i originally got the idea from something that min-tokkiwriter reblogged (she’s super awesome ok guys you should read her stuff it’s 4235792437x better than mine) like… a long time ago, and i thought it was a good idea lol.

requested by anon who wanted something fluffy (and also happy belated birthday to the best daughta ever! <3)

There’s something about the fact that not having an oven that just depresses you.

Sure, your microwave is great for making frozen pizzas and chicken nuggets and reheating occasional leftovers, but after one too many failed “dessert-in-a-mug” recipes, you’re ready to call it quits and buy some (cheap, kind of stale and most importantly not warm and gooey) chocolate chip cookies from the grocery store around the corner.

At least you can microwave those and pretend they’re fresh.

You rifle around in your bag for your wallet and shove it in your pocket, pull on a jacket, and head out, grateful that the store is still open at this ungodly hour of the evening. Your breath escapes your lips in white puffs in the cold air, and you pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you continue to walk.

The automatic doors slide open as you approach, and you sigh in relief as the slightly warmer air from inside the store washes over you head for the bakery section.

To your utter dismay, there’s nothing left—not even a single doughnut.

You run your hands through your hair with a sigh. To be honest, it was ten at night and it’s not like you really expected there to be much of a selection, but you really don’t want to buy Chips Ahoy.

That’s just stooping too low.

Defeated, you leave the store, kicking at some errant leaves on the ground as you return to your humble abode.

As you reach the door and prepare to unlock it, you notice a paper hanging on the doorknob that you swear you hadn’t seen earlier.

Looking for a midnight snack? B.A.P Cookies are the way to go! They’re the best, absolutely perfect snack to have in the middle of the night. We deliver until 4 AM! Present this card and receive 25% off!

You turn the paper over, where a menu is listed, along with a picture of a cartoon rabbit head wearing a chef’s hat.

"Huh," you remark, twisting open your doorknob and pushing open your door.

Might as well give it a shot, right?

You pull out your phone and dial the number given at the bottom of the card, holding up the phone to your ear as you wait for someone on the other end to pick up.

"B.A.P Cookies, how may I help you?" an unprecedentedly deep voice asks.

"Uh," you stammer, fumbling for the card again. "Can I get, uh… a dozen cookies? Half chocolate chip and half sugar?"

"Sure. Will that be all this evening?"

"Um, yes. Thanks."

"Can I have your address, please?"

You give the deep-voiced man your address, and he tells you that your order will be delivered in about half an hour.

Tossing your phone to the side, you lean back on your sofa, head tilting onto a pillow.

A nap wouldn’t hurt, right…?

~*~*~*~*~

You wake up to the sound of your doorbell ringing, and you jolt upright, wondering who on Earth would be coming to your place at this hour of the night.

Slowly, you make your way to the door, peering through the small hole in it to look at the person outside—there’s a figure wearing a cap that says “B.A.P” on the front.

You open the door and the person smiles at you.

“B.A.P Cookies, at your service! One dozen, half chocolate, half sugar?”

The words don’t even register in your mind—you’re too dazed at the man’s husky voice and sharp jawline. He seems familiar, somehow, but you’re not sure where to place him.

“Miss?” he asks, and you blink.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. How much is it? And I have that flyer thing…” Your cheeks flush as you duck away and grab for the paper.

“$12.25,” the man calls, and you scoot back to the doorway, pulling out your wallet and counting out the right amount of money, taking out a little extra to tip the delivery boy.

“Thank you!” he says, counting it and tucking it into a pouch hanging around his waist. “I hope you order from us again! Next time, make sure you ask for Youngjae!”

He shoots you a wink as he leaves, and you almost forget to close the door once he’s out of sight.

(No, you weren’t staring after him.)

(Yes, he has a nice .)

You return to the sofa and open the box, your mouth instantly watering at the scent of the food you’ve been deprived of for so long.

The bottom of the box is still slightly warm, and as you take out a chocolate chip cookie, some of the chocolate sticks to your fingers.

