They say sells, but for all the ographic websites Kyungsoo’s helped develop, none of them have had anywhere near as much traffic as the domain for the Seoul Animal Rescue Centre. They say sells, but clearly not as much as cute puppies. It almost gives Kyungsoo an appreciation for the human race.

He continues sifting through the photos sent to him by a volunteer liaison, picking a picture of a rabbit nibbling on the ear of a teddy bear. If Kyungsoo coos aloud, it immediately goes onto the slideshow banner on the top of the page: it’s his rule. And he does, so he uploads it along with the photo of a litter of kittens. Working for SARC, even though he’s paid pittance, is definitely his favourite of his clients.

Not that he has many anymore. He just finished a job with a semi-local tattoo parlor, and he’d had to cut off work with boners4loners dot com when he’d been given a stern warning by the assistant dean of Information Technology at his college. Now that he’d had time to think back on it, he really shouldn’t have taken that work with him to his lab class. In his defence, the internet at his dorm was down that day and he still had to support himself somehow.

Kyungsoo sighs as he shoots off an email to the liaison of SARC, saying he’s updated the site. He leans back in his chair and rubs at his eyes under his glasses. They feel dry and sore, like he hasn’t blinked in hours, and he’s not sure if it’s the desk chair or his back that’s creaking like that. Another sigh, and Kyungsoo checks his phone: 11:48pm.

There’s only one notification and Kyungsoo opts not to ignore it. It’s a series of texts from Jongdae, an Information Systems major who clung more uncomfortably to Kyungsoo than all the rain-soaked leather in the world. He’s had a job offer from the bakery his mom frequents -- they want a website, apparently. Jongdae spends six whole messages boasting about his semester-long internship before he offers the job to Kyungsoo instead.

By midnight Kyungsoo has another client and another thing to worry about. College couldn’t end soon enough.

 

 

 

The wind outside has a devious bite to it, creating a mocking hiss every time it rushes passed Kyungsoo’s ears. He has a beanie pulled down low over his brow, his gaze scanning the cracked footpath in front of him. Even with his nose buried in a scarf, he smells the bakery before he sees it. A small weatherboard shop with a modest frontage. The sign above the window swings in the breeze by two metal chains; midnight black lettering confidently curls over a background of pastel green.

“Fulfilmint”.

When Kyungsoo enters the store, his ears immediately perk at the chime of a bell directly above him -- attached to the top of the doorframe. There’s something very homely about the space, despite its lack of patrons. Mint green covers the wall opposite the entrance, a lattice with small potted plants hanging above one of the display cases, a pinboard next to it. It seems more like a gallery than a bakery, with the small shop space filled with displays: bouquets of brightly iced pastries and stacks of warm beige breads. A few sets of art nouveau bistro tables and chairs cluster to the side, leaving the mobile customers to squeeze in and out.

The bell sounds again as the door closes behind him, and the sudden warmth from the room blankets his cold cheeks. The aroma of freshly baked bread takes his hand and leads him further inside, his mouth watering as soon as he spots a decorative pile of sugar-dusted danishes.

“Hi, hi!” A man emerges from a hidden entrance way toward the back of the shop. He wipes his hands down the front of his pink and green checkered apron, leaving behind a trail of powdery white. “I’m so sorry for the wait.”

A sweet smile, chocolate brown eyes. Strawberry pink hair and a buttery voice to match.

“Yeah, no worries.” Kyungsoo’s voice is still croaky from the frigid air outside. He clears his throat. “I’m… I’m supposed to make you a website.”

The worker’s smile brightens further, and he claps his hands together enthusiastically. A soft cloud puffs out at the gesture, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He manoeuvres through the cake displays to stick his hand out to Kyungsoo.

“Yes, Kyungsoo! Jongdae’s replacement!” Kyungsoo shakes his hand as he looks up at the other man, feeling the grit of flour between their palms. His hand is warm and dry, whereas Kyungsoo’s is cold and clammy from when it was inside his coat pocket. The baker doesn’t comment, doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m Jongin, I’m looking forward to working together.”

Kyungsoo’s gaze flickers to the ground under the weight of his continued stare. The floor is tiled with the same pink and green checkered pattern as Jongin’s apron. “Are you who I’ll be liaising with?”

The response is a slow yes, which has Kyungsoo returning his focus to the man in front of him. “I’m not really the owner.” Jongin traces patterns into the smudge of flour on his apron, pursing his lips before he adds on. “But I’m in charge of the bakery, for now.”

He quickly whisks Kyungsoo behind the cashier when the latter wants to start talking business. The counter is the only clear surface for Kyungsoo to set up his tablet on. Even the customer tables are tight for space, decadent flower arrangements imposing on elbow room. It’s impossible to tell if they’re real flowers or not: the hot smell of bread too thick to sort through.

