Length:  ~12k

Genre:  bakery!au, fluff, romance, (fail) humor & a pinch of magic

Rating:  PG13

Warning: one very brief mention of involving two OCs

 

Summary: Kyungsoo is a pâtisserie owner who refuses to eat sweet things and Jongin is the pâtissier who is determined to change his mind. Vaguely inspired by the manga/anime Antique Bakery

 

 

prologue: a pinch of hope

 

Where the hell was he? He was twelve minutes late! Twelve! Kyungsoo made an impatient noise as he stared out into the street. So this was how it came to be that he happened to be watching as the air began to fill, very abruptly, with tiny powdery petals. As the snowflakes began falling, spiraling gracefully down from the wintry December sky, the brass bell above the door gave a series of sharp, metallic rings. It had to be Kim Jongin, his tardy candidate. Kyungsoo pulled the door open and a gust of winter chill blasted into the store, tiny flurries of lacy white flakes pirouetting and floating around the stranger in a graceful ballet that was almost magical. It was almost as if he'd brought the snow with him.

 

The man wore a hopelessly impractical black coat with no hood — who went out in weather like this with no hood? It had been 2° when he'd left the house and he'd made sure to bundle up against the cold. To Kyungsoo's relief, the stranger had had enough sense, at least, to swath his neck in a cheerful, green scarf which looked thick and warm, and so utterly cosy that he had this sudden, inexplicable urge to climb inside it. What was wrong with him? He never had such fanciful thoughts. It had to be the snow — it was making him silly and he was never silly.

 

"You must be Kim Jongin? You're late. Extremely late, might I add?" Kyungsoo gave his most intimidating look. The pâtissier Kim Jongin had rich caramel skin and dark brown hair which had a careless, tousled look about it that seemed like a product of not combing his hair rather than the careful application of any number of expensive hair products.

 

"Not so very late — only twelve minutes, I believe?" The man's smile was engaging, and his eyes were like bitter chocolate — full of mysteries and a sense of fun. His skin was as tanned as Kyungsoo's was pale and it made him look impervious to the cold somehow, like it couldn't touch all that bronzed skin. Apparently, he was immune to Kyungsoo's ferocious stare too as he continued to smile at him like he'd been twelve minutes early instead of two minutes late.

 

"Anyone who works for me has to come to work on time and have a healthy respect for rules. I hope you understand?"

 

"Of course, I do. I would have been on time except I got caught up as I was walking past the park. I saw this cherry tree you see and I thought it's been a while since I made cherry tarts and then I had this idea to include frangipane and custard and then I had to sit down on a bench and write everything down and do a rough sketch of how i want the pastry to look. Do you see?"

 

Apparently, when the man spoke passionately about something, he did so without any commas and full stops. It was like watching someone whose mind was on fire — ideas igniting and evolving and exploding at high speeds. It was fascinating to watch. Kyungsoo should have had trouble following what he was saying but strangely enough, he could understand him just fine. And as his ears made meaning from the words, his eyes traveled over Kim Jongin's face, taking in the strong jawline, prominent forehead, the rich caramel skin and dark hazelnut hair.

 

"No, I don't see. All I see is that you arrived twelve minutes late for an interview and that gives me the impression that punctuality is not important to you and that won't work for me."

 

"When a moment comes, you must capture it or it's gone forever," Kim Jongin explained, "When you are gifted with an idea, you must take it in your palms and keep it warm and nurture it … let it grow. And then you have to write it all down so you won't forget a single thing! And as soon as you get to the nearest kitchen, you must make that idea whole — recreate the spark and from there, you experiment and experiment until it's perfect."

 

"That's all very romantic, but all I want to know is one, can you bake? And two, can you get here by 5.30 am, Mondays through Saturdays?" Kyungsoo crossed his arms and watched Kim Jongin impatiently.

 

"Yes, I can bake." Jongin enunciated the word as if it smelt bad and was possibly riddled with fungus, "and of course I can get here by 5.30 ... Ish." The man didn't even have the decency to look sheepish about it.

 

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ISH. I want a firm 5.30 sharp."

 

"Yes, all right. 5.30 sharp it is then ... as long as I don't get inspired during the journey here. That is non-negotiable, I'm afraid. Creavity can't be stifled. When inspiration strikes, I can't cut it off just so I'll get here by 5.30 SHARP."

 

"But this is a place of business, Mr. Kim. There are certain rul—"

 

"If it's any consolation, it's dark as all hell that early in the morning so I doubt I'll be distracted by anything along the way. I should be able to get myself here on time. Would that be enough assurance for now? Also, my name is Jongin. Mr. Kim would be my father. Or grandfather for that matter. Just Jongin will do. "

 

"I don—"

 

"Could I see the kitchen? I really need to put together that cherry frangipane tart recipe now before I lose that spark."

 

"Spark? Tart?" Kyungsoo wasn't sure if he was more perplexed or vexed.

 

"Just show me to your kitchen, please, Mr. Do. You are Mr. Do Kyungsoo whom I spoke to on the phone two days ago? May I call you Kyungsoo? Mr. Do is so formal, I feel like I should be bowing to you every time I say that and it would get tiring if we're going to work together."

 

"What the hell is a frangipane? And I haven't even offered you the job y—"

 

"The kitchen, please, Kyungsoo?" His expression was two parts congenial, one part hopeful, one part impatient; and all these parts added up to Kyungsoo finding himself oddly incapable of resisting the request. Which was how he found himself leading the somewhat charismatic pâtissier Kim Jongin into the kitchens of Sweet Nothings Pâtisserie. Being devoid of charisma himself, Kyungsoo was naturally suspicious of people who drew others to them with such consummate ease.

 

"I'll need some almonds, brandy, almond and vanilla extract, flour, unsalted butter, eggs, golden unrefined caster sugar, salt and ... these." He procured a paper bag which Kyungsoo hadn't even noticed him carrying. Carefully, the pâtissier placed the bag on the large, steel top table in the center of the kitchen and carefully unfolded the wrinkly brown paper to reveal plump, glossy, claret colored cherries. Then Kyungsoo watched helplessly as the tall man headed for the pantry and the available shelves to retrieve the ingredients and equipment he required.

 

"What's frangipane?"

 

"Frangipane is ... just watch. And stop asking me questions or I'll mess up the quantities." Jongin flattened a piece of paper onto the table and started measuring out ingredients with elegant shakes and flourishes of the hand.  Annoyed but quiescent, Kyungsoo peered at the creamy white sheet on the flour-sprinkled table; it was covered in numbers and words written in cramped, barely legible handwriting with arrows radiating into the recipe, linked to notes written on the margin. There was even a rough, pencil sketch of what looked like a tart dotted with cherries.

 

Everything sounded food related — all mysterious French words and oven temperature ranges. And in the left bottom corner of the page, Kyungsoo saw words that confused him: a pinch of hope. Hope? Was that some kind of spice akin to cinnamon and nutmeg? It didn't sound like anything that belonged in a recipe. Or maybe he just wasn't deciphering the messy handwriting right.

 

As Jongin creamed some butter and sugar with a huge cake mixer, he started to speak over the noise, "The name frangipane comes from the Italian frangere il pane which literally means 'break the bread', and it's how the noble Roman family of Frangipani got its name."

 

"I still don't know what frangipane means." Kyungsoo furrowed his eyebrows impatiently. It was his most effective method of getting people to talk and to spill their guts out, glaring them into the ground — a method with a very high success rate, Kyungsoo thought with satisfaction. But to his chagrin, even his most formidable expression failed to faze the pâtissier.

 

"I'm getting to that. Patience, Kyungsoo. So anyway, in the late 17th Century, there was a particular Frangipani who was perfumier to the French King Louis XIII. His name was the Marquise Muzio Frangipani. I'm not sure how it turned out that way but his name was given to these flowering Plumeria trees from the tropics, and people used to say that these frangipani flowers smelt a lot like sweet almonds."

 

"So frangipane is … what? A perfume made from frangipani flowers? Wait! Are you using my cake mixer to make perfume? WHAT THE HELL, MR KIM?!"