You bite into it, and it’s like heaven in a three-inch-round circle.

You’re not sure what it is about the, but you’re certain that you’ve never had anything better.

It’s sweet without being cloyingly so, the chocolate rich and smooth in your mouth, contrasting with the chewy yet soft texture of the cookie.

It takes all your willpower to stop you from eating the entire box in one go, but you do end up eating two chocolate chip and one sugar.

With a wistful sigh, you close the box and set it aside.

That’s enough excitement for one evening.

~*~*~*~*~

After the cookies are consumed over the next few days, you nearly forget about them, too involved in schoolwork and projects to think about eating—until one evening you’re thisclose from throwing your computer across the room because your damned English essay refuses to be written.

You slam your laptop cover shut, pushing it away from you with a growl, and slump down in your chair, utterly spent.

The flyer from several weeks ago rests on your desk, almost mocking you.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say, and immediately feel ridiculous for talking to a piece of paper, of all things.

You have a staredown for another several minutes, until you finally give in and dial the number.

"B.A.P Cookies, how may I help you?"

It’s the same deep-voiced man as last time, and you wonder why they decided to have someone with a voice better-suited for a hotline man the phones at a bakery.

Then again, maybe it’s just an elaborate sales tactic.

“Uh, can I get a dozen chocolate chip cookies?”

“Sure, we can do that. Anything else?”

“No, that’ll be all.”

“Half an hour, then.”

“Thanks,” you say, and hang up.

With a Herculean effort, you open up your laptop and pull up the draft of your essay again (really, all you have down is the title), and continue to peck away at the keys.

After what seems like barely five minutes, the doorbell rings, and you run towards it, half in eagerness to see if it’s the cute--delivery-boy again and half in eagerness to get away from that stupid essay.

It’s not Youngjae this time—instead, it’s a tall boy with light hair that peeks out beneath his cap.

“One dozen chocolate chip?” he says, his higher voice matching with his youthful face but not his ridiculous height (because, really, how much leg does one person actually need?)

“Yep,” your voice somewhat less excited than it would have been if it were cute--Youngjae, but you pay nonetheless.

“We hope you order again!” the boy says, his voice more chipper than anything you’ve ever heard recently, since you’re surrounded by tired students all day. “Zelo-bot, at your service!”

You swear he skips away before you can even ask him what “Zelo-bot” means, and you sit back down with your box of cookies, nibbling at the edge of one.

For some reason, half the cookies in the box are perfect, but the other half are somewhat misshapen and slightly burnt.

With a shrug, you set the box aside and return to your essay, hoping that the energy from the cookies will take you through what you suspect will definitely become an all-nighter.

~*~*~*~*~

You settle into a routine over the next several months; whenever you have a project, you call up an order of cookies (which, since the semester’s ending soon, is more often than not, and you’re starting to wonder if your wallet can handle all the abuse).

Each time, you’re never met with the same face twice in a row—Zelo-bot (or Junhong, as you’ve learned his name is) is ever energetic; Daehyun always asks if he can have one of your cookies (you always let him take one, but you compensate by not tipping him as much. It’s an arrangement that seems to work for both of you); and, oddly enough, your old neighbor, Jongup, who likes to sneak you extra cookies (you swear the boy’s trying to make the world fat so that he can live in chiseled ab glory alone.)

But it’s Youngjae’s deliveries you look forward to the most, where he pops up with a smile and twinkling eyes and a snarky word or two.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than sass me?” you ask him one evening, when it’s nearing midnight and the two of you’ve been talking for nearly an hour, discussing the merits of different brands of calculators (you’re staunchly on the side of Casio—Youngjae’s a TI person).

“Not until you admit that TIs are far superior,” he replies, one corner of his lips curling up, “but to be honest, not really.”

“No one else to deliver cookies to?”

“We have more than one deliveryman.” Youngjae rolls his eyes. “Haven’t you met them? Daehyun’s quite fond of you.”

