"Stay with me, Ace! Ace"

            "Ace?"

            Ace was staring at me with a look I didn't understand. I was too young. He was already eleven, and I was only six. It looked as though he didn't want me to know something... Something painful. He shook his head at me, and seemed to take a step back. No... He wasn't waking backward, no. He was... I tried to run after him, first walking, then breaking into a jog, before heading into a full sprint. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, but Ace just seemed to get farther and farther away from my grasp.

            "Ace!" I ran and ran and ran, until the distance seemed to close. I was hopeful, I reached out with my hand to touch him. I was stilling sprinting as swiftly as I could. I was so close; I could almost feel his hand touching mine! We were only fingertips apart! I wouldn't lose him! I would always be with Ace! I went to grab his hand, and then...

            I tied my apron around my waist and set my chef's hat on my head. The date was December 13th, 2014, and it was freezing on the streets of Gangnam, but despite the winter cold, people of all ages were hopeful with holiday spirits. Christmas was closing in, which meant the surplus of customers for what was actually a limited period of time, and that always put a smile on my face. As part of the patisserie business, customers meant my eternal happiness.

            It wasn't opening time just yet; I was about forty-five minutes ahead of schedule along with my bakery crew. With a clap of my hands, the room began to bustle with opening preparation as I supervised.

            My name is Angel Shin. I'm twenty-three years old, and I'm the youngest heir ever to ascend to the patissier's position in Gangnam's renowned French bakery, Patisserie D'Angele. If I were to describe myself, I wouldn't describe myself anything other than as your usual girl next door. I had straight, jet black hair parted on my left that fell down to my mid back, and unlike most young Korean women my age, I refused to go with the flow and go with the popular bangs. I stand at an average height of around 162 centimeters? Possibility 164 centimeters? I wasn't entirely sure to be honest since I never cared much about how hard from the ground I was; it was a trivial thought. Never once had I dyed my hair, nor had I ever tanned, but somehow my au naturale appearance was slightly accentuated with tiny freckles dotting my nose and a few strands of red hair just under my ear. My eyes? They were a solid, cold color. They were stone black, and not one person in my family had that in their genetics, so as to how I got them? I'm not quite certain...

            So long story short, I'm a fairly normal girl. I didn't care much more luxury and I really have not had the time to care, but I did one or two things under my belt that I had spent so much time on. A wide smile graced my features as some of my assistant pattisiers began laying out the ingredients before concocting today's special cakes. Just like I, they were always eager to set forth their best foot forward and work to put a smile on each and every customer's face. That was the joy of being a pastry chef; each and every detail was given the most undivided attention to produce the most elegant creation. After years away from my home and unending ours in a kitchen, I was finally able to certify myself as a credited patissier and call this little heaven my own. Unlike most kitchens, the entire room was surrounded by glass so patrons could see through and witness the magic that happened in our little heaven. The little cafe itself was a pure white decorated with feminine furniture that gave off a slight vintage air in the colors of white, pale green, baby pink, and a soft blue. In this place, there was no such thing has sadness, bitterness, or sourness. Why? I believed that our emotions poured into the mixtures we whipped, baked, and designed.

\           Today's special?

            Madame Papillon. Lady Butterfly.

            "The citrus flavor should not overpower the vanilla cream inside the cake. You do not want the tangy, bold frosting to fight the kind and calm center. It is the heart; the head follows the heart even in baking," I explained, scooping up a generous amount of cream and placing it in the dome-shaped mold I held in my hand. In the dome was a hollow half-sphere buttery, yellow cake; the cream slowly settled and just fell shy of the rim, just how I liked it. Carefully, I set a circle cut piece of yellow cake to seal the cream inside safely. "Once that's done, put the heart to rest and safely put it in a body that can cradle it eternally. And finally, give the cake an identity that it can be proud of."

            As I demonstrated the steps to the newest addition to Patisserie D'Angele, my assistants the apprentices watched on. With each of the paddle, I applied a small bit of white, citrus buttercream frosting that tasted of elusive lemon and orange flavors. The cake spun slowly on a turner that helped even out the surface that couldn't be perfected from the human eye or angle alone, especially since the frosting covered the whole half-sphere excluding the bottom base.