 

“Jongin. My name is Jongin and I definitely told you I was going to bake a tart. A cherry frangipane tart,” Jongin corrected him calmly.

 

“You’re making a cherry perfume tart then. Either way, switch that damned thing off!” Kyungsoo ordered irately, fingers reaching for the power button. His fingers had almost reached their destination when Jongin wedged himself between Kyungsoo and the whirring mixer.

 

“You didn’t let me finish! Frangipane is a kind of pastry made with cream and ground almonds. See how the butter and sugar have been beaten into a pale, fluffy cream? Now watch as I add ground almonds, eggs, salt and flour to turn this,” he waved his hand over the mixture in a graceful motion, “into frangipani." Their faces were suddenly so close together that Kyungsoo could catch whiffs of Jongin's aftershave — subtle and citrusy (and far too intoxicating) for Kyungsoo's comfort. And when Do Kyungsoo got taken out of his comfort zone, his instinctual reaction was always to hit out or to withdraw, or to give the other person some unpleasant combination of the two.

 

"I don't like the way you've taken over my kitchen like you own this place; and your attitude towards punctuality is alarming to say the least. You’ve only been in my store for half an hour and I can already tell that hiring you would be more trouble than it's worth, so if you don't m-"

 

"Just try the tart. Taste it. And it you still think I don't belong here, I'll leave quietly. But if you like the way it tastes, I hope you'll reconsider and let me have the job."

 

"I can tell you now that you won't get the job because I don't eat sweet things and I especially despise cakes and pastries."

 

"But if all this is true, how did you end up working in a pâtisserie?!"

 

"Business is business. It has nothing to do with whether I personally like desserts. There's a demand for cakes and pastries so there's money to be earned."

 

"So your pâtisserie is called Sweet Nothings when you actually feel nothing for sweets. That's kind of both ironic and tragic?" A fine patina of sadness seemed to cling to Jongin's features. But it was just ... sadness. It was neither judgement nor self pity. Just ... sadness.

 

"There's nothing tragic about not having a sweet tooth."

 

“But the elegance and luxury distilled in a slice of Opera cake? The bittersweet bliss of a handmade chocolate truffle? The crunchy, buttery goodness of a palmier?” The look on Jongin’s face could only be described as disbelief.

 

“I. Don’t. Like. Sweet. Things. Get. Over. It.”

 

"Fine, but whether you enjoy sweet things or not, you must promise me that you'll taste this frangipane tart."

 

"Will it get you out of my kitchen and out of my life? If it will, then yes, I'll eat the damned thing."

 

“You have my word.” Jongin smiled enigmatically before turning back to his work — kneading the ball of pastry dough with sure patient hands, and rolling it out before finally moulding it carefully onto a white ceramic dish he'd procured from one of the cupboards. Kyungsoo reluctantly observed him as he worked — unhurried, unbroken movements that were soothing to watch.

 

At some point Jongin poured the frangipane mixture onto the buttery pastry and reached for the bowl of washed cherries before submerging the globes in a sea of frangipane. The cherries looked sinfully red against the pale, creamy background. It all looked almost appetizing? Almost, Kyungsoo thought. Too bad I don't do desserts.

 

Then, Jongin closed his eyes, and with a mild flourish of his fingers, he added a pinch of something intangible to the frangipane mixture. But the thing was Kyungsoo hadn't seen him pick anything up with his fingers; he’d been watching Jongin the whole time. And he swore the air currents seemed to move just a little over the dish, just like he was positive he’d seen tiny amber-gold sprinkles illuminate the air around Jongin's hands.

 

Rationally, Kyungsoo knew he couldn't have seen any such thing. This wasn't a fantasy novel or a manga where characters had magical powers. This was just a somewhat eccentric pâtissier who had walked into his shop on a wintry day. He can't possibly have magical powers. You're being ridiculous.  Sighing, Kyungsoo cursed himself for drinking the last three shots of single malt whiskey at his brother's twenty-first birthday party. The mild hangover had not only made him crankier than usual (if such a thing was even possible), it had made him hallucinate too, apparently. Never. Again.

 

 

 

ღ ღ ღ

 

 

“Well?” Jongin watched expectantly as Kyungsoo brought the pastry-laden fork to his mouth. Bracing himself for the worst, Kyungsoo shut his eyes and let the forkful of tart fall on his tongue. He waited for the inevitable bitterness to spread like ink over his tongue, the way it always did when he took anything sugary. It always had ever since that day. And Kyungsoo winced, slamming the door before the memories could rush in and take up residence.

 

“What do you think?” Jongin prompted again, his bitter chocolate eyes tinged with mild anxiety despite the serenity of his voice.  

 

“It’s not awful,” Kyungsoo said bluntly. Kyungsoo could appreciate the aesthetics and how good pastries could look when they were made by skilled hands, but he honestly could not tolerate the way they tasted. He simply abhorred the taste of sugar and no amount of dressing it up in other flavors would ever change his mind. His revulsion ran far too deep for it to ever do so.

 

“Not awful? I don’t know if I should laugh or cry,” Jongin shook his head, the harsh white glow from the recessed LED ceiling lights catching on his dark hair and his uncertain smile, and Kyungsoo was struck by how deeply attractive Kim Jongin was.

 

“At least I didn’t spit it out. You can take that any way you want.”

 

“You are truly the most tactless man I have ever ever had the pleasure of meeting!” Jongin's sarcastic chuckle was a deep noise that rumbled pleasantly in Kyungsoo’s gut.

 

“You’re welcome,” was Kyungsoo's deadpan answer as he pulled open the fridge door and retrieved a small glass jar he kept there for emergencies. Hastily unscrewing the lid, he fished out one puckered plum pickle and shoved it into his mouth. Relief flooded him as the harsh, sour-salty flavor of the umeboshi chased away the oddly not-quite-bitter taste of Jongin’s cherry frangipane tart.

 

“You did not just eat an umeboshi to erase the taste of the quality tart I just made from scratch for you?!”

 

“I … just don’t like sweet things.”

 

“Does that mean I’m not getting the job?”

 

“It means can you start day after tomorrow?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Good. We need to talk about the terms and conditions of employment now. Let’s move to one of the dining tables outside — more comfortable.”

 

Jongin shut his notebook with a snap, his expression thoughtful. “I just want to say, I’ll convince you by the end of winter that you love sweet things.”

 

“I’d like to see you try. And fail,” Kyungsoo snorted confidently but he didn’t like the steely determination he saw in the pâtissier’s eyes.  

 

 

 

ღ ღ ღ

 

 

All his instincts were telling Kyungsoo that hiring him would undoubtedly be the stupidest, most dangerous thing he would ever do. But he had honestly been out of options. He'd seen three other candidates earlier, and none of them had felt right for the position. Settling his head comfortably on his pillow, Kyungsoo caught his bottom lip between his teeth and systematically replayed the events of the afternoon.

 

Byun Baekhyun had shown all the classic signs of being one of those volatile and temperamental divas who would insist on "only the best gourmet ingredients" and who would throw a fit if things were not "exactly so". He could already picture a weeping assistant pastry chef and/or waiter telling him they wanted to quit because they could no longer work for "that prick". In other words, Byun Baekhyun was the equivalent of a human resource nightmare and Kyungsoo liked his sleep — 7 hours a night at least, or his temper would be so foul he’d leave a trail of bodies behind him. They'd spoken for only ten minutes and Mr. Byun had managed to begin practically every sentence with the pronoun 'I', harp at length on the sheer artistry and perfection of his work, and boast about the sterling quality of his professional training in some fancy Swiss academy (which had a name Kyungsoo couldn't even pronounce).

 

Then there was the smugness. Five minutes into the interview and Kyungsoo knew that if he hired the man, he might possibly be driven to homicide within weeks. Even if Byun Baekhyun had been the best pâtissier in all of France and South Korea, Kyungsoo knew he couldn't work with him — not without bloodshed. Sighing, he'd promptly struck Byun Baekhyun's name off the list of potential hires.