“What’s first?” They’re both squeezed behind the register and Kyungsoo can feel the heat radiating off Jongin like an oven. Cake displays box them in, a tower of purple iced éclairs staring him down. He tries to ignore the way he’s starting to sweat in his coat. Jongin’s voice is still lined with honey as he speaks. “I have to admit, I know nothing about any of..” He waves his hand in front of Kyungsoo’s booting device, “This. Computers.”

The tablet’s fully , and Kyungsoo opens up a blank Illustrator document. He ignores the prickle against his skin as Jongin leans over his shoulder, naively curious.

“Well, if you don’t have a design brief already, then we’ll just go through what you want your website to look like.”

“I thought you’d be deciding what it looks like.”

“No, I mean-” Kyungsoo cuts himself off to peek over his shoulder. Jongin looks back with innocent eyes, eyebrows raised in inquiry. “I mean, what elements you want to have. Like, an about page, an interactive menu, an online ordering service... That sort of thing.”

“I haven’t thought about it, really.” Jongin reaches forward, spinning a cake stand around until he seems satisfied with the angle of the profiteroles atop. “Junmyeon said a website would be good for business, so I asked a customer if her son would do it about ten minutes after that.”

Kyungsoo watches the movement out of the corner of his eye. He’s still wearing his outside coat and he can feel his cheeks heating up. Pulling the garment off by the cuffs, he tries not to bump Jongin.

“Okay, well...” There was little Kyungsoo could do if the baker didn’t even know what he wanted. “I’m assuming you don’t have a domain already then.”

There’s a pull over the college student’s shoulders, and Kyungsoo feels the trail of human warmth down his arms as Jongin removes his coat for him. Instead of mentioning it, Jongin absentmindedly folds it over his arm, most likely imprinting a smudge of white powder on a sleeve.

“The kitchen,” he says, offering the jacket back to Kyungsoo with a smile. He takes it. There is a smudge.

“...Pardon?”

“The kitchen’s my domain.”

“No.” The word’s defeated, and a little forceful. The baker’s eyebrows raise again and he blinks in surprise. Kyungsoo takes a moment to breathe as the main door rattles a little in the breeze. “Like, a web address. A URL?” With no more than a blank look in return, he sighs lightly. “I’ll take that as a no.”

 

 

 

It’s only the next evening when he gets around to working on the bakery website, a mug of cold tea sitting next to the empty slide on his tablet. Sketching out what the finished product will be has always been the first step. With the level of freedom Jongin has given him though, it’s going to be hard to start.

Kyungsoo lets his hand wander as he thinks of the bakery. The artisanal bread loaves, the bustling flowers, the colourful decor… Even with the high ceilings and clean space, it’s so crowded. But it’s a nice kind of crowded, not like the lines at Starbucks, or the library during exam season. The atmosphere is welcoming, like visiting your grandma’s cottage -- not that Kyungsoo’s grandma even lives in a cottage.

He sighs as he notices he’s doodling instead of brainstorming a site layout. He’s drawn the counter and the rough figure of a very familiar person behind it. As he frames it with displays and pastries, Kyungsoo decides a website might just be the organization the little family-run shop needs. He changes brushstroke as he begins to flesh out the small drawing, something loosening in him as he does so. It’s been too long since he last drew for the sake of it, but the bakery seems to be so full of inspiration each breath gives creativity new life.

Sketching, linework, colouring and shading. It’s a wholly different game than coding. Less productive, but maybe more fulfilling. Kyungsoo gives himself permission to take the night off working, for the first time in a long time.

 

 

 

The delicate ring of the bell is already growing familiar to Kyungsoo, even while only on his second visit. This time he has to hold the door open as a corporate woman shuffles outside, a long baguette wrapped in butcher’s paper clasped tight in her grip. She thanks him politely as he steps fully inside.

Two children giggle as they lean over a handheld console, the majority of their upper bodies hidden behind a bundle of flowers on the table in front of them. An unfamiliar man stands behind the register.

Swearing the layout of the shop is even more cramped than it had been a few days earlier, Kyungsoo wedges himself between a rack of sourdough and a tray of jam doughnuts to face the cashier. "Hello, I'm looking for Kim Jongin. I'm here about the-"

"The website!" The man's grin widens, his eyes disappearing somewhere in the movement. It's blinding, but not as blinding as the pastel checkered apron he has on, so Kyungsoo tries to maintain a steady gaze. "My little brother-in-law said to send you to the kitchens. He's baking today."

Junmyeon, which is apparently the man's name, points him in the direction of the side door before another customer enters the bakery. It's the same way Jongin had entered through on Kyungsoo's first visit, and so the college kid manoeuvres his way through the shop's decor.

The doorway leads down a few worn stairs to a wide kitchen. The first thing Kyungsoo notices inside is the blur of pink that flurries over a central table.