            "It's perfect, Chef Angel!" My apprentice, Cloude, chimed with sheer awe. Cloude had the kindness beyond any person I knew, and he was just too genuine, and that never failed to put a smile on my face. I stopped the rotating table and gave the pastry some time to breathe; it indeed was a simple, yet beautiful sight.

            There were only thirty minutes left and my crew of six went right to work making today's batch of cakes, macarons, choux, and so many delectable delights. For the next few minutes I focused on constructing the most suitable design for a product so minimalist, and after much elimination and with the use of some dusty rose and lilac icing, a lilac butterfly resting on an elegant tulip came to life. Some green tea flakes were added to create a more contrasted appearance and also imitate the appearance of a stem. 

            Voila. It was complete.

            I looked up from my concentrated work to look at the array of people walking past the store; some had even started lining up to grab a seat inside the moment we opened to the public, and that was enough for me to flash my pearly whites to the world.

            "Want me to put that in the Chef's Display outside?" Cloude made his way to my side and was pointing at the freshly finished cake that proudly sat on the golden circle for a plate. I ruffled his hair and gave him a nod to take the cake away to show.

            Cloude was too genuine to human. He was a French-born Korean, but neither of his parents were responsible enough to care for him, thus he lived in the an orphanage. I had found him in the streets of Paris during my studies at Paris' leading culinary school; Cloude was a bit of a street urchin, and he had been sneaking into the kitchen to nab little pieces of leftover ingredients after classes had finished, and I had a habit of staying behind to practice my skills. Even though I was an amateur, I was allowed to stay behind, and that's when I discovered Cloude. He had been watching me concoct a batch of miniature tiramisu cakes for who knew how long, and being the er I was, I let him keep me company and gave him a cake to satisfy his roaring stomach. Since then, he always came to visit, sometimes for a cake, and sometimes not. And then... I brought him back to Korea, and now he was next to me, working hard and earnestly to one day become a patissier himself. He was just two years younger than I.

            10:00 a.m.

            Cloude opened the cafe door and welcomed the first group of customers into our humble kingdom. Soft indie music played in the air as Cloude gave out the complimentary lemon water and tea crackers, and soon enough our usual day began kicking into gear.

            "What has your chef prepared for today's special?" One customer inquired.

            Cloude extended his hand in the direction of the Chef's Display, "Chef Angel has prepared a new and endearing piece, Madame Papillon. Would you like to order one?"

            "Most certainly," the male customer responded, "I would also like a hot cup of your cafe misto. Coarse ground, please." Cloude took precise note as I watched on.

            "Of course, sir." Cloude looked towards the lady who sat next to the finely dressed man, and from I could lip-read, she was ordering an americano.

            Once the order was served, I went back to preparing another piece of Madame Papillon but with a peace-colored rose and a sky blue butterfly. No piece was identical, especially in the eyes of chef.

            ”Ace! Don't go! Please, Ace! Don't leave me!"

            Ace was silent, his eyes stoic and emotionless. I had never seen ace so distant and painful. Why was he so far away? I reached out to touch his beautiful face, but instead, my hands came in contact with what was an invisible wall, and Ace was on the other side. I couldn't each him! Why couldn't I reach him? I wanted to hug Ace and hold his close, like I would never lose him... I reached out again and once again felt the invisible wall, but something was weird about it; it felt so solid, so strong, so... flat.

            That's when I caught a shimmer of light spectrum. Ace couldn't be a glass sculpture... He couldnt! I banged my had against the wall that separated us, but to my surprise, the sound of my hand hitting the divider echoed. The sound resonated and shook everything around me; everything was vibrating, everything. Scared and unsure of what was happening, I stumbled backwards and tried to organize the array of fears that were invading my composure. What was happening? Step by step... Then I hit by back. I cried out as the slight pain shot up my spine, but then I realized, this wasn't just a wall. Panicking, I ran to my left and went headfirst into another one of the same barriers; I ran walked to my right with my hand stretched out... It was exactly the same. This couldn't be!

            I turned towards Ace, but this he was shaking his head with a look that I couldn't understand.

            I was trapped.

            "Ace! Ace! Help me!" I cried out him for help, for some sort of assistance, for him to rescue me. I slammed my fists against the barriers in a futile attempt to break them down, but all they did was cause an earthquake inside this box I was trapped in. Tears began falling down my face as I fought against whatever reins held me back from reaching Ace, but he was too far. "Ace! Please! Don't leave me..."

