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Seungcheol checked his phone for the third time in the last ten minutes. No new messages. No new missed calls.
He had told Joshua this was a bad idea. He wasn’t interested in dating, wasn’t looking for anything serious. And yet, here he was.
He sighs and leans back in his chair, glancing around the bakery. Couples sitting at every table, sharing pastries and whispering conversations. He never cared about Valentine’s day, but sitting alone in the middle of it made him feel lonely.
He didn't know how he accepted this, maybe because his best friend insisted that “A little romance wouldn't kill him” Or maybe—Just maybe— because some small part of him wondered if this time, he would feel different.
But clearly, it wasn't meant to be.
The chair in front of him remained empty, a soft confirmation of his current situation of what he already knew. His untouched coffee got colder and colder as the time passed by. He drummed his fingers against the table, debating whether to wait a little longer or accept that no one was coming.
He could leave now —He should leave now— There was no point in waiting anymore like a lovesick idiot looking for a miracle. And yet something kept him rooted to the spot.Maybe was the warmth of the bakery, the soft hum of the chatter around him or the faint smell of vanilla in the air. Or maybe was the simple fact that leaving would be admitting that his afternoon had been a waste.
So he stayed.
He stayed until the bakery got empty.
The quiet clatter of plates and the soft whirring of the espresso machine were the only sounds left in the bakery. The once lively chatter has faded out as the last customers left, leaving Seungcheol alone at his table.
He wasn't sure why he was still here. Maybe he was waiting for his pride to catch up, to finally push him out of the door. Maybe he was too stubborn to accept that his night has turned out exactly how he expected.
But a voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“You know, if you sit here any longer, I'm gonna start charging you rent.”
Seungcheol blinked, looking up. Standing near his table was a man with flour-dusted hands and an apron loosely tied around his waist. His blonde hair was slightly tousled, probably for a long day of work, and the faintest face he has ever looked at.
Seungcheol choked softly while shaking his head. “Is that a policy here?”
“New one,” the man replied easily “Just for you”
Seungcheol glanced around, realizing how empty the place had become. The chairs were stacked on a few tables, and the warm glow of the overhead lights made the bakery feel even smaller, cozier.
“…Sorry. Didn’t realize how late it was.”
The man didn’t look particularly bothered. He just shrugged, slipping into the empty chair across from him, the same one Seungcheol had been staring at all evening.
“Blind date gone wrong?” he guessed.
Seungcheol huffed out a dry laugh. “More like no date at all.”
The man nodded like he had already figured as much. “Valentine’s Day can be brutal like that.” Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he added, “But, if you’re gonna get ditched, at least do it somewhere with a good dessert.”
Seungcheol smirked. “Are you saying your pastries are good enough to make up for a failed date?”
The man’s lips curved into a full smirk now. “I know they are.”
Seungcheol hadn’t planned on ordering anything else. But suddenly, leaving didn’t seem like the obvious choice anymore.
The long hair boy stood up, stretching slightly before nodding toward the counter. “Wait here.”
Seungcheol scoffed. “Didn’t even order anything.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said the baker over his shoulder, disappearing behind the counter.
Seungcheol could’ve left. The sensible thing would be to take the hint, go home, and forget about this night altogether. But instead, he stayed, watching as the boy moved around the bakery with practiced ease.
A few minutes later, he returned and set a plate in front of him—a slice of cake, simple but neatly decorated, with a fork resting beside it.
“On the house,” he said. “But only if you actually eat it.”
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “Are you pitying me?”
The boy smirked. “Maybe. Or maybe I just hate seeing perfectly good cakes go to waste.”
Seungcheol eyed the dessert for a moment before picking up the fork. The first bite melted in his mouth—sweet, but not overwhelming, balanced in a way that made him take a second bite without thinking.
The baker leaned back in his chair, watching him with mild amusement. “Must’ve been a crazy day for you,” Seungcheol said, nodding toward the counter piled with empty trays.
“You have no idea,” the boy huffed. “Valentine’s Day is great for business, but by the time it’s over, I’m running on caffeine and sheer willpower.”
Seungcheol glanced at him. “So why are you sitting here talking to me instead of locking up and going home?” The blonde shrugged, resting his chin on his hand. “Dunno. Maybe I felt bad for the guy who looked like he lost a bet with Cupid.”
Seungcheol scoffed. “That bad, huh?”
“Oh, definitely.” the baker smirked. “But hey, you’re still here. So, either you’re really bored, or I’m just that charming.”
Seungcheol rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Because for the first time that evening, he didn’t feel like leaving.
Seungcheol shook his head, exhaling a quiet laugh. “Charming, huh?” He stabbed his fork into the cake, taking another bite. “More like annoying.”