 

The second person who'd shown up for the interview had been a diminutive man called Kim Joonmyun. He'd seemed acceptable enough with his clean cut features and pleasant manner; he even had all the right qualifications. Kim Joonmyun seemed to have everything going for him – everything except clean fingernails, apparently. If a person couldn't keep his own nails clean, what were the chances he'd be fastidious about food preparation?  Kyungsoo suspected that if he hired Kim Joonmyun, it was a distinct possibility that customers would contract salmonella and the Health Department would close down the pâtisserie. It was just his luck that the first two candidates were less than ideal.

 

Kyungsoo wasn't the sort to be easily impressed but the third candidate, the one who had come before Kim Jongin, had effortlessly commanded his respect. Kwon Boa was thirty-five, with striking features and a forbidding expression that made Kyungsoo feel vaguely intimidated. Long, black hair confined in a discreet ponytail that exposed a wide forehead and strong eyebrows, the woman projected an aura of cool austerity which hinted at discipline, punctuality and capability. Not to mention, she had amassed 12 years of experience in three different pâtisseries in and around Seoul.

 

She was, in many ways, the perfect choice and Kyungsoo would most likely have settled on her if he hadn't been derailed by the final person to walk into his pâtisserie. There was just something about Kim Jongin. He was twenty-eight and he'd spent three years in Paris as an assistant pâtissier. And for the next three years he'd been the head pastry chef in a very successful, high-end pâtisserie in Gangnam. Or at least he had been head chef until he resigned two months before.

 

"I don't understand, Mr. Kim. You had the perfect job. Why did you quit?"

 

"Call me Jongin," he reminded gently before explaining, "there was no soul in that place. I was making beautiful pastries for people who were buying them because they came from the most exclusive pâtisserie in Seoul - not because they loved the way the desserts tasted, or the way they made them feel. There must be passion - whether you're creating the pastries or sampling them or even selling them. Passion is everything."

 

"I don't do passion and I get along just fine."

 

"Do you?" Jongin gave him a curious look. "Well, I stuck with it for three years but I felt like i was losing touch with why I went into the business of creating desserts in the first place so ... I knew it was time to go. Since then, I've been looking around the city for the perfect pâtisserie. - one that will allow me to create sweet things that will add a little joy to people's lives. I've been searching and searching and I believe I've found the place." Jongin had given him a mysterious smile.

 

"You mean this place? I don't know if my no-frills pâtisserie is ready for you, to be honest. You've got such romantic notions about desserts. I mean desserts are food, for heaven's sake."

 

"Give me one month and I'll show you that desserts aren't just food. One month to prove myself and if things don't work out, you can pay me half the salary. You have my word and I'll even sign an agreement so you can have it in black and white."

 

"No, that's not my style. If you work for a month, I'll pay you for the month. I'm not into exploitation."

 

"I'll need an assistant."

 

"One will be hired for you. Do you have anyone in mind?"

 

"Well, my former assistant would have been the ultimate choice but he took over my previous job and I wish him well. We still meet up for some soju and a hot meal once a week when we can. When are you conducting interviews though? I must be there. It has to be someone who has a love for food. Qualifications and work experience are important but they won't be enough so please include me in the interview, won't you, Kyungsoo? Thank you."

 

"But-"

 

"But I must be there. This is non-negotiable, I'm sorry."

 

"I knew I was going to regret hiring you," Kyungsoo had glared.

 

"That's my phone number right there," Jongin had grinned as he pointed at the first page of his resumé and Kyungsoo had made the most disgruntled noise as he keyed the number into his phone.

 

Kim Jongin seemed far too cavalier about punctuality and, given his youth, couldn't be as capable or as experienced as Kwon Boa. But he had an irrepressible spark to him that the other three candidates lacked. Kim Jongin had displayed a consuming and unrelenting passion for his profession that he had not seen in the others.

 

Kim Jongin was a human bonfire.

 

Viciously, he suppressed the flicker of admiration trying to burn its way through his consciousness, and forced himself to settle and go to sleep. As he slipped into that odd, dreamlike state between sleep and wakefulness, the edges of his mind caught on something he'd seen in Kim Jongin's recipe book earlier that day. Hope. He was sure he'd seen the words "pinch of hope" on the edges of the page. Did hope take the form of amber colored sprinkles?

 

 

 

good help is hard to find

 

 

"You can't be serious? We've seen five people already, how can all of them be unsuitable?" Kyungsoo was practically tearing his hair out.

 

"I don't see any signs of passion. Trust me, Kyungsoo, it's important."

 

"I'm hiring the next person who walks in. I don't give a crap if he has as much passion as a cold lump of coal."

 

"You're such an impatient man."

 

"Am I interrupting? I can come back later if it's a bad time." A low pitched voice interrupted their verbal fencing. They'd been so caught up in their disagreement they hadn't even noticed someone had entered the store.

 

"No, no, that's fine! Take a seat," Jongin pulled a seat out for the tall, young man with almost ridiculously broad shoulders. Tapping his fingers on his thigh, the stranger's arched eyebrows settled into a nervous frown.

 

"So you're applying for the position of assistant chef?" Kyungsoo got straight to the point.

 

"Actually, no. I saw the sign in your window - you needed waiters?"

 

"We do indeed," Jongin admitted as he wilted with disappointment. It had been a long morning and he needed a pick me up after the parade of lackluster candidates they'd just seen. Leaving Kyungsoo to interview the stranger, Jongin walked over to the cashier counter to retrieve a paper bag of pastries he'd brought from home. He'd been experimenting the night before with galettes, and once he'd artistically arranged each pastry on a plain white dish, he brought it over to the table where the two men sat.

 

"Have a galette, Mr ... ? I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

 

"It's Sehun. Oh Sehun." Tap, tap, tap.

 

"I'm Jongin. Make me happy and try a galette. This awful man won't eat anything sweet."

 

"What?! No offence, Mr. Do, but you work in a bakery. It's just ... weird?"

 

"I am NOT weird, for God's sake. I just hate sweet things. Is that a crime? What the hell!" Kyungsoo raised his eyebrows in the most deliciously violent manner when he got annoyed — his eyes practically shooting out sparks of indignation. He looked magnificent when his temper was provoked and this made Jongin even more determined to poke at the embers.

 

"Just ignore the nasty man. Try the caramel apple galette and tell me what you think. I'm still perfecting the recipe and I need a second opinion that's more helpful than at least I didn't spit it out."

 

"Pardon?" Sehun looked understandably confused.

 

"Just try one, Sehun," Jongin pushed the plate towards him and Sehun took one of the delicate flaky pastries inlaid with wafer-thin slices of caramelized apple. He took a careful bite, eyebrows arching expressively before his face broke into a full-on smile.

 

"It's really good," he said enthusiastically between bites, the most animated he'd been since walking into the store, "but ... there's just a touch too much cinnamon, and the apple is really sweet so I would cut down on the sugar by maybe quarter of a teaspoon?"

 

Jongin had to force down the excitement bubbling up his toes and fizzing at his fingertips. He wanted to shout YES! but he managed to restrain himself, fortunately. He'd already made a note on the margin to reduce the sugar, but he hadn't decided by how much. Instinctively, he knew that Oh Sehun's recommendation would be precisely the right amount.

 

"You're hired!" The bubbles finally burst outside his mouth.

 

"As a waiter?" Both men were staring at him with varying degrees of astonishment.

 

"You're my new assistant," he announced triumphantly.

 

"But I have no training! I mean other than what I picked up from helping my mom at home." The dismay couldn't quite overcome the delight on Oh Sehun's features, and Jongin knew he'd made the only possible choice.

 

"But he has no training!" There was nothing but pure dismay on Kyungsoo's face and Jongin decided that he wore this emotion well too.

 

"It has to be him."

 

"I demand a more logical explanation than it has to be him." He was frowning again and Jongin's heart felt another little jolt.

 

This was a really bad idea, getting attached to someone you worked with – but the first time he'd seen Kyungsoo and caught glimpses of the secret soul he tried so hard to conceal, Jongin’s mind (and heart) were made up. He had to see more of Kyungsoo’s soul; he had to have Kyungsoo.