Jongin bobs his head, an earphone wire swaying with his movements. Precise twists and turns lead his wrists as he kneads out dough. Sprinkling flour on top of the mass, he glances up and catches Kyungsoo's eye. With a roll of his shoulder and a dip of his head an earbud is dislodged, left swinging like a dog's tail in front of his chest.

"Kyungsoo, hi!" The greeting is spoken with more familiarity than expected and Jongin motions him closer with a powdered hand. "Come on in, you can set up your stuff anywhere."

Stepping further inside, Kyungsoo drops his bag to the floor by the table legs, again shimmying out of his jacket. It's even warmer down here, the row of ovens to the side standing with vaguely intimidating discipline. It smells less like sugar and icing, and more like flour and wood: like the rolling pin and dough Jongin has stretched out on the bench. There’s more room here, too. The immediate lack of clutter is calming, Kyungsoo's shoulders relaxing out of tension he’d not previously noticed.

"You want to try kneading? It's easy, I'll teach you," Jongin offers, and Kyungsoo realises he's just been standing there staring for a few moments.

“No, thank you." The words are rushed, Kyungsoo's focus suddenly on wrangling his tablet out of his bag instead of his speech. "I’d prefer it if you’d give me your thoughts on the designs I’ve sketched.”

At that, Jongin nods. He hums as he splits the dough into sections and begins wrapping them in cling film. Making his way over to the baker, Kyungsoo brings up his layout flowcharts.

“I was thinking we could have the navigation bar on the left, that only appears when hovering. Alternatively,” he says, flicking to another set of rough sketches. “It could be one page where you scroll through the subsections. Trading hours, about page, so on and so forth.”

Jongin nods, wiping his hands on a pilling cloth. “I like the scrolling one, that way I can decide what subsections to do later, right?”

“You have to decide now either way.”

“Then I don’t mind, whichever you prefer.”

“Jongin-” Kyungsoo almost groans in exasperation as the baker tilts the screen toward himself. With slow, almost tentative movements, he replicates Kyungsoo’s earlier navigation and flips between tabs back to the first flowchart.

He hums, the sound reverberating low in his throat. He’s standing close again, and his body heat radiates out across the entirety of Kyungsoo’s left side. It’s almost uncomfortable, holding his tablet quietly and waiting for Jongin’s verdict. He doesn’t glance to the side, doesn’t look at Jongin’s face. He almost drops the whole thing when one of the ovens screeches out a high-pitched alarm, but Jongin doesn’t move and the noise stops soon after it starts.

“Are these the only two options you’ve made?” Jongin asks, his voice still in the same low and breathy tone of his hum. The serious, quiet way he’s speaking seems at odds with his previously lighthearted manner, and the contrast feels too intimate.

Before Kyungsoo can respond, Jongin’s pressing the screen again, and another image is popping up -- this one a myriad of sketched lines and pastel colours. It almost doesn’t feel real, seeing as Kyungsoo was sure he’d closed his artwork before he’d left his dorm. The small gasp Jongin inhales is very much real though.

Once the reality drops to his stomach like lead, Kyungsoo flinches away, quick to exit out of the whole program. Layout flowcharts, and all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see that,” he hurries.

“No, no.” Jongin takes a step closer with raised hands. His eyes are wide with residual shock but his smile is even brighter than usual. “It’s really good, it’s the bakery right?”

Kyungsoo presses the device to his chest, annoyed by the rampant thrum of his heart telling him to bolt. He glues his feet to the ground and idly presses the power button on the side in a series. Out the corner of his eye he can see the light from the screen strobing on and off on his shirt like a neon sign announcing his discomfort.

“No, I mean yes- it’s stupid. Sorry.”

“It’s not stupid,” Jongin says. He sounds firm, the words washing away his smile as if it were his own drawing under scrutiny and not Kyungsoo’s. He lowers his arms, looking at Kyungsoo unflinchingly. “You’re really good.”

Footsteps creak the stairs leading to the kitchen, and the pair turn to look at the same time. There’s a momentary shadow, then nothing again. Kyungsoo clears his throat, then looks back at the four lumps of dough still sitting in the centre of the work table.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says. Jongin turns back to face him, his gaze warm like a heat lamp. He continues, “Until you’ve decided what you want.”

Jongin laughs at that, drawing Kyungsoo’s focus back to him. The baker strides to the back of the room, lifting the lid to a container Kyungsoo had previously thought to be another bench. Based off the mist flurrying up and outwards, it’s presumably a fridge.

He returns a moment later, sliding a cling-wrapped plate across the table to Kyungsoo.

“I guess you’ll just have to try some of my apricot strudel while we wait.”

 

 

 

It doesn’t quite make sense to Kyungsoo, why he keeps going back. He could say it’s the free pastries, or the nice company, but honestly he couldn’t quite pin it down to one aspect like that.