The blonde with dark eyes placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Wow. Insulting the guy who just gave you free dessert? That’s cold.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask for it.”
“And yet, you’re still eating it.” He tilted his head. “So, what does that say about you?”
Seungcheol didn’t have an answer for that—at least, not one that wouldn’t make the baker smirk even more than he already was. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, the quiet hum of the bakery filling the space. The overhead lights cast a soft glow over the empty tables, and the faint scent of vanilla still lingered in the air.
For the first time that night, Seungcheol didn’t mind being there.
He glanced up, watching as The fair-haired one absentmindedly wiped his hands on his flour-dusted apron. “So, this place… You own it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Opened it a couple of years ago. It’s small, but it keeps me busy.”
Seungcheol gestured toward the empty plates stacked near the counter. “Looks like business is good.”
“It is,” the owner said with a small smile. “Days like this are exhausting, but… seeing people come in, watching them enjoy something I made—it makes it worth it.”
Seungcheol hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “Sounds like you actually love what you do.”
He shrugged. “I do.” Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he added, “But don’t think that means I like working on Valentine’s Day. It’s hell.”
Seungcheol chuckled. “And yet, you stayed open late. Why? More business?”
The soft-haired one hesitated for a second before shrugging. “Something like that.”
There was something unreadable in his expression—something that made Seungcheol wonder if he was the reason the baker hadn’t locked up yet. But before he could overthink it, the baker stood up, stretching his arms over his head.
“Well, tragic love story aside,” he said, nodding toward Seungcheol’s plate, “you survived your night of abandonment. Congrats. Now, are you gonna leave, or do I need to kick you out?”
Seungcheol smirked, setting his fork down. “Kicking out paying customers isn’t exactly good business, you know.”
the owner laughed. “Please. You didn’t even pay for that cake.”
Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So, I guess I owe you one.”
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And how do you plan on paying me back?”
Seungcheol wasn’t sure why he said it—maybe it was the warmth of the bakery, maybe it was the exhaustion of the night catching up to him, or maybe, just maybe, it was something else entirely.
“Guess I’ll have to come back,” he said, meeting with the bolde boy's gaze.
For a moment, he looked surprised. Then, a slow smile spread across his lips. “Guess you will.”
Seungcheol didn’t know what he was expecting him to say, but the way he simply smirked, like he already knew Seungcheol would come back, left something unsettled in his chest.
He cleared his throat, glancing around the empty bakery. “You need help cleaning up?”
The baker raised an eyebrow, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “Are you offering?”
Seungcheol shrugged. “Figured I might as well do something to make up for the free cake.”
He let out a small laugh. “Tempting. But you look like the kind of guy who’d break more plates than he’d wash.”
Seungcheol scoffed, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “That’s offensive.”
“Is it wrong, though?”
He had no argument there. Instead, he pulled on his jacket and stretched, rolling out the stiffness in his shoulders. The night outside was probably freezing, but the warmth of the bakery still clung to him.
The baker watched him for a moment before speaking again, voice softer this time. “You really don’t care about Valentine’s Day?”
Seungcheol blinked at the question, caught off guard by the shift in tone. He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “Never really saw the point. Just another day, really.”
He hummed. “Figures.”
Seungcheol tilted his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The baker smirked, turning back toward the counter. “Nothing. Just seems like the kind of thing someone would say when they’ve never had a reason to care.”
The words stuck in Seungcheol’s mind longer than they should have. Maybe because they were true.
He had never cared about Valentine’s Day, never felt the urge to go all out for someone, never wanted to sit in a bakery and share overpriced chocolates like every other couple in the city.
But now, as Seungcheol stood there, watching him wipe down the counter, sleeves rolled up and hair slightly tousled from the long day, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—he had finally found a reason to care.
But that was a thought for another time.
“Alright,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you around, then.”
The gold-haired man glanced up. “Guess so.”
Seungcheol turned to leave, but before he could step out the door, the baker’s voice stopped him.
“Hey.”
He looked back, and the mysterious man had that same unreadable expression from earlier, something almost playful but not quite.
“You should try the strawberry tarts next time,” he said. “They’re my favorite.”
Seungcheol didn’t reply right away. He just held Jeonghan’s gaze for a moment before nodding.
“Yeah,” he said. “Next time.”
And with that, he walked out into the cold February night, unaware that his life had just taken a turn he never saw coming.
Seungcheol wasn’t the type to dwell on things.
And yet, two days later, he still found himself thinking about a bakery he had no real reason to return to, a smirking baker who had no business staying on his mind.