 

"Sehun is a supertaster."

 

"I'm a whuttt?"

 

"I said, logical explanation, Mr. Kim. Not something out of a manga!"

 

"Jongin. It's Jongin. And that is a perfectly logical reason for hiring Sehun. Some people are born with more tastebuds than others and supertasters can have up to twice the number of taste buds most people have. Can you take Brussels sprouts? Bitter gourd? Vitamin C supplements?"

 

"Um, no. Too bitter. I just can't take the taste."

 

“It’s confirmed. He’s a supertaster and I need one in my kitchen. Forget the lack of training! I’ll teach you everything I know, Oh Sehun, as long as you’re willing to learn.”

 

“I am,” he nodded confidently and Jongin was filled with a mixture of joy and relief.

 

“We’ll make magic together, you and I.” Somewhere behind him, Jongin heard a loud and derisive snort and smiled. He would make Do Kyungsoo believe in magic before the spring rains came.

 

 

 

ღ ღ ღ

 

 

“He looks shifty. I wouldn’t trust him with the company van,” Kyungsoo gave the lanky young man on the other end of the shop a disapproving look. They’d asked him to give them a moment to deliberate and he was currently gazing out the shop window while they spoke in hushed tones.

 

Standing at more than six feet tall, Kyungsoo could already imagine Park Chanyeol tripping over things and bumping into furniture and dropping plates. And the van! He didn’t even want to think about the potential damage the van would suffer at the hands of this klutz. Jongin had given him a glass of water at the start of the interview and Chanyeol had managed to knock it over within two minutes as he gesticulated wildly while answering one of Jongin's questions. Kyungsoo had barely managed to catch the tumbler before it upended. This boy would be a disaster as a waiter!     

 

“Shifty? Park Chanyeol looks about as earnest as you could get – are you serious? Besides, the other waiter you’ve hired doesn’t have a driving licence and you’re the barista as well as the manager so you can’t be leaving the shop. We definitely need someone who can drive out for emergency deliveries or pick up.” Jongin laid everything out calmly and sensibly but Kyungsoo wasn’t in the mood for calm or sensible.

 

“He looks like a reckless driver.”

 

“Huh. You managed to get all that from ten minutes of conversation? You’re far more perceptive than me, Do Kyungsoo. All I see is someone who’s candid and energetic. I like those qualities in a person. I think customers would love him. Besides, you’re so dour we need someone to balance you out.”

 

“I’m reserved; I’m not dour,” Kyungsoo tried to sound convincing when he didn’t even believe it himself – mentally cursing Kim Jongin for being far too effective at getting him riled up.

 

“If you say so.”

 

There was that maddening smile again! Kyungsoo wanted to wipe it off with … he just wanted to wipe the smile off Jongin’s upsettingly handsome face.

 

"So you really think we should hire him? He won't destroy all the crockery in the shop? Or wreck my van?" Kyungsoo worried at his bottom lip with his teeth.

 

"I think we'll enjoy having Park Chanyeol around," Jongin patted the back of his hand and Kyungsoo didn’t like the way the calloused cinnamon skin felt against. He didn’t like it at all.

 

“Fine. But you’re paying if he has a fender bender in the company van.”

 

“Of course I will.”

 

That maddening smile. Kyungsoo’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his pen harder than he had to.

 

“Park Chanyeol!” Kyungsoo’s voice carried over meters of floor space and the man at the window turned around with a dimpled grin. Kyungsoo sighed. He could already hear the distant sounds of plates and cups breaking on his hardwood floor.

 

 

t’is the season to be jolly

 

 

“I look ridiculous. I refuse to wear that stupid hat let alone serve customers with the damned thing on my head,” Kyungsoo’s expression was mutinous as Jongin approached the counter.

 

“But it’s Christmas. We need more Yuletide spirit in here,” Jongin stopped walking, his progress halted by the counter between them. He'd been coming in and out of this store Mondays through Saturdays for almost two weeks now, and it never ceased to amaze him how someone as small-built as Kyungsoo could project the presence of someone at least twice his size. And although it wasn't in Kyungsoo's personality to do so intentionally, he still managed to smolder in his crisp, pin striped barista apron which ended below the knee. His sweaters were always dark and the sleeve cuffs were always pushed up to the elbow (the sober colors seemed to reflect his less than sunny disposition and this amused Jongin for some reason).

 

"Look at how cute Sehun, Chanyeol and Yixing look in theirs." Yixing was the second dark-haired waiter they'd hired and he was a hard worker who was as quiet as Chanyeol was noisy; but when he decided to say anything it was always pithy and hard hitting. His reserved nature somehow complemented his dimples and clean-cut handsomeness perfectly.

 

"Good for them. I. Am. Not. Cute. Not even remotely, and I am not wearing that dumb hat. Also, how much more Yuletide spirit can this shop take, anyway?” Kyungsoo waved his hand through the air, indicating the Christmas wreaths and stockings that bedecked the shop, and the dwarf Christmas tree winking away in the corner, strung with fairy lights, baubles and glittery red and green tartan bows.

 

"We just need everyone to wear scarlet Santa hats to complete the look. Go on? Just try it on for a second and if it's not horrible, keep it on. Nothing to lose, right?"

 

"I —"

 

"Please?"

 

"One second. That's all. Don’t even ask for more.”

 

"Noted!" Jongin grinned as he stretched the brim of the cap and fit it carefully over Kyungsoo's wide forehead, his fingertips inadvertently brushing the smooth skin and setting off warm tingles that crept slowly down his arms.

 

“You look dashing!" And Jongin meant it with all his heart. Kyungsoo’s lips were pursed and he looked terribly cross at having to undergo the indignity of wearing the bright red cap with the white pom-pom on the tip.

 

"Boss, you look A+ in that hat. Let me take a photo of you and Jongin with your caps. You can post it on your instagram – it’ll be cool,” Chanyeol bounded up excitedly. Having Chanyeol in the shop was like having a cup of sunshine in your midst, the contents occasionally spilling over and infecting everyone with good cheer.

 

Even the slightly morose Sehun was not entirely immune to Chanyeol’s charms, which was a good thing because Chanyeol seemed to be nurturing a huge crush on Jongin’s assistant. He was always offering to give Sehun a lift home or asking him to share his packed lunch; and he often popped up in the kitchen to offer help when things were quiet outside.

 

“What the hell would I do with an instagram account?!” Kyungsoo asked scornfully.

 

“I don’t have one either,” Jongin chuckled, delighted by Kyungsoo’s look of sheer disgust.

 

“Um, never mind, I’ll just take the photo and KKT it to you. Come on, it’ll be fun, boss. And don’t forget to aegyo when I say 3-2-1, ok?” Chanyeol angled his phone and asked them to stand a little closer.

 

“I. Don’t. Do. Aegyo.” Kyungsoo’s expression was bordering on thunderous now.

 

“Everyone does aegyo!” Chanyeol said blithely and Jongin tried not to laugh as Kyungsoo told him where he could stuff his aegyo. As irrepressible as always though, Chanyeol tried to convince him one last time that he could be cute and Kyungsoo promptly gave him the finger. Shaking his head, Jongin wondered if Park Chanyeol had any sense of self preservation.

 

ღ ღ ღ

 

The photo had turned out well in the end, and Jongin thought they both made rather handsome Santa elves – even if Kyungsoo looked like the elf named Grumpy (he had been dead serious about his no-aegyo policy). Jongin was so pleased that he'd managed to sneak his arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulder just before Chanyeol snapped the photograph.

 

We look good together, Jongin smiled as he added the final touches to the croquembouche in front of him. He’d assembled five of these profiterole towers for a swanky Christmas gala in Gangnam. All he needed to do now was to dribble hot caramel on the the towers with some help from Sehun, and Chanyeol could deliver the five croquembroches, 100 coffee-coated eclairs as well as the 100 madeleines Sehun had dusted with icing sugar earlier in the afternoon.