Jongin told him to come back in a weeks time after the artwork accident. Then, when he still hadn’t decided what to do, he’d requested another week. That time, Jongin hadn’t even been there, though Junmyeon had. He’d been so busy running the whole shop by himself that he’d asked Kyungsoo to watch over his kids while he dealt with the Saturday rush. The children, Jinkyu and Jinri, had at first ignored him then somehow pulled him into a flour fight that he was entirely blamed for.

The third week saw Kyungsoo join the kids in taste testing ten different flavours of macaron under Jongin’s faux-serious scrutiny. Needless to say, Jongin had no answer for him that day, either.

The fourth attempt feels like the solidification of the visits into his routine, as he scans over his class schedule before deciding which day would be best. When noon of the next Thursday arrives, Kyungsoo’s announcing his entrance into the familiar bakery again. This time the sugary sweet scent of icing overpowers the thick smell of bread, a bountiful array of coloured cakes by the window stealing his attention.

The frosting is arranged in mostly abstract formations of rainbow spirals or more sophisticated swirls of black, though some have representational designs. One’s covered in sugar roses, and another has an actual doll in it, the conical icing forming a dress. Kyungsoo bends closer to the display, eyeing the details on the bust of the dress. There’s engravings and dragées around the doll’s waist. It must have taken an age to make.

“Hi, Kyungsoo.”

The voice in his ear startles him and he whirls around, a flash of pain flaring in his wrist as it connects with the cake stand he was just facing. Jongin lurches forward in front of him, leaning over Kyungsoo to catch the étagère before the tall cake can plummet to the ground.

“Sorry!” Kyungsoo squeaks, caught in between trying to lean backwards away from Jongin but also forwards and away from the doll cake. The two are too close for comfort. He shouldn’t be able to see the individual specks of dark chocolate amid the milk chocolate fountain in Jongin’s eyes, nor the exact number of little creases besides his smile. At their exact angle Kyungsoo can see up and under the curtain of his faded pink hair to the outgrown roots -- they’re the exact rich shade of mud cake.

“You’re alright.” Jongin laughs off the encounter, inviting Kyungsoo downstairs to the kitchen as he walks away. He’s all hips as he manoeuvres through the cake displays, and there’s something mesmerising in the dance of his movement. Though perhaps the hypnosis is more due to the waft of butter and cinnamon he leaves in his wake. Kyungsoo takes a moment to follow him, needing time to unstick himself from the tiled floor.

In the kitchen, Jongin says he still doesn’t have an answer for Kyungsoo when he asks. So, the college student goes about his most recent lab report while sitting next to the baker.

An oven is whirring and the fridge door slaps closed as Jongin approaches with a fist-sized section of chilled dough. “You’re always frowning when you look at your screen, you know.”

Kyungsoo looks up, suddenly conscious of the pull between his brows. He relaxes his face as he watches Jongin unwrap the beige blob. “It’s ‘cause I’m focussing.”

“Yeah, I used to do the same when I was measuring ingredients,” Jongin replies. “But now I just smile.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but feels there’s something unfinished about the exchange. Whatever it is it continues to sit in the air as Kyungsoo observes Jongin rolling the dough out and cutting it into triangles.

Almost as if Jongin can feel Kyungsoo’s stare, he continues idly. “My father loves to tell me how I was born at sundown, just as the moon became visible in the sky,” he says. Kyungsoo almost gets whiplash from the switch in topic, and the frown from earlier revisits his visage. “He told me that croissants are shaped like the crescent moon, so he liked to call me croissant too.”

There’s another gap Kyungsoo isn’t sure if he’s supposed to fill. He doesn’t respond.

“They were originally shaped like the moon so that when Austrians ate it, it was like they were devouring the Turkish flag.” Jongin still looked downwards, watching over his hands carefully as he rolled the triangles into familarly-shaped pastries. “He never told me that part, of course.”

Kyungsoo glances down at his tablet. The screen’s asleep.

“Does he still call you croissant?”

“Hm?” Jongin frowns across at him, his movements instantly frozen.

“You used present tense talking about him, but then said he used to call you croissant.” Kyungsoo blinks a few times in a row while watching Jongin for a reaction, his fingers finding the power button on his tablet and waking it up again. “So, I was wondering if he still called you that-”

“Why do you study programming?” Jongin interrupts. His question begins with an edge sharp enough to cut Kyungsoo off, but then ends softly. His face, too, loses its frown and tilts with genuine curiosity. “Why do you like it?”

The sudden inquiry has Kyungsoo fumbling immediately.

“Uh, I’m good at it?” Light flashes across his vision. “Why?”

Jongin shrugs, turning back to his work. It’s odd to see him not smiling, but it returns soon enough. And when the batch of croissants are done, Kyungsoo packs up and leaves.