It was stupid. He barely knew the guy. All the guy did was give him a free slice of cake and some casual conversation, nothing more. But the way he had looked at him—like he was quietly observing, picking him apart without Seungcheol even realizing—had left an impression Seungcheol wasn’t used to.
Maybe it was because no one had really questioned him before. Not like the baker had.
“Never really saw the point. Just another day, really.”
“Figures.”
“Nothing. Just seems like the kind of thing someone would say when they’ve never had a reason to care.”
Seungcheol had brushed off the comment at the time, but it had stuck with him. Maybe because he knew Jeonghan was right.
He had never been in a relationship that mattered. Never let himself get too attached. Romance had always felt like an obligation rather than something he actually wanted. But sitting in that bakery, listening to the baker talk about how much he loved what he did, watching the way he lingered even when he could have left—something about it had felt… different.
And now, here he was, standing outside the bakery again, staring at the sign like an idiot.
He could just walk away.
Or he could go inside.
After a long pause, he sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked away.
A soft chime rang out as Seungcheol stepped inside, and immediately, the familiar scent of vanilla and freshly baked bread surrounded him. The warmth of the bakery wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, contrasting the cold February air that lingered outside. The gentle hum of a few quiet conversations filled the space, a sharp contrast to the Valentine’s rush he had experienced last time.
The blonde one was behind the counter, carefully arranging pastries in the display case. The soft glow of the overhead lights highlighted the dark shadows under his eyes from another long day, but his movements were fluid, graceful, almost like a dance. He barely glanced up when he spoke.
“Welcome—oh.”
The surprise in his voice was subtle, but Seungcheol caught it. He couldn’t help but smile, something about the sound of the baker’s voice making him feel oddly at ease, even though he had no idea what he was doing back here.
“Didn’t think you’d see me again?” Seungcheol teased, his hands shoved into his pockets, trying to ignore the awkward feeling building up in his chest.
The man raised an eyebrow, setting the pastry he had been working on aside before leaning against the counter. His eyes scanned Seungcheol in that quiet, observant way, as if he was seeing him for the first time.
“Oh, I knew you’d be back.” There was that smirk again, a little more confident this time.
Seungcheol rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Cocky.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Observant.”
Seungcheol took a step closer to the counter, glancing at the display case. A variety of cakes, tarts, and cookies were neatly arranged, but his eyes immediately landed on the small section near the front: strawberry tarts, glistening with a perfect coat of glaze.
“Strawberry tarts, huh?” Seungcheol asked, raising an eyebrow.
His smile widened, his tone playful. “Told you they’re my favorite.”
Seungcheol tilted his head, considering for a moment. He hadn’t been expecting to find himself here again, but he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t just leave. The place felt… comfortable, in a way he didn’t often experience. He finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll take one.”
The baker grabbed a small plate and carefully placed a single tart on it before sliding it across the counter toward him. “So, what’s your name?”
Seungcheol picked up the tart and examined it for a second before taking a small bite, the soft crust melting in his mouth, the sweet filling and tangy strawberries lingering on his tongue. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste.
“Damn,” he muttered, impressed. “That’s good.”
His eyes gleamed, and Seungcheol could swear there was a hint of pride in his smile. “Told you, but that's not what I asked”
Seungcheol looked up, realizing he still hadn’t answered the question. He swallowed the bite, suddenly aware of the expectant look in the blonde baker’s dark eyes. They were sharp, curious, and maybe a little amused.
“Seungcheol,” he said finally, setting the tart down on the plate. “My name’s Seungcheol.”
A spark of recognition flickered in the other’s gaze, his smile softening. “Seungcheol…” He repeated the name slowly, as if testing the way it felt on his tongue. “Figures. You looked like a Seungcheol.”
He frowned, crossing his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The baker’s laugh was a quiet, musical sound that seemed to echo in the cozy space. “Just that you fit the name. Strong, steady… a bit stubborn, maybe.”
Seungcheol opened his mouth to argue but closed it just as quickly, realizing he didn’t actually disagree. Instead, he let out a huff, his lips twitching upward. “Yeah? And what’s your name, then? Or should I just keep calling you ‘the blonde guy behind the counter’?”
A playful glint danced in his eyes, and Seungcheol could tell he was enjoying this. “You could. But I think you’d get tired of that pretty quickly.”
“Fine. Humor me, then.”
The blonde one tilted his head, leaning just a little closer, his golden hair falling softly over his forehead. “It’s Jeonghan.”
The name hung in the air between them, and Seungcheol found himself repeating it silently, letting it roll around in his mind. Jeonghan. It suited him—smooth and lyrical, with just the right amount of mystery.
“Well, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said, trying to keep his voice steady, “you weren’t wrong about the tart. It’s good.”
Jeonghan’s smile widened, a flash of satisfaction crossing his features. “I never lie about pastries.”
Seungcheol laughed, the sound coming out more genuine than he’d expected. “Good to know. I’ll remember that.”
There was a comfortable silence then, broken only by the soft hum of the bakery and the distant chatter of a couple in the corner. Seungcheol took another bite of the tart, feeling strangely at ease. He hadn’t planned on staying long, but now he wasn’t sure he was ready to leave.
Jeonghan watched him for a moment before speaking again, his voice softer this time. “So… what brings you back?”
Caught off guard, Seungcheol nearly choked on his bite, quickly composing himself. “I… don’t know, actually. I was just… around.”
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Just around, huh?”
Heat crept up Seungcheol’s neck, and he cursed himself for being so transparent. “Yeah. Just… thought I’d stop by. That’s all.”
A knowing smile curved on Jeonghan’s lips, but he didn’t push it. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
The words were simple, sincere, and they hung in the air just long enough to make Seungcheol’s heart skip. He looked down at the half-eaten tart, suddenly finding it very interesting.
“I… might come by again,” Seungcheol said quietly, almost as if he were testing the idea.
Jeonghan’s eyes softened, his expression warm. “I’ll be here.”
Seungcheol lingered longer than he intended, the last bite of the strawberry tart melting on his tongue. He watched as Jeonghan moved with practiced ease behind the counter, organizing trays and wiping surfaces, his golden hair catching the light each time he turned.
“So,” Seungcheol began, his fingers tapping lightly on the plate, “how long have you been running this place?”
Jeonghan glanced up, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Long enough to know all the neighborhood gossip,” he teased. “Why? Curious?”
“Maybe,” Seungcheol admitted, leaning casually against the counter. “Just trying to figure you out.”
Jeonghan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Good luck with that.”
Seungcheol chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m persistent.”
“Stubborn, you mean,” Jeonghan corrected smoothly, his voice light but his gaze unwavering.
“Observant,” Seungcheol countered, throwing the word back at him.
Jeonghan laughed, a soft sound that sent an unexpected warmth through Seungcheol’s chest. “Touché.”
For a moment, they stood in easy silence, the sounds of the bakery wrapping around them. It felt strangely intimate, as if the world outside didn’t exist.
Jeonghan broke the quiet first, his voice dropping just a little. “You should try coming by in the morning. It’s quieter. Might even let you sample something new.”
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “Special treatment?”
“Maybe,” Jeonghan said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Depends on how stubborn you are.”
Seungcheol’s heart did an odd little flip. There was something in Jeonghan’s tone, a playful challenge that made him want to stay even longer. “I can be pretty stubborn.”
“I’m counting on it,” Jeonghan murmured, his gaze lingering just a moment too long before he turned away, his golden hair swaying softly as he busied himself with a tray of cookies.
Seungcheol watched him, his chest tightening. He was already planning his next visit.
The next morning, Seungcheol found himself at the bakery again, his steps lighter than usual. As promised, it was quieter, the sun just beginning to peek through the windows. He pushed the door open, the familiar chime ringing out.
Jeonghan looked up, clearly surprised but pleased. “You’re early.”
“Told you I’m stubborn,” Seungcheol said, leaning against the counter with a grin.
Jeonghan shook his head, his smile softening. “You really are something.”
Seungcheol’s heart skipped, the compliment catching him off guard. “Good something or bad something?”
“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” Jeonghan teased, his dark eyes sparkling.
Seungcheol laughed, his pulse quickening. “I think I can manage that.”
Jeonghan’s gaze softened, his expression more vulnerable than Seungcheol had seen before. “Then I’ll make sure to keep it interesting.”
Their eyes met, a charged silence hanging between them. For the first time, Seungcheol couldn’t look away. His chest tightened, a warmth spreading through him.
Jeonghan broke the gaze first, his cheeks tinged pink as he turned to grab a tray of freshly baked croissants. “Here,” he said, his voice just a little uneven. “On the house.”
Seungcheol took the croissant, their fingers brushing briefly. A spark shot through him, his skin tingling where they’d touched. “Thanks,” he managed, his voice suddenly rough.
Jeonghan’s smile was softer now, his eyes avoiding Seungcheol’s. “Don’t mention it.”
Seungcheol watched him for a moment, his heart thudding in his chest. He realized then that it wasn’t just the bakery that kept him coming back.
It was Jeonghan.
Weeks passed, and the visits became routine. Every morning, just after dawn, Seungcheol would push open the bakery door, the familiar chime ringing out as he stepped inside. The smell of fresh bread and vanilla greeted him, warm and inviting, and without fail, Jeonghan was always there.
It became their unspoken ritual—Seungcheol stopping by before work, pretending it was just about the pastries, but knowing it was something else entirely.
Jeonghan always had something ready for him. Sometimes it was a croissant, other days a sweet bun still warm from the oven. Each morning brought something new, but the smile that greeted him was always the same—soft, genuine, and just for him.
He found himself looking forward to it more than he wanted to admit.
One morning, Seungcheol arrived to find Jeonghan waiting with two cups of coffee, the steam curling softly above them. “Figured you could use a little extra energy today,” Jeonghan said, sliding one of the cups toward him.
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, accepting the cup. “You trying to get rid of me faster?”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes, but his lips curved into that familiar teasing smile. “You’re stubborn. Caffeine won’t help with that.”
Seungcheol laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet bakery. He took a sip, the warmth spreading through him. “Careful. You’re getting soft.”
Jeonghan leaned against the counter, his golden hair falling loosely over his eyes. “Only for my favorite customer.”
The words were playful, but there was something else there—something that made Seungcheol’s heart stutter. He set the cup down, his gaze fixed on Jeonghan’s face. “I’m your favorite, huh?”
Jeonghan’s eyes met his, dark and unreadable. “You’re the only one who makes me wait around every morning.”
Seungcheol felt his cheeks heat up, a rare occurrence for him. “Well, you keep feeding me. What did you expect?”
“I expected you to be less charming,” Jeonghan shot back, his voice light but his eyes lingering.
Seungcheol opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss for words. There was a shift in the air between them, a weight that hadn’t been there before. His heart thudded heavily, a flutter of nerves tightening his chest.
Jeonghan seemed to feel it too. He looked away, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his apron. “You… um, you should try the new raspberry scones tomorrow. I think you’ll like them.”
“I don’t care what you bake,” Seungcheol said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. “I’ll still be here.”
Jeonghan’s eyes widened, his lips parting in surprise. For a moment, he just stared, the mask of confidence slipping. But then his shoulders relaxed, and his smile softened, a tenderness there that made Seungcheol’s heart twist. “I’ll be here too.”
The words were simple, but they meant more than either of them were ready to admit. Seungcheol finished his coffee in silence, his mind racing with things he didn’t know how to say.
The next morning, Seungcheol arrived even earlier. The sun was barely up, the streetlights still glowing faintly against the morning haze. He hesitated at the door, his pulse quickening as he heard Jeonghan’s soft humming from inside.
He opened the door, the chime ringing out like always. But this time, Jeonghan’s head snapped up, his eyes widening. “You’re early.”
Seungcheol shrugged, forcing himself to appear casual. “Wanted to make sure you saved me a scone.”
Jeonghan’s face broke into a smile, one so bright it sent warmth rushing through Seungcheol’s chest. “Guess I should’ve made more, then.”
Seungcheol stepped closer, the counter between them feeling like too much distance. “You could always save me more tomorrow.”
Jeonghan’s eyes softened, his voice quiet. “I could.”
They stood there for a moment, neither one moving. Seungcheol’s heart raced, his fingers curling into his palms as he fought the urge to reach out. Jeonghan looked so close, his golden hair softly framing his face, his dark eyes shining with something unspoken.
Before he could lose his nerve, Seungcheol leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know… I don’t just come here for the pastries.”
Jeonghan’s breath hitched, his eyes widening. “I know.”
The space between them felt impossibly small, the world beyond the bakery fading away. Seungcheol’s gaze dropped to Jeonghan’s lips, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Jeonghan could hear it.
Neither of them moved, the moment hanging heavy between them, fragile and electrifying. Then, slowly, Jeonghan closed the distance, his lips brushing softly against Seungcheol’s.
It was gentle, hesitant, as if testing the waters. But the second Seungcheol’s mind caught up, he closed his eyes, his hands moving to cup Jeonghan’s face, fingers tangling in that golden hair.
Jeonghan responded instantly, his body relaxing as he leaned into Seungcheol, his hands finding their way to Seungcheol’s shoulders. The kiss deepened, soft and sweet, tasting faintly of sugar and coffee.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, both of them were breathless, faces flushed.
Jeonghan laughed softly, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I didn’t think you were this stubborn.”
Seungcheol grinned, his thumb brushing against Jeonghan’s cheek. “Told you. I always come back.”
Jeonghan’s eyes shone, his smile radiant. “Good.”
They stood there, the morning light spilling through the window, the bakery around them still and quiet. For the first time, Seungcheol felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.