 

Jongin’s new assistant had proven himself to be a quick study with his passion for creating pastries, agile fingers and a flair for the dramatic when it came to decorating desserts. He had a decent mastery of the basics after years spent in his mother's kitchen as a hands-on helper, so he was an adept learner who soaked up the skills Jongin imparted with impressive speed. Taking into account all these factors plus his supertaster abilities, Oh Sehun was shaping up to be the perfect apprentice.

 

It was no surprise to anyone when the pastries began flying off the shelves a week after Jongin got his kitchen set up and his baking mojo flowing, and Sweet Nothings was soon bustling with customers, young and old. To Jongin's amusement, the pâtisserie was frequented by pockets of giddy schoolgirls and schoolboys who came here to gawk at the good looking waiters and assistant pâtissier (the glass wall between the kitchen and the shop providing a convenient viewing gallery) as much as they came here to enjoy Jongin's pastries and Kyungsoo's coffee.

 

Truly, everything was flowing nicely in the kitchen with only the occasional mishaps. Well, and the occasional outburst from Kyungsoo – usually about expenses on gourmet ingredients. Kyungsoo could be … quite vocal. He had been vocal just that morning, in fact.

 

“You’re bankrupting me with all these fancy imported ingredients! Pure Irish butter! Chocolate blossom curls! Mexican vanilla extract! What’s wrong with the stuff we get locally? It’s perfectly serviceable and hella lot cheaper!”

 

“But Kyungsoo, I need premium ingredients to make magical desserts – desserts which give people that little slice of heaven that makes them forget all the dark things in their lives ... even if it’s just for a little while. Something that gives them a pinch of hope or a dash of happiness.” Kyungsoo had given him a funny look when he’d said pinch of hope and Jongin just couldn’t figure out why.

 

“All your premium ingredients are so bloody expensive they’re not giving me any hope or happiness. They're just giving me an aneurysm!” He was practically shouting and waving his fist in fury - all the emotional exertion making his translucent skin glow with an agitated pink blush.

 

“Please don’t get an aneurysm because I have another three invoices for you.” Almost sheepishly, Jongin handed them over and Kyungsoo went on another tirade about how Jongin was bankrupting the pâtisserie and they’d all be jobless. To which Jongin calmly pointed out that it was highly improbable they were making losses, given the sheer number of walk-in customers who dined at the pâtisserie and the even greater number who came inside only to buy baked goods.

 

"These fancy imported ingredients will bring in the customers to keep us afloat, you'll see, Kyungsoo. But let's not talk about bills now. Won't you try some of this tarte au citron meringuée?"

 

"It's sweet," he said accusingly, his eyes suspicious.

 

"Well only the meringue is sweet and we can take that right off.” Jongin winced a little as he pried the delicate whorls of sugary egg white off the layer of lemony custard.

 

"No, thank you. I said my goodbye to desserts years ago.”

 

“The custard is tangy and tart and the pastry is buttery and more salty than sweet. I’ve wasted an entire meringue on you, the least you could do is have mouthful, Do Kyungsoo?”

 

“But, sugar—" he protested.

 

“I just removed 93% of the sugar. I swear you won’t drop dead if you take a bite of this.” Jongin offered him a dessert fork and after staring at it for a few seconds like it was some evil talisman, Kyungsoo took it, albeit reluctantly. Very reluctantly.

 

"Don't get pissy if I need to take an umeboshi afterwards. I'm not making any promises."

 

"I don't expect any and I won't get pissy."

 

"Okay then," Kyungsoo said warily just before he tried a forkful of tarte au citron (because it was just tarte au citron now that the meringue lay forlornly on another plate, exiled and abandoned).

 

"Well?"

 

"It's ... palatable, I suppose. I'll need to take a few more mouthfuls before I'm sure I don't hate it," Kyungsoo grumbled and Jongin couldn't help laughing. He was such a prideful man! This should have made Do Kyungsoo less attractive to Jongin but sadly, it only seemed to add to his appeal.

 

“Why do you hate sweet things so much?" Jongin asked, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

 

"I ... don't talk about that," the fork clattered loudly, steel against white porcelain.

 

"I didn't mean to intrude, Kyungsoo. I—"

 

"I have to take care of those invoices," he stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping the floor harshly.

 

And just like that, Jongin found himself alone in the room.

 

ღ ღ ღ

 

“How are you spending your Christmas, Jongin?” Sehun asked absent-mindedly as he iced some buttons onto a snowman sugar cookie. All through the day, they’d baked and iced trays and trays of gingerbread men and sugar cookies shaped like santas and snowmen, while Chanyeol and Yixing packed the cooled cookies into pretty mason jars decorated with festive Christmas ribbons of red and gold organza.  

 

“I’ll be heading back to Daejeon on Wednesday morning so I’ll be home in time to help with Christmas Eve dinner preparations. It’s kinda like a family tradition – me, my mom and my two older sisters cook dinner together.”

 

“But what about your dad? and are there any brothers or brothers in law?”

 

“One brother in law but he can’t even fry an egg without burning it and my dad is the same so they’re forever banished from the kitchen,” Jongin chuckled as he gave his snowman eyes and a smile. “They do all the washing up after dinner while we put our feet up and have a few glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon. Or Chardonnay if we have roast turkey instead of roast lamb. What about you two?” he directed the question at Chanyeol and Sehun, who were in the kitchen with him and they both described huge, noisy family dinners involving epic amounts of food.  

 

Jongin wanted to ask Yixing and Kyungsoo what they’d be doing for Christmas but they were manning the bustling storefront. Jongin’s pastries were in fierce demand for the Christmas season and Kyungsoo had even stopped exploding over the escalating costs of premium ingredients. Actually, Kyungsoo seemed to have been avoiding him a little since the time he’d tried the tarte au citron. Despite all the non-stop work, Jongin’s days felt a little emptier without Kyungsoo’s tirades.

 

“I wonder how Yixing and Kyungsoo will spend Christmas?” Jongin pondered aloud.

 

“Yixing said he’s having dinner in Chinatown with some of his buddies, Zitao, Lu Han, Victoria, Zhoumi and Yifan,” Chanyeol offered helpfully.

 

“And … Kyungsoo?”

 

“Ah well, Kyungsoo’s from a really, really rich family but his mom kinda left when he was a teenager. So he probably won’t be having the exact same kind of Christmas Eve dinner we’ll be having. He's technically a chaebol. Not that you could tell from that battered Mini Cooper he drives or the lack of designer anything he wears.”

 

“Who’s your source, Park Chanyeol? Are you sure that’s even true?” Sehun sounded very skeptical.  

 

“His first cousin Jongdae is my middle school homeroom bestie. When I first told Jongdae I got this job he was like hey, that’s my cousin Kyungsoo’s place. And I went, he’s nothing like you, he’s so intimidating. And Jongdae said he was glad that Kyungsoo could be intimidating now and I was like dude, that’s a really weird thing to say. So he told me about the time when Kyungsoo was in middle school – when he was 12 or 13 – and his mom left. No one knew why she left, but Kyungsoo hardly said a word for six months after that. And the cousins asked if he was okay and if they could help and all he said was I don’t talk about that. And then one day, he just started talking again but he wasn’t quite the same. A lot more serious and quiet. His dad didn’t quite know what to do with him, but they’re really rich so he kept buying stuff for Kyungsoo. Kinda like to make up for not having a mom anymore? That’s what Jongdae thinks anyway.”

 

“Was he really upset when she left?” Sehun asked as he used tongs to transfer cookies into a mason jar.   

 

“Well, he didn’t speak much for six months, I guess? But he acted like 'his mom had never been around more than he acted like she’d left'. Does that make sense? I’m quoting Jongdae because I don’t even really know what that means.”

 

“I think … we should get back to work,” Jongin said firmly. It wasn’t right of them to be talking about Kyungsoo without his knowledge and the other two men nodded awkwardly and got busy straight away.

 

For the rest of the day, Jongin was haunted by the words I don’t talk about that … It was like a ghostly refrain he couldn’t shake off.  

 

ღ ღ ღ

 

“Merry Christmas, Oh Sehun!” Chanyeol yelled just before he held a plastic sprig of mistletoe over both their heads and kissed a stunned and embarrassed Sehun on the cheek.