 

 

 

It’s warmer now. At least warm enough that Kyungsoo manages without a beanie and gloves. The leaves aren’t quite growing back on the branches they fell from almost six months ago, but the breeze isn’t bitter enough for Kyungsoo to lament the lack of slight wind protection.

He looks up as he ambles along the street path, eyes subconsciously searching for “Fulfilmint” amid the dark and insipid shop signs. Once he sees it, he can’t help but notice that the bright colours dull under the grey sky. If it rains soon, maybe the clouds would pass by the time Kyungsoo leaves.

Stepping inside, his first thought is in regards to the lack of stock compared to normal. The main display cases house a few options, but all the cake stands are missing. The small tables still sit to the side of the room, though no flowers adorn them.

“Oh, Kyungsoo.” Junmyeon comes up from the back, surprise written across his face in five different languages. Kyungsoo most likely reflects the same expression, seeing the bakery worker in a smart black suit instead of a bright apron.

Jinri and Jinkyu follow the man upstairs into the main room, both leaning over a console in dark coats. After hearing his father, Jinkyu looks up and ditches the game to his younger sister as he runs up to the visitor.

“Kyungsoo!” he yells, grabbing onto the hem of the college student’s jacket. “Did you wanna go at Pokemon? I also brought Mario Kart.”

“Not now, Jinkyu,” his father instructs with a warm smile. Junmyeon places his hand on Jinri’s back, who’s still not paying attention to the real world, and nudges her in the direction of the other side of the room. “You and Jinri can play at a table, okay? Kyungsoo can have a turn if he has time when he gets back.”

Jinkyu lets go of Kyungsoo’s jacket with a groan, dragging his sister away as she whines at him to not bump her. Junmyeon loosens his tie, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“They’re thankfully pretty young, things like this still go over their heads,” he says. Glancing away from his children, he his lips. “Honestly, I don’t know if maybe I should just turn you away, but… you can see him if you want.”

Kyungsoo nods absently, scanning his eyes over his shoulder. He notices the sign on the door reads “open”, when it would usually say “closed” from inside.

“Where is he?” he asks.

Junmyeon sighs. “Out back.”

When Kyungsoo gets there, Jongin’s sitting on the back steps of the building: the less glamorous side to the shop. The concrete’s cracked in places, and the dumpster they’re next to doesn’t smell anything like sugar or flour. He sits next to the baker silently, staring at the glaringly white socks that peek up from under the hem of Jongin’s pressed pants leg. The leather shoes are freshly polished, but even they don’t shine.

“He’s gone. He’s been gone for a while, but now he’s really gone,” Jongin says. His hair isn’t pink anymore, he’s dyed it back to dark brown but hasn’t had any length cut off. “He wanted to hold on until spring, but I guess he forgot that too.”

Kyungsoo places his hand on Jongin’s shoulder, leaving it there for no more than three seconds. “I’m really sorry, Jongin.”

“It’s-” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Thank you,” he says, turning to regard Kyungsoo squarely. His eyes look like the unburned wood at the base of an old campfire; covered in ash, but ultimately unharmed. “Really.”

He turns away again, and more time pools between them in a rainy puddle. Kyungsoo’s fingers itch and he wants to take out his tablet, but he settles on letting them fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt and tap against his thigh in time with the pattering on the roof above them.

“When I was sixteen, my dad told me he wanted me to be the one to take over the business. I hated the idea of doing what my parents did just because they expected me to.” Jongin dips his head between his knees, his voice coming out muffled. “I’d only ever been baking for them, so I ran away.”

Kyungsoo breaths in a deep breath through his nose, savoring the smell of fresh rain and trying to ignore the undertones of dumpster juice.

“I said in the letter I left for them that I was joining the circus, but I just went down to Tongyeong.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“Because they only eat seafood down there and I hate seafood,” Jongin answers, pausing to chuckle. He lifts his head with a sigh that speaks of all the effort in the world. “Because I love baking.”

The rain alters angles with the wind, and Kyungsoo can feel cold droplets creeping up his leg. He lifts it up a step and hugs it closer to his body. He looks over to find Jongin unmoved, letting himself be pummelled with clouds’ tears.

“So, what changed?”

“I did.”

When Kyungsoo goes back inside, he doesn’t have time to play with Jinkyu or Jinri.

 

 

 

It takes weeks for Kyungsoo to go back. He tells himself it’s to give Jongin time for mourning, but for some reason it feels like he’s the one grieving. What it’s over, he can’t seem to figure out.

He doesn’t work on any layout proposals for the website or any of the backend nitty-gritty. He’s behind on his assignments and is currently ignoring Jongdae’s annoyed messages. The Information Systems major wants to look over Kyungsoo’s class notes as he usually does, but Kyungsoo hasn’t made any.