            It was no use. The vibrating room skewed the visibility of Ace; he became a blur. Why was he standing there? Why was he shaking his head? Why was he so far away!

            "ACE!"

            "Angel! Angel!" I jolted away and caused files to fly off my desk and several pens to be knocked away. I could feel my body trembling and tears dotting my cheeks as I pushed my swivel chair with the heels of my feet away from the source of the voice who was speaking to me.

            Cloude was staring at me with nothing other than fear in his eyes, his hands in a half-comforting position that was obviously directed towards me.

            It was another nightmare. The nightmare with the same person seemed to haunt me.

            "You saw it again, didn't you?" Cloude's voice was no higher than a whisper when he spoke.

            My hands were clammy, my forehead was dotted with cold sweat, and my breathing was uneven. Cloude was the only one who knew about the existence of my reoccurring nightmares, and that was when they first occurred back when we were in Paris together. They had subsided for a while, allowing my mind to be put at ease, but now... they were back. The same little boy haunted me; while dreaming, I seemed to know this boy as Ace, but in reality, I couldn't even put the slightest fragment together to identify who he was. He was unknown, a ghost.

            "Angel. You were screaming," I looked up at Cloude and wiped away the sweat with my fingertips. Clearly, I had ignored him for a good few minutes. "Angel, what happened this time?"

            "I-I... I was trapped," I croaked.

            "Angel, this isn't good." Cloude began picking up the files and pens I had knocked over while I simply sat in a state of limbo, "You should really talk to someone professional about this."

            "No, Cloude. I don't want to," I shot back with the little bit of voice I could get out of my throat. I couldn't even understand the source of my nightmares, let alone identify what was causing them, so who would be able to help 

            "At least go home so you can rest. It's already an hour after we closed," Cloude pleaded. That's when I realized that I had fallen asleep at my desk at an attempt to work on a new recipe for Christmas, in all my cooking attire and my hair completely untied.

            "Cloude, could you walk me home?" I stood up and wiped away my drying tears and pulled on my coat from my locker.

            "You're not even dressed to walk the streets, and it's too cold!"

            "Just walk me home," I sighed.

            "Not until you're dressed properly!"

            "Jongin!"

            Cloude was immediately silenced and just put my normal everyday attire in my backpack without another word. I rarely ever called him by his birth name; I was comfortable calling him by his French alias, since that how he introduced himself as before he told me his Korean name. However, when I did use it, it was because I couldn't use his alias as a way of getting through to him. Cloude knew all too well that I wasn't stable enough to function on my own, resulting in his quick preparation to lock up the patisserie and head home.

            The walk home ended up being a deadly silent one. We didn't speak a single word to each other and the icy, cold air howled as we trudged to our apartment. I felt somewhat guilty for giving him the silent treatment, but I just had no sufficient energy to think properly or even me amiable. Once we were at out apartment floor, I went to my flat and he went to his. Even then, there was a cold atmosphere between us. Who was going to break the silence?

            Not one of made the effort. We parted way into our homes and left each other on an unfriendly note, not that we meant to. It just happened.

            "Hello?" I picked up the phone as I dried my hair with towel. A shower had been much needed.

            "Angel. I'm sorry I yelled at you before." Cloude's voice resonated from the other end of the line, and his voice seemed to comfort me just a tad.

            "No. Cloude, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have freaked on you," I replied. I hated these nightmares. Not only did it plague me, it plagued Cloude as well, and I made me feel so selfish and useless. "Cloude?"

            "Yeah. It's cool. I'm just worried," he replied. On the other end, I could hear the sound of a kettle screaming to taken off the stove, "Are you sure you'll be alright to work tomorrow?"

            "I can't not show up. Good night, Cloude."

            "Good night, Angel. Call me if you need anything."

            "I should be the one telling you that," I chuckled.

a/n:

greetings my fellow minions. lol, jk. so basically i started a new fanfic, once again starring the one and only kim jongin in honor of his 21st birthday.yo finally legal to drink in the states jongin. B) this one's going to be a bit different from stitches. i would sincerely appreciate if you could subscribe an support this story! thanks! <3