 

“Chanyeol, what the hell?!” Sehun shoved him away. Chanyeol made it more than obvious that he adored Sehun but the latter seemed determined to keep his distance. For now at least. Kyungsoo could see the flames in Sehun’s cheeks and the tips of his ears and he knew all that color wasn’t due to indignation. He would be very much surprised if they weren’t dating by mid-January.

 

“You should just ask him out, Park Chanyeol. That would probably be more effective and less grade school than kissing the dude in front of all of us,” Yixing commented from across the room.

 

“I’m not going out with this idiot,” Sehun grimaced as he zipped up his olive green hooded parka.

 

“Just one date!” Chanyeol implored as he donned his own winter parka and wrapped a bright blue scarf around his neck.

 

“Depends on whether you’re buying dinner,” Sehun said wryly and Chanyeol assured him he was. Then the three junior employees of Sweet Nothings were wishing Kyungsoo and Jongin Merry Christmas! See you on the 27th! and walking out into the night in an ebullient cloud of laughter and noise.

 

“I thought they’d never leave.” The chocolatey voice came from behind him, flowing over his senses, spreading a comforting warmth.

 

"Have a safe journey home," Kyungsoo turned to face him and instantly regretted it. He’d had three weeks to get used to having Jongin around, but most days he still looked at him and couldn’t quite cope with how beautiful he was. He enjoyed watching him bake. He liked the slightly bemused smile Jongin always had on his face when Kyungsoo started yelling at him about how he was bankrupting him. He enjoyed the late morning coffee breaks they sometimes shared when there was a lull in the shop - in that brief window between brunch and lunch. Jongin usually wanted café au lait, and Kyungsoo made it for him with a spoonful of raw sugar.

 

On café au lait days, they talked about everything from work to where to buy the best jazz CDs to what they had for dinner the night before. But on days where Jongin hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep and yawned incessantly, Kyungsoo would make him something stronger – an un café express and Jongin would take the tiny cup and take grateful sips while his brain and body tried to revive from the previous night's abuses. The culprit was usually a case of Jongin trying to convert a 'spark' into a workable recipe.

 

And aside from all the little things they did together from day to day, there was the fact that Kyungsoo had very much liked the way Jongin’s fingertips had felt against his skin, cool and dry against his forehead as he’d pulled that dumb santa hat on. Cool hands make better pastry, Jongin had told him once, and his fingertips were cool in the most soothing way.  

 

"What will you do on Christmas Eve?" Jongin was standing right in front of him now and tendrils of faded citrus and the faint smell of butter and sweet things wafted gently off him; and Kyungsoo just wanted to let go of everything for a few minutes and just rest his cheek on Jongin’s shoulder … just for a few minutes. But of course he couldn’t. Wouldnt.

 

"The usual. Dinner at my grandma's."

 

“Maybe this will help keep you warm when you’re out in the open?” Jongin sounded almost shy; he had seen so many facets of Jongin in recent weeks but he had never seen his shy side. Jongin had something in his hands. A scarf of rich red wool, ribbed and thick. It looked so inviting.

 

“Is this a gift, Jongin?”

 

“It is,” he smiled and Kyungsoo felt something warm unfurl and spread through his chest. “I only finished knitting it last night though, so it’s a little rough around the edges. I didn’t even have time to wrap it.”

 

“It looks perfect to me. I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I feel bad.”

 

“Don’t! We never discussed exchanging gifts and the past week has been crazy busy. But Kyungsoo, would you mind very much if–”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’d like to see how the scarf looks on you,” he finally got the words out and Kyungsoo nodded slowly, feeling very much like he was caught in a magical bubble of Jongin’s making – a bubble he had no hope of escaping. Before he could take the folded red knit himself, Jongin reached forward and draped the long scarf around his neck. Winding it round and round, Jongin's eyes were intense as he watched Kyungsoo the whole time. His neck felt all warm and he knew it wasn’t just from the insulation the layers of wool provided. And for the briefest of insane moments, Kyungsoo felt an urge to hold up Chanyeol's discarded mistletoe and kiss Kim Jongin on the lips.

 

“How do I look?” his voice shook a little and he hoped Jongin wouldn't notice.

 

“You look so handsome in red.” Jongin arranged the coils of fabric with elegant fingers.

 

“How do you even know how to knit?”

 

“When I was growing up, my sisters and I used to spend three weeks in summer with my grandma. She lived in Incheon and didn’t want to move out to Daejeon with us, so every year, we grandkids would go live with her for a bit. She had no wifi and refused to get any so we got to do all kinds of other stuff at her place. Read old books from the collection on her shelf, help her in the garden, and she taught us how to bake – well, mostly me because my sisters weren’t really interested. She made sure I knew how to knit as well because you never know when you might have to knit a scarf for that special someone, Jonginnie.”    

 

“Have you knit a lot of scarves?” Kyungsoo asked the question even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

 

“Just a handful.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“But only one of them wasn’t for me,” he smiled and suddenly his fingers were wrapped around Kyungsoo’s, “I don’t know where Chanyeol threw that mistletoe but Merry Christmas, Do Kyungsoo.” And Jongin leaned over, kissing him on the right cheek with lips that were warm and plush.

 

“I–” Too stunned to speak, Kyungsoo just stared at Jongin as he gently detached his fingers from Kyungsoo’s.

 

“I have to go now because I’m late for a meet up with friends, but promise me you’ll wear the scarf at least once.”

 

“I will,” Kyungsoo promised.

 

“See you on the 27th. Think of me when you wear the scarf.” Jongin said brightly before giving Kyungsoo a quick hug. Then he was putting on his parka, wrapping his green scarf around his neck and walking out the door, the brass bell clanging above him.

 

As the jarring sound gradually faded to nothing, Kyungsoo was overwhelmed by the silence in the shop. Feeling very much alone all of a sudden, he rubbed the scarf between his fingertips … and tried not to think of Jongin.

 

 

A new year is like a blank book. The pen is in your hands.

 

 

Jongin brushed a few flecks of snow off his sweater front, hoping it wasn’t too much that he’d worn the gift Kyungsoo had given him just a few days before. When he’d returned to work on the 27th, Jongin had found an expensive looking white box with a discreet pewter bow on his work table. Inside, nestled among folds of gossamer tissue, was a soft cashmere sweater of the palest grey. A small white gift card with neat handwriting was stuck on the inside of the lid: Sorry this is late. I have no idea whether you like grey. The card was unsigned but the handwriting was unmistakable. He’d been trying to thank Kyungsoo for the gift since then, but his quarry had somehow managed to elude him for five consecutive days – which was no mean feat given how small the pâtisserie was.  

 

"Just a minute!" Kyungsoo’s voice called out, followed by a series of shrill beeps and then the door was opening.

 

"Hi. I hope this isn't a bad time. I know it’s after ten and I should have called … but I saw your light on and hoped you might be home."

 

"Jongin, hi. I didn’t think I’d see you till Friday. Why aren't you out with friends?"

 

"I could have gotten all dressed up and gone out, I guess, but I was in the mood for a quiet night. Well, a quiet night but I didn't want to watch the fireworks on my own or wish myself happy new year at midnight," Jongin gave a self-deprecating laugh.

 

"I do it all the time. Watch the fireworks on my own and wish myself happy new year, I mean," he said and they both laughed a little awkwardly.

 

"Can I come in, Kyungsoo? I really like this sweater you gave me, but it's not going to keep me warm much longer. The draught in your corridor is really something."

 

"Oh God, sorry! Yes, please come in," Kyungsoo stepped back and Jongin walked through. Kyungsoo’s apartment was the epitome of understated elegance, and in many ways, it resembled Jongin’s own apartment with its muted masculine colors, cosy leather sofas and soft carpeting.

 

“Thank you for the sweater. You didn’t have to, Kyungsoo, I wasn’t expecting anything.”

 

“But I wanted to. You look good in grey.”

 

Jongin sighed. Why were they being so awkward with each other?  

 

“You’ve been avoiding me since Christmas.”