All he’s been doing is doodling and sketching. Even serious linework is out of the question. He sits in class or at his dorm desk and draws cakes and flowers and men in bright aprons, doughnuts and plates and tiny potted plants sitting on a lattice. He once drew water running down the crisp collar of a button up shirt, but soon after crumpled up the notepaper it lived on and threw it out.

When he does return to the bakery, it’s spring.

The shop is bustling with patrons, and it takes ten minutes of waiting in a line before Kyungsoo even makes it inside. Once he does, half the store’s stock is already gone. Junmyeon is dancing between displays like a marionette, every word of instruction from a customer another pulled string.

Kyungsoo bumps into an elderly man as he rounds a glass case stacked with custard cannoli, and almost topples a bouquet of yellow carnations with his backpack as he makes his way passed the cashier. Junmyeon only smiles and nods in acknowledgement when he sees him, giving him a greenlight to head downstairs.

As Kyungsoo creaks down the steps, he feels the slight shake in his bones and surge in his chest. Seeing how busy it is upstairs, surely Jongin was even busier in the kitchen.

This is apparently not the case, as Kyungsoo soon finds. Jongin is singing to himself something sweet as he sets a vat of dough to mix. His hair is still dark, gleaming in the light as it sits smoothly over his forehead. He’s wearing his normal white baking suit with the lively pink and green checkered apron on top. It’s the same as it ever was, and the sight has Kyungsoo feeling guilty.

“I made some hot chocolate, if you want some,” is the first thing Jongin says when he notices him hovering by the entrance. The offer is accepted, and Kyungsoo slowly pulls over the stool he usually sits on. A mug is filled from a thermos, and Kyungsoo presses his face into the steam, breathing in the warmth of cocoa.

“Here, I know danishes are your favourite.” A red plate slides into view on the counter in front of him, blueberry filling oozing out to create a royal purple. “Don’t tell Junmyeon I keep a stash.”

Jongin is lovely and hospitable as always, which only makes Kyungsoo wither more. What he’s sorry for, he’s not really sure. But it still feels like he has a debt to pay, even though Jongin’s clearly not collecting.

The mixer beeps its completion as Jongin finishes his own steaming beverage, and he pours out the thick paste onto the bench. It’s pale and sticky, but pliant and smooth. He covers his hands in flour before touching it, and Kyungsoo asks why. “It’s for protection,” Jongin says, chuckling as he does. “So nothing clings to you while you work.”

Time bends with his wrists, its passage as malleable as the dough between his fingers. Everything is slow; and in no unpleasant way. The old ceiling fan circles as though swimming through honey, and the adjacent lights hum the afternoon away. Kyungsoo himself feels absorbed in the warp, his breaths deep and his blinking almost sluggish. It’s relaxing. A breath of fresh air and a return to familiarity, all at once.

He doesn’t intend to break the bubble they spin in, in fact it’s entirely due to the comfortable embrace of cinnamon and warm pastry in his belly that has his mouth opening.

“Aren’t you mad I haven’t made you a website yet?” Kyungsoo doesn’t look up from the churning dough. “I come back after all this time and I’ve still done nothing for you.”

He reaches the centre of the black hole, eyes following Jongin’s hands as they slow to a stop amidst the floury creation he wields.

“You’ve done plenty for me,” he says, in that low tone Kyungsoo knows to be serious and reassuring; kind and intimidating at the same time. “Besides, I haven’t told you what I want yet. Even though I know.”

“What do you want?”

“You.” Jongin returns to kneading, his eyes no longer piercing Kyungsoo’s thoughts. “Your art.”

At that, he splutters. The tepid liquid at the bottom of his mug sloshes as he jolts, his hopes of Jongin forgetting all about that drawing crumbling like stale bread. It was embarrassing Jongin had seen his late night sketch of him, but infinitely worse that he’d liked it.

“I-I don’t really… do that. Art.”

“But you want to,” Jongin insists, glancing up as he leans over the work table. “Right?” As the dough stiffens, his movements become more strained and forceful. “You say you study coding and all that because you’re good at it, you feel you have to. But you wanted to do art, right?”

Kyungsoo looks away, ignoring the way Jongin lets out a few low groans of effort. Whereas the dough had started as soft and compliant, it was now agitated and tough through Jongin’s pushing and pulling.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“And unrealistic.”

Jongin stops what he’s doing with a forced sigh. He stands up and leaves the dough where it is, plastered flat against the wooden tabletop.

“I’m offering you a job to do what you love right now. So how is it unrealistic?”

He spins Kyungsoo around on the stool to face him with hot hands on his shoulders. Butter and cinnamon envelope him at once, and Kyungsoo finally stops trying to breathe it in through only his mouth.

“It’s not stupid.”

 

 

 

“Me too, Kyungsoo! I wanna be in the picture!”

Kyungsoo laughs as he snaps a shot of the children. Jinkyu is smiling over a lemon meringue pie, while half of Jinri’s outraged face is blurred in the corner.