“Well, I figured you all took shifts,” you mumble, trying to cover up your momentary lapse of memory.

“We do; two at a time.”

You hum noncommittally, adjusting the box of cookies you hold. “That makes sense.”

“Of course it does. Everything I say makes sense.”

For some reason, you’re reminded of someone, but you’re not entirely sure who.

Your confusion must show on your face, because Youngjae’s suddenly laughing at you, and you scowl, kicking at him halfheartedly.

“I should get going—I don’t want to get hurt,” Youngjae jokes, adjusting his cap. “Nice talking to you…?”

You raise an eyebrow at his pause, and he shrugs.

“I don’t actually know your name. It’s fair, right? You know mine, so I should know yours.”

You can’t find anything to disagree about, there, so you tell him, and he grins.

“Of course, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, would it not?”

“I smell like cookies. We both smell like cookies.”

“At least I finally have a name to match the face. Until we meet again!”

And he walks off into the night with a slight spring in his step (and you’re not staring at his again, dammit.)

~*~*~*~*~

As the break falls upon you, you find that you really don’t know what to do with the sudden excess of time once the novelty of sleeping for fourteen hours wears off. Most of your friends are on vacation, and you don’t feel like going out again.

Your eyes fall once more on the flyer that now resides on your bulletin board, and you sigh.

You told yourself that you’d lay off the sweets, but it seems that you just can’t keep your promise.

(Well, there’s another reason behind that, but still—)

You don’t even need to look at the flyer as you dial the number

“Goddammit, Yongguk, I have the phone—Welcome to B.A.P Cookies! Can I help you?”

The voice this time is still deep, but somewhat different, and you wonder why someone else decided to pick up this time—you guess that this “Yongguk” fellow is the one who usually answers the phone.

A certain person’s words come back to you, and you swallow heavily, hoping you won’t regret this.

“Uh… Youngjae?”

“Please hold,” the person on the other line says, but you can tell that he (it is a he, right? You don’t think women usually have voices that deep) is barely holding back laughter in his voice.

The sound is muffled, but you swear you can hear someone say “Jae-yah! It’s Pajama Girl!”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, until it finally dawns on you.

You were wearing pajama pants that night when you first ordered.

Although you’re really not sure why you’re being referred to as “Pajama Girl” since you’re pretty sure they know your name by now.

“Half an hour, Pajama Girl.”

The man on the line doesn’t even bother trying to conceal his smug tone before the line goes dead.

You look down at yourself, and let out an amused snort when you find out that you’re actually wearing pajama pants now, too—they’re white and blue plaid.

The ramifications of what you’ve done suddenly hit you, and you sit down on your sofa, heart hammering.

You actually called for Youngjae.

You don’t suppose it’s too late to take that back, right?

~*~*~*~*~

Half an (agonizing) hour later, the doorbell rings and you spring for the door.

Sure enough, it’s Youngjae again—eyes twinkling with an amused half-smile on his face.

“Wasn’t sure you’d call again,” he chuckles, holding out the box towards you. “One dozen chocolate chip?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “How much?”

“On the house,” Youngjae says, “if you’re willing to go out with me for a date sometime next week?”

You twirl a strand of your hair around your finger, pretending to contemplate his request. “Well, I mean, what if you’re a serial killer?”

Youngjae chuckles, his eyes curving upwards as he does so. “I sit behind you in English. Believe me, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

Your eyes widen. “I knew you looked familiar!”

“I’ve been there for nearly an entire semester,” Youngjae muses, “but I hadn’t figured out a good way to get closer to you.  Lucky that Jongup decided to hit up this part of town when he was leaving flyers…”

“Jongup?” You raise an eyebrow. “Jongup, like, Moon Jongup?”

“Yeah,” Youngjae replies. “You know him?”

“He was my neighbor back home,” you reply, and Youngjae’s head collapses onto the wall with a thud.

“That dense little—I COULD HAVE BEEN SO FAR ALONG BY NOW!”

i still cannot endings goodbye