 

“I might have,” Kyungsoo dragged his hand through his hair with a heavy sigh.

 

“I’m sorry if I was out of line with the mistletoe … and the other thing. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

 

“It would have been a hella lot easier if you'd only upset me then I would just have yelled at you and gotten it out of my system.”

 

“Would it help if I hugged you again? It might neutralize the first hug?”

 

“NO!” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows shot up frantically.

 

“It was worth a shot!” Jongin laughed, relief trickling through his veins, “I have some yangnyeom fried chicken if you have some beer? I didn’t bring anything sweet, I promise.” He held up the plastic bag with the paper takeaway box like it was a peace offering.

 

“I have beer,” Kyungsoo took the bag from him with a sort of half smile – which was pretty much as good as it got with Kyungsoo so Jongin knew they’d be okay.

 

ღ ღ ღ

 

Finespun white flakes came swirling down like delicate, feathery rain and Kyungsoo reached his palm out to catch a few. He'd always loved the snow and he remembered, suddenly, that Jongin had brought the first snow of winter with him the day he'd walked into the pâtisserie twelve minutes late, with his notebook in hand.

 

Has it only been three weeks?

 

They were leaning against the rail of the balcony, tummies replete and warm with fried chicken and Cass beer. It was far too cold to be sitting out in the open and puffs of white cloud filled the air from time to time as the the two men chatted. They should really go inside, Kyungsoo thought, his fingers stinging from the biting cold. But it was almost midnight, and in a matter of minutes, the sky would be ablaze with color. He shivered again and the next thing he knew, Jongin had taken his hand in his and it inside his fleece-lined jacket pocket. A protest lay poised on the tip of his tongue, but Kyungsoo swallowed it down because in the end, he couldn’t part with Jongin’s warmth.

 

Jongin’s fingers filled the spaces between Kyungsoo’s, curling around the back of his palm but he didn’t say anything. Maybe like him, Jongin was afraid that if he said anything it would break the spell? So they just stood silently beside each other and watched as snowflakes dusted and coated Seoul with a thick layer of icing sugar. People were shouting and singing in the streets and the apartments nearby - some sober and some clearly intoxicated. It was like any other New Year’s Eve Kyungsoo had spent out on his balcony alone, except … his hand was cradled in a calloused one and his body stood beside another, shoulders pressing comfortably into each other. Much was the same, yet so much more was utterly different.

 

“It’s almost time. Everyone’s starting the countdown,” Jongin pulled their linked hands out of his pocket, holding on and and not letting go.

 

“7-6-5-4-” Together, they shouted out the numbers, “3-2-1, HAPPY NEW YEAR!” And it seemed like the most natural thing in the world when Jongin’s arms reached around him and pulled him close, their foreheads touching as Jongin whispered, “Happy New Year, Kyungsoo.” Then Jongin was angling his head slightly, his lips moving gently over Kyungsoo’s and his fingers gripping the collar of Kyungsoo’s parka.

 

“Happy New Year, Jongin,” he whispered as he kissed him back.

 

Neither of them even noticed as vivid reds and golds, whites, purples and greens exploded and and splashed across the inky canvas of Seoul’s night sky.

 

ღ ღ ღ

 

It was warm and toasty in the apartment and Jongin and Kyungsoo sat on the tan leather sofa with their feet propped up on a matching ottoman. The heating was on so their parkas hung neatly in the hall closet while they huddled comfortably under the appliqué lap quilt Kyungsoo's grandmother had given him two Christmases ago.

 

"I hope you’ll tell me one day, why you don't like sweet things,” Jongin said softly as he played with Kyungsoo’s fingers.

 

“It’s not really something I’ve ever talked about. Not with anyone.”

 

“I’m not saying you have to tell me, but it would mean a lot to me if you did. Someday,” his thumb lightly the inside of Kyungsoo’s wrist.

 

“It’s a new year.”

 

“Yes it is,” Jongin smiled encouragingly.

 

“Maybe it’s time I laid this old thing to rest.” Kyungsoo tried to sound calm and unaffected when he was filled with the worst kind of dread. He’d never tried to articulate this story; what if he couldn’t get it out, couldn’t face his demons? It was such a long time ago, why am I such a mess?

 

“I’m listening,” Jongin continued to his wrist, and somehow that helped. Jongin’s touch made him feel less like he was drowning somehow.

 

“When I was a kid, I really liked eating cake and sweet buns. And my mom used to get fresh ones from the bakery every day. They’d be waiting for me on the table when I got home from school - all arranged on a plate. You know, one of those expensive porcelain ones with a gold border around them because my parents liked expensive things and they could afford them. She used to cover the plate with a glass cake dome so I could take one look and see what treats she’d bought me that day. I usually started on one of the treats before I went looking for her. We had a driver who drove me to and from school so my parents didn’t have to do any of that. Everyone always wondered why we had a driver but no live-in maid.” Kyungsoo had to stop telling his story for a while, so he could catch his breath, and force down the rising panic that threatened to choke him as he began to relive the images of that afternoon.

 

“It’s okay if you want to stop, Kyungsoo,” Jongin curled a protective arm around his shoulder.

 

‘No. I — I need to do this. It’s been too long and I need to get it out of my system.”

 

“Okay. So you were saying your driver took you home from school?”

 

“Yeah, I was 12 when the thing happened. That day, I developed a fever when I was in school, so they called my dad, and he got our driver Janghyuk to pick me up from school. I got home two hours earlier than usual and let myself into the house. We only had someone come in to clean the house in the mornings so I still needed my own house key — for days when my mom wasn’t home when I got back from school. I went to check out my treats, because that was always the first thing I did when I got home from school. I took a bite of chocolate eclair first because I didn’t want to risk my mom telling me I couldn’t have any desserts because I had a fever. Then I went to look for my mom and I heard some sound coming from her bedroom. The door wasn’t shut all the way so I knocked and then I pushed it open,” and he had to stop again — to breathe. This time, Jongin shifted Kyungsoo so his head lay on his lap while Jongin's arm curved across his chest.

 

"What did you see, Kyungsoo?"

 

"I saw a man and woman in bed together ... but here’s the thing. One of them was my mother … but the other was not my father.”

 

“What happened next?” Jongin asked as he Kyungsoo’s hair in slow, soothing .

 

“They finally realized they were no longer alone in the room. The look of horror and shame on my mother’s face when she saw me standing there. I don’t think I will ever forget it. That’s when I remembered the chocolate eclair in my mouth and it was intensely bitter on my tongue. I ran out of the room and threw up everything I’d eaten in the nearest toilet. Ever since that incident, sweet things are always bitter for me. Every single time.”

 

“Oh, Kyungsoo. I’m not even sure how to make things better, but thank you. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

 

“It’s a relief, to be honest. I feel … lighter — now that I’ve had a chance to finally release that secret into the world. It’s been a burden carrying it alone all these years.” And Kyungsoo realized it was true; his chest felt less congested than it usually did when he thought of the past.

 

“Where’s your mom now? Did you ever see her again?”

 

“Not till I was 20; my dad wouldn’t allow it. We see each other about twice a year, I guess. Sometimes she gives me boxes of chocolates or cake when we meet up. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I just can’t with sweet things anymore.”

 

Jongin didn’t say anything more as he drew Kyungsoo into his arms and just held him. And it was enough, Kyungsoo realized. It was enough.

 

 

epilogue: a pinch of love

 

“Yah! This is a workplace, dammit! Save your public displays of affection for after you’ve finished your damned shifts for God's sake!” Kyungsoo’s voice was like a thunderclap as he caught Chanyeol giving Sehun a clandestine kiss on the cheek when he thought his boss wasn’t looking. In mid January, there had been a huge shipment of supplies and Yixing had called in sick so Chanyeol and Sehun had been assigned with putting away the things away in the storeroom, They had emerged ten minutes later with swollen lips and tousled hair, leaving no doubt as to what they'd been up to. Since that day they had been quite affectionate with each other when they thought no one was watching, much to Kyungsoo’s disgust and Jongin’s amusement.

