none of his business, but he doesn’t want to be remembered as the horrible person that ruined Minghao’s life.

          Build a better future, build a better future, build a better future, “I’ll ring you up dow-”

          “I’m not a horrible person, I promise.”

          Seungkwan’s mouth shuts before he gives Mingyu a raised eyebrow.

          Cutting someone off probably isn’t the best way to prove that you aren’t a horrible person, “Sorry- I just-”

          “I never said you were? You seem plenty nice to me.” Seungkwan laughs, abolishing any sort of awkwardness, clearly finding humor in how much of a stuttering mess Mingyu is. It even pulls Wonwoo’s attention away from the doughnut machine.

          “Stop that, Mingyu, you’re being weird again.” Wonwoo laughs along, seeing that making a joke of the situation is making his friend feel better. He gently elbows him in the ribs and pushes Mingyu to move down the line.

          “Sorry.” Mingyu apologizes again and takes the box of doughnuts from Seungkwan as he sidesteps over to the cash register. Seungkwan already has his back turned to them, doing something over at the doughnut machine and leaving them with his older sister. Mingyu knows that much because ‘Little Boo’ is embroidered on her apron. They share the same round cheeks and glee-filled smile.

          He pays with his credit card and waits for the receipt to print. As she hands it over to him, he drops a few dollars into their tip jar, and Seungkwan calls out to them, “Here! Two fresh ones on the house.” He holds out two, piping-hot glazed doughnuts to him and Wonwoo.

          “What, really?” Mingyu’s at a loss. What? Why? A blessing? Wonwoo takes them since Mingyu’s out of hands.

          “Of course!” He chuckles, “Any friend of Minghao’s is a friend of mine.”

          Mingyu and Wonwoo shout their thanks as they’re pushed away from the counter by the crowd. Seungkwan waves them off as he grabs another customer to help. Mingyu would have liked to share a few more words. Mama Boo wasn’t there, she might be as old as his parents now and working so many hours at a doughnut shop would probably be rough on her aging body. It looks like the baby Boo’s have taken over.

          Wonwoo hands him his hot doughnut as he transfers both boxes of pastry to one hand. Then, he slaps an arm over his shoulders as they walk back to their cars, “Aw, Mingyu, he said that F word that you like so much.”

          Mingyu holds his doughnut in his mouth and jabs his fingers under Wonwoo’s ribs. How did he lose a fist-fight to this guy?