“Okay, okay,” he says, lining up the frame on the screen of his phone again. “I’ll take another.”

The last few hours had consisted of photography for the college student, though it only got interesting once the children had been let out of school and come straight to the bakery. Junmyeon was hesitant to let his kids be in the photos, even with Kyungsoo’s guarantee they weren’t going anywhere other than his hard drive.

“But still,” Junmyeon had said, re-sorting cutlery behind the payment counter. “I’m not sure if their mother would be okay with it.”

Kyungsoo had wanted to assure him she’d understand the necessity of family when describing “Fulfilmint”, being Jongin’s sister and all, but in truth he’d never met her, so he said nothing. Apparently she has a corporate job similar to the one Kyungsoo’s been working towards.

“Looking good.” The sudden words are whispered by his ear, and Kyungsoo shivers as he inhales spiced air. Jongin peers at the picture over his shoulder, his chin grazing his shirt as he speaks. “How many reference shots do you need?”

Kyungsoo presses his thumb to the screen a couple of times, just in case some turn out better than others.

“I think I’ve got enough now,” he says. Jinkyu and Jinri have started fighting over who gets to hold the plate. “These two wanted me to take photos of them, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them I’m only drawing the food.”

Jongin’s laugh is mellifluous, and Kyungsoo smiles along as he looks through the images in his phone. Jongin had featured in a lot of them, some taken with permission, others his own little secret.

“Well, if you’re done, I can start packing up then.”

Kyungsoo looks up to watch as Jongin begins to move the cake stands to the side of the room. Away from the door, and closer to the tables. He offers his assistance, as do the eight and ten year olds, which earns him another glittering grin. After the shop’s packed and ready for locking up, Jongin motions him over to the cashier, where Junmyeon’s balancing the books.

“Here.” A bundle of stems is pressed into his hands, a dome of coloured petals entering his vision. “We get fresh ones from next door every other day, take them.”

Hyacinths smile up at him, and Kyungsoo returns the expression, leaning down to breathe in their fragrant scent.

“Thank you,” he says, catching Jongin’s eye. “I love flowers.”

 

 

 

His visits are again restricted to weekly, for the sake of his grades. It’s so easy to lose himself to the soothing pull of time, the insatiable desire to create. But he disciplines himself, only drawing and colouring in his allotted blocks, the rest of his energy focussed on his school work and other clients.

Jongdae’s messages have again become jovial and full of networking opportunities, and Kyungsoo’s glad they’re back to normal. He enjoys reading the fun internship stories as he flicks through puppy photos for the rescue centre.

His favourite pictures however, remain the ones he’s taken in the bakery. Flowers, breads and desserts sit heavy in his phone’s storage. And there’s a whole separate folder for the ones Jongin’s in. Smiling, posing, or even just his hands holding a plate. A lot of them are candid, him grinning as he retrieves a tray of croissants from the oven, him whistling while measuring out flour and a couple of him wrestling around with Jinkyu. In every photo his candied skin glows and warms Kyungsoo’s through the screen.

He’s happy, he realises. And the thought makes him even more so.

 

 

 

“Jongin?” he calls out, anticipating the creaking of the steps before his foot even lands on them. His tablet’s already on, and he clings to it as a buzz drums along his skin, raising the hair on his arms.

“Kyungsoo?” The reply is teasing. Jongin looks up at him with a grin, sifting icing sugar over a copious pile of profiteroles. Once he sees the expression on Kyungsoo’s face, he raises his brow in question, the smile never simmering down. “What’s got you so excited?”

“It’s done,” Kyungsoo squeaks, squeezing his device closer to his chest. A plethora of emotions swirl in his stomach like ingredients in Jongin’s mixer. “It’s finally done, Jongin.”

“The website?”

Kyungsoo walks over to him, bringing it up on his screen, still angling it away from the baker. He hasn’t shown Jongin any of his work since the first time on their second meeting. None of it had been checked along the way. Jongin said he wanted Kyungsoo to work without others’ influence, and Kyungsoo had been possessive over it -- too scared to share.

“I don’t know,” he says, in a moment of weakness. Jongin’s ditched the icing sugar and is watching him intently, something bright swimming in the chocolate of his eyes. “It’s-”

“It’s not stupid,” Jongin interrupts, his lip curling sourly. His face is stern for only a moment longer, a warning against doubt. Then, he slowly takes Kyungsoo’s hands in his, turning them so he can see the screen they grip tightly.

In the end, Kyungsoo had gone with the long-scroll layout. The initial screen’s resolution is a watercolour inspired digital artwork of the outside of the bakery, though it’s set to rotate with a couple other pieces Kyungsoo made: one of the cashier counter with it’s mint green wall and plant-filled lattice and another of the art nouveau tables decked out with their ostentatious flower arrangements. There’s an overlay of white, with a paragraph Junmyeon wrote about the history of the bakery, as well as it’s address and open times.