 

The two weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day or Red Day as they called it in this part of the world had been pure madness. On Red Day, girls and women were traditionally supposed to give chocolates to boys and men they admired so Jongin and Sehun had made staggering amounts of handmade pralines and truffles to cater for that tradition. The patisserie was b over with a pretty selection of heart shaped cookies, frosted cupcakes, mini strawberry shortcakes and palmiers. And the shop counter now held large, foot high glass jars filled with delicate macarons in vibrant and feminine shades of pink, fuschia, and red. Sweet Nothings was ready for tomorrow’s Red Day onslaught and Chanyeol, Sehun and Yixing had left just minutes ago, all yawns and sleepy goodbyes. Exhausted, Jongin flopped onto the surface of his clean work table, cheek on folded arm.

 

“I thought they’d never leave,” the rich whisky voice was like a balm to his senses and Jongin could feel the corners of his mouth lifting in spite of his fatigue. Then he sighed contentedly as Kyungsoo massaged his shoulders for the next few minutes.

 

“Jongin?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for the longest time but I keep getting sidetracked,” Kyungsoo said as he kneaded the knotted muscles of Jongin’s tired shoulders.    

 

“Ask me now. You have my undivided attention.”

 

“That time you came for the interview? I saw something I couldn’t explain,”

 

“Hmm?” Jongin thought and he thought but he couldn’t imagine what Kyungsoo might be referring to.

 

“When I was watching you make the frangipane tart, I saw the words pinch of hope in your recipe notebook. And I saw you put something in the tart that looked like sparkles of golden light and it’s all too implausible and I must have been seeing things, right?”

 

“Well, actually, you weren’t seeing things and that was amber colored light you saw because amber is the color of hope.”

 

“Is it magic? I’ve never believed in magic but I saw all that golden light I couldn’t rationalize.”

 

“I suppose you could say it’s a little bit like magic but it isn’t powerful magic and it can only be used very sparingly - to add a little something to a dessert like hope, happiness and love. These are emotions that make a person feel good about themselves and forget, for just a little while, about all the bad things in life.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kyungsoo was trying to hide it, but Jongin could tell he felt a bit hurt.

 

“I couldn’t. We’re not allowed to tell people on our own. But if someone we trust asks us, we can tell them.”

 

“So you trust me, huh?” Kyungsoo teased, as his thumb to wiped some flour off Jongin’s cheek.

 

“Yes, Kyungsoo, I do.” Jongin said confidently just before he kissed him.

 

“Where does the magic come from?”

 

“From here.” Jongin stuck his hand inside his collar and fished out the topaz pendant he’d worn against his skin since he was 15 years old — when his grandma had decided that he would inherit the family heirloom and magic because his noonas didn’t show the aptitude or inclination.  

 

“It’s a cube.”

 

“It’s supposed to be a sugar crystal, do you see? Because it only works when you make sweet desserts.”

 

“Interesting. Will you tell me more about it another night? Because there’s something I have to give you before it goes cold. Just wait, ok?” And he disappeared through the kitchen doors before returning with a coffee cup held carefully in his hands.

 

“You made me a café au lait with pawprints in it?” Jongin raised a quizzical eyebrow.

 

“Don’t make me explain, Jongin, please. I don’t know how to be a romantic guy who whispers sweet nothings to the object of his affections. I don’t know anything about hearts or I love yous.”

 

“Object of … Kyungsoo, are you confessing or something?”

 

“There’s no need to make a big deal about it.” The palest blush of rose was staining his cheeks now.

 

“So the paw-prints ... what do they mean?” Jongin placed a clear dish on the steel top work table.

 

“Are you really going to make me do this?” Kyungsoo sighed, pressing the back of his head against his forehead.  

 

“Humor me.” And gently, Jongin removed Kyungsoo’s hand so he could see his eyes unhindered. Instead of letting his hand drop though, Jongin held it lightly in the curve of his own. He held it like it was a fragile feather, like he was scared Kyungsoo would be spooked and withdraw it if Jongin held on more firmly.

 

“You left footprints, okay? On my heart, Jongin. You left footprints on my heart. And this is my clumsy way of showing you. Just a silly Red Day gift. But it’s the first time I’ve ever given anyone anything on Red Day so go easy on the sarcasm.”

 

“But these are paw-prints,” Jongin said softly as his fingers trailed over Kyungsoo’s jaw the way they used to flow over piano keys when he had lessons as a young boy. Pianissimo, Jongin, very very softly. Make your fingertips flow over the keys like autumn leaves dancing the breeze. Slowly, Kyungsoo’s eyelids closed and Jongin heard the quietest of sighs. Pianissimo, he whispered in his head as his fingers explored the pale smoothness of Kyungsoo’s cheek.

 

“Won’t you tell me why there are paw-prints instead of footprints, Kyungsoo?”

 

“Footprints looked unhygienic somehow,” Kyungsoo finally admitted and Jongin laughed. Of all the reasons he’d expected for having paw-prints on his coffee, this hadn’t been one of them. But it was so anti-romantic and so classic Kyungsoo that he couldn’t help but love it.

 

“Are you laughing at me?” Kyungsoo squinted.

 

“Only a little. I love the paw-prints. And I’m so glad I managed to force my way into your heart enough to leave a mark,” he reached for the café au lait Kyungsoo had prepared specially for him and took a careful sip. It was aromatic, smooth and delicately sweetened. Just the way Jongin liked it and Kyungsoo always got it perfectly right.

 

“Mmm …” Jongin closed his eyes in bliss. And seconds later, warm lips covered his own coffee-laced ones. Kyungsoo’s touch was firm as his mouth moved confidently over Jongin’s, his tongue probing gently, seeking permission. There was no hesitation as Jongin let him in and their tongues mingled in the sweetest of kisses.    

 

“I forgot there was sugar in your coffee,” Kyungsoo sounded almost surprised.

 

“Oh God, was the kiss bitter for you? Was it awful?”

 

“Actually, the coffee tasted only slightly bitter. It was mostly … sweet. You tasted sweet, Jongin.”

 

“Wait, so it wasn’t 100% bitter like usual?”

 

“No!” And Kyungsoo hugged him, his happy laugh vibrating against Jongin’s neck. Then they were exchanging tender, lingering kisses that were so, so much more than Jongin had ever hoped for from the bad-tempered man he’d met exactly two and half months ago. Perhaps the kiss had made a new memory that cancelled out the earlier one – the one that had haunted Kyungsoo all these years, the one that had made every sweet thing that passed his lips turn bitter.

 

“I made something for you too,” Jongin said, and he disentangled himself from Kyungsoo’s arms and reached for one of the rich, dark chocolate pralines, decorated with elegant, fine swirls of lighter colored milk chocolate.  

 

“What magic thing did you put in this? You know, with your magic sugar cube?”

 

“Don’t laugh but I added love — a pinch of love,” Jongin admitted, the tips of his ears pink with embarrassment.

 

“What color are the sparkles for love?”

 

“Red. Because rubies symbolize love and opening your heart.”

 

“Jongin, are you confessing or something?”

 

“MAYBE,” Jongin laughed, “Now try the damned chocolate because I worked really hard to make it. It’s the most extra special truffle I’ve ever made.”

 

“I used to love chocolates. Before … you know.”

 

“I hope you’ll love them again,” Jongin fed him the handmade truffle and watched and waited. Seconds later, Kyungsoo was with gastronomic bliss as the flavors took hold of him.

 

“You’re not going to spit it out, are you?” Jongin chuckled.

 

“No!”

 

“You’re not going to eat an umeboshi to wash away the taste?”

 

“No, Jongin! I’m not going to spit it out and I’m not going to eat a pickled plum. What I’m going to do,” Kyungsoo drew Jongin close to him so their noses were touching, “what I’m going to do is kiss the chef,” and his lips slid over Jongin’s in a possessive kiss. Kyungsoo smelt better than any pastry Jongin had ever smelt and tasted sweeter, he thought as his limbs dissolved into Kyungsoo’s embrace.

 

The spring rains had yet to arrive but Kyungsoo had learned to love sweet things again. Just like magic.

 

 

FIN~