Chapter Text
Seungwoo winces as cool water hits his face. He robotically performs his morning routine, throwing on toner and sunscreen before changing into his scrubs. Rural living exists in some sort of a time anomaly, he’s decided. Time seems to pass with the sluggish pace of an overfed bodega cat on a hot day, yet, at the same time, it feels as if it’s slipping through his fingers like water. He’s already been at the place for a matter of weeks. Though his residency is a valuable learning experience, outside of that, everything is sort of a blur.
In the incorporeal funk that is time perception in a foreign place, one thing does remain eternal - an anchor in his existence, the nectar of life: coffee. Seungwoo descends the metal stairs outside his apartment and practically bounds toward the provider of his morning’s respite. Though he’s not a major sweets-eater, he does appreciate the smells that waft down the sidewalk as he approaches. The fragrance of fresh-baked bread intermingled with sugary sweet tones drifts into his nose, telling him he’s close.
Seungwoo joins the queue at the bakery window. Even though the sun’s barely risen, there’s still a line. While there were some extra determined brunch-lovers back in the city, few were ever as determined as the morning larks in the small town. They line up extra early just to get their favorite pastries oven-fresh.
To each their own , Seungwoo grumbles internally. It’s not his business what people eat. His reason for going is much more utilitarian. He needs coffee to function! Simple as that. Seungwoo mentally rehearses his order as he shuffles forward. Even though he’s gotten the same thing every time, he still feels a bit awkward ordering. When it’s finally his turn, a flurry of nerves washes up in his stomach.
He eyes the window attendant and calms down just ever so slightly. Thank god it’s not him .
Not that there’s anything wrong with him . It’s just that Seungwoo isn’t sure where he’s at with him . Him being Kang Seungsik, proprietor of the town-favorite bakery and accidental savior of one Han Seungwoo.
Seungwoo was so embarrassed by the entire debacle that he had to avoid the other side of the square for days. When he finally got over himself, he decided to integrate the stop into his routine again. Supporting local businesses is good! Plus, he can support Seungsik, and he feels like he owes the guy one. Or ten. Maybe ten. Ten what? Seungwoo doesn’t know - but ten something.
In spite of himself, he can’t stop replaying the memory in his head. There was the knife - which he does feel justified in, to be honest - him passing out twice. Then waking up to find Seungsik snoozing on a chair at his bedside. The entire thing was immensely strange, and what is even more strange is the fact that Seungwoo… didn’t mind it at the end of the day. Though he loathes to admit it - and god knows he’d never do so out loud - he did enjoy the company.
Maybe this place really is making me go insane , he thinks.
The PT resident takes his spot at the window and flashes an amicable and hopefully not pained-looking smile, “Good morning.”
“Morning,” the usual morning worker flashes Seungwoo a dazzling, dimpled smile. It’s blinding, and he envies the guy for being so awake . “The usual for you?”
“Large iced americano, yup,” Seungwoo nods. The worker gives a quick “be right back” remark before disappearing inside.
“Oh- Thanks,” Seungwoo trades his card for the drink upon the worker’s return. He can already feel the sun baking the town to a crisp even though it’s just started its trip up the sky. It makes that first sip of the earthy, bitter americano even better.
“Here you go,” the bakery attendant hands back the card.
Seungwoo accepts it with a courteous grin and makes a step to head away. However, the other speaks up before he steps out of his place in line.
“Wait- You’re new around here, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m just here for the summer doing residency at Sunrise.”
“Awesome. Listen, I know this is, like, super random, but you’re probably bored here all the time, right?”
Seungwoo laughs sheepishly - the question feels like a trap, “It’s definitely an… Adjustment from the city.”
“I can imagine. I went to university in a big city. Coming back home was kind of crazy. But, um, we do have stuff going on sometimes. Like this Friday! There’s an open mic night at the bar on the corner.”
“Um- Huh Gak’s? I think I saw a sign about it, actually. What, uh, kind of music do you usually see? Acoustic stuff?”
“A bit of a mix. Acoustic sets. A few indie rappers- oh, and of course there’s our wonderful head baker on the keyboard.”
Seungwoo’s eyes widen, “Head baker? You mean Seungsik?”
“Mhm!”
“He plays?”
“And sings! Ah- I can’t wait. It’s been so long since he’s gone on.”
“Wow. I had no idea!”
“Really? Oh my god. Ask the girls at Sunrise about it. They’ve been trying to bully him back into singing forever.”
Seungwoo tries not to let on just how intrigued he is. Seungsik? The friendly baker? A singer? He struggles to picture it. The other does have sort of a low, honey-esque voice normally. But what does it sound like singing? He wonders. Though he doesn’t want to be a total cynic, he somehow can’t envision the other as an adept singer.
The idea of an open mic night in a strange, rural town isn’t exactly promising. Seungwoo’s brain immediately summons visions of old people doing karaoke numbers that are questionable at best. But the baker singing? Maybe I ought to see for myself. He thinks.
“-xcuse me,” the bakery attendant’s voice pierces Seungwoo’s thoughts.
“H-Hm?” Seungwoo blinks confusedly.
“I asked if you needed anything else.”
“Oh! Ha- No, um, I’m okay. Thank you!” Seungwoo tips his cup and awkwardly shuffles away. “Have a good day.”
“You, too!” the worker waves, “Hope to see you there.”
“Yeah, of course,” the PT resident gives a quick wave before practically power walking away. It isn’t until halfway to work that he realizes what his response was.
Wait. Did I tell him I’d be there!?
A yawn works its way through Sejun’s entire body, stretching him out from toe to torso like an overfed cat. He can’t help feeling like one after helping himself to one too many pastries. The ticking of his internal clock is beginning to slow down drastically - an indicator that it’s near quitting time. His afternoon slump is more regimented and scheduled than most trains, and when the sun starts its trip toward the other side of the horizon, he knows it’s near time to go.
“Ding-dong!”
The soft dinging of the door chime indicates Subin’s entry into the space. Sejun sleepily smiles at the younger one and gives him a little wave.
“You look like a ball of sunshine,” Subin jokes. He nods toward a scone on display under a cloche, “What’s that?”
“Oh um. Gingerbread cardamom scone.”
“Wait- really?”
“Yeah.”
“In summer?”
“Yeah. I dunno. Seungsik was feeling-” Sejun waves vaguely, “ -experimental . They’re not bad. Cardamom is kinda strong though.”
“Hm. I think I’ll stick to my usual.”
“Good choice.” Sejun sluggishly plates the other’s typical favorite and starts brewing a half pot of coffee.
When he went to university in a bigger town, people glugged the caffeinated beverage twenty-four-seven. Back at home, most folks refuse to touch the stuff past three, swearing up and down “Oh, I’ll never sleep”. Doesn’t make a difference to the baker either way. He’s glad he can make the sale though, and the excess coffee is a good excuse for him to take some home when he heads out. Just the aroma of the beans does wonders to boost him.
“Ding! Ding!” The chime rings again, lifting Sejun’s mood further.
“Good morning!” Byungchan greets them cheerily.
“Some of us actually have to wake up in the morning,” Sejun scoffs.
“Morning is a social construct. It’s a state of mind. One I am currently in- do I smell coffee?”
The morning baker rolls his eyes as he grabs another cup for Byungchan. The evening worker trots off to the back and quickly emerges with his uniform apron tied around his waist. He waits for Sejun to give Subin his coffee and roll before leaning in and loudly whispering:
“So, how are we on Operation Get Sik A Man.”
“Ooh- it has a name now?” Sejun laughs.
“All good plans have names.”
“Wait- You’re getting Seungsik a what?” Subin chimes in.
“Hush! This is adult talk!” Byungchan jokingly scolds the youngest.
“You’re not being quiet or subtle. Like. At all. Where is he anyway?”
“Off on an errand. I don’t know- do I look like his mother?”
“...Yes?”
“I’m- You-” Byungchan waves at the other vexedly, “You be quiet now! The adults are talking!”
“About getting Seungsik laid?”
“Who taught you about the birds and the bees?” Sejun joins, feigning shock. He turns to Byungchan and adds, “This is all your fault.”
“Wh- My fault? He’s your son.”
“Oh so when you want to cuddle up on the couch he’s your son, but when he’s being troublesome he’s my son?”
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
“I want a divorce.”
“But think about the children!”
“I want a divorce from both of you,” Subin shakes his head. “Just- Forget I said anything and carry on so I can eavesdrop.”
“That’s better.” “Good.” The two older men say at the same time. After a small fit of giggling among them subsides, they continue their “adult” conversation.
“Did you talk to hot city guy, though?” Byungchan asks.
Sejun nods, “Yeah. He- He kinda said he’d go, I think.”
“Really? Was he like- was he excited, or…?”
“I don’t know. He’s not exactly the most expressive person. He was like ‘I’ll be there’. Or was it ‘I’ll see you there’...? Something like that. Point is, he’s game. I mean, it wasn’t a contract signed in blood, but, you know.”
“So hard to draft those up on short notice.”
“I know . Well, anyway, what about Sik?”
“Oh, I- We’ve been talking baking. You said you’d be on Sik duty.”
“Yeah, and I am. Just wondering if you primed him at all.”
“Uh, no. You can surprise him with your amazing persuasive abilities.”
“Thank you. I do have amazing persuasive skills.”
“And you’re humble, too.”
“It’s not easy being perfect,” Byungchan claps Sejun on the shoulder.
“Hm. You’re right. You are a god,” Sejun starts walking back into the kitchen, “And I am but a human. A human with human needs like… Naps. So, you good?”
“Leaving already? But Hanse isn’t even here yet.”
“I’m sleepy!”
“Weenie.”
“Send the married couple my best regards, then.”
“Ugh. Fine. Nerd. You better at least sleep and not just run home to play League.”
“Ding-ding!” Sejun hears the door chime yet again as he grabs his stuff from the back. Judging by Byungchan’s lack of customer service voice, it’s someone familiar. Seungsik wouldn’t come in through the front, leaving two possibilities. He steps out, backpack in tow, and waves to his friend.
“Chan is better at being on time for Hanse’s job than Hanse is,” Subin remarks.
“He’s not here yet?” Chan’s smile falters just ever so slightly.
“Tell him to turn his location on,” Sejun adds, walking past him.
“Oh. That’s a good idea!”
Sejun almost tells Chan that he wasn’t serious, but something stops him.
Why are all of my friends lovesick messes?! He wonders to himself. As if on cue, the redheaded source of Chan’s madness strolls in. He immediately slings his arms around the other’s shoulders and leans heavily against his back.
“Alright, I’m out,” Sejun waves, bidding everyone a farewell. He gives Byungchan a stealthy nod, to which the other responds with a mischievous look.
At least we’ve got our stuff together.
Seungsik glances at the clock, silently willing the minutes to move forward faster. Last time he checked, it was just past six thirty. He finds himself dismayed to see that it is just barely six thirty-seven - twenty-three minutes out from closing. An excruciating twenty-