Jongin’s expression is surprisingly guarded as he looks at the webpage. Subdued wonder covers him, and Kyungsoo tries to picture what he’s looking at on the screen as he scrolls.

There’s the about section, most of which Junmyeon wrote, backdropped by another drawing Kyungsoo made of the bakery filled with patrons. Then the function part, discussing catering services, then connections to online review websites. And finally, the interactive menu.

“Wow,” Jongin whispers, and Kyungsoo hopes it’s his menu he’s impressed by.

Jongin had given him a list of his most circulated dishes, and together they’d crossed them off as Jongin baked and Kyungsoo photographed them. Ultimately, there were so many different ones that Kyungsoo decided to group them. Each category linked to a longer list of foods, coupled with a fairly detailed drawing. When hovering over with a mouse though, Kyungsoo uploaded the actual pictures for a more in-depth referral.

“So, what do you think?” Kyungsoo asks, fingers fidgeting. They move along the sides of his tablet, catching on old scuffs and divots until he accidentally presses the power button. The faint artificial glow disappears from Jongin’s face and he looks at Kyungsoo silently.

One blink, two blinks. A slow smile.

“It’s perfect. Just what I wanted.” He takes the device from Kyungsoo’s grip and places it on the bench, uncaring for the residual flour that coats it. His arms circle Kyungsoo next, smothering him in heat. “It’s so you.”

Kyungsoo’s breaths fasten as his nose is squished against Jongin’s firm shoulder. Warmth radiates from him like a human sun, and Kyungsoo hugs him back -- arms around his waist. They stand there for a short moment, pushed and pulled by each other’s rising chests.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” Kyungsoo says, when they pull apart. He picks his tablet back up, subtly dusting it off. “I’ll email this copy to Junmyeon, for his approval before making it live.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” Jongin stays close by, head tilted down to meet Kyungsoo’s eyes. His expression is warm, affectionate almost. It looks pliant, like the soft dough that’s so often under his fingertips. “I’m sure there’ll be many more in the future, too.”

“I hope so.” Kyungsoo looks down at the switched-off screen, hesitating, but only for a moment. “I’m changing into a double degree in computer science and art.”

“I know,” Jongin says. Kyungsoo’s gaze flashes back up to his, breath held. “It’s written in your smile.”

At that, Kyungsoo sighs. It’s a happy sigh, one of understanding. He nods, and a silent chuckle escapes him.

“I should get going, let you work. It’s getting pretty crowded up there with Junmyeon on his own.”

The faint voices harmonise with the calming smell of baked wheat, and Kyungsoo takes in a deep breath before turning to leave. The stairs leading out are already creaking their complaints again before he hears Jongin speak.

“Wait- You-” Kyungsoo looks back to see him frowning, a hand in his hair. Jongin’s combing white powder through his dark locks but doesn’t seem to notice. “I need to tell you something. I...”

Kyungsoo walks back slowly, thinking back to the hyacinths, and every bouquet handed to him after that. The macarons, and danishes and every pastry in between. Just this once, he thinks, he can be the brave one.

“Jongin, how did you know I was unhappy?”

Jongin starts, hand freezing in place. “...You frowned too much.”

Kyungsoo reaches forward, pulling his hand from his hair. He gives it a squeeze as he holds onto it. Jongin squeezes back.

“Well,” he says. “You care too much.”

Those seem to be all the words worth saying, because as soon as they’re spoken, a look of serenity quells Jongin’s features. He leans down, impossibly closer.

His eyes flutter shut and their lips connect adoringly. Kyungsoo’s eyes close as well, allowing his other senses to be more acute with everything that’s happening. It starts with continuous brushing; the curves of Jongin’s soft and supple lips fitting perfectly against his own again and again. They’re sweet and spiced like cinnamon, wet and slow like maple syrup.

His fingers move to Kyungsoo’s face and settle on his cheek as he applies more pressure to their kiss. With a few more tender presses, Kyungsoo begins to pull away. His chest feels like it’s heaving, heart pounding needlessly quick. He his lips, the ghost of maple teasing his tongue. Opposite him, Jongin’s breathing deeply as well. The sound alone, accompanied by the hot puffs of air that warm Kyungsoo’s face further, completely drown out the voices from upstairs.

At some point, his palm had come to rest on Jongin’s chest, pressing right over his heart. Their pulses match in their frantic tempo.

“Kyungsoo.” It’s a fond whisper. Jongin’s eyes are bright and sparkly when he opens them, constellations of stars caught within their depths. Heat still imprints upon Kyungsoo's cheek, a thumb trailing across his cheekbone.

“Jongin,” he says like a promise. Just as the tide returns every morning and night, he pulls the man closer again, and wills him to slow time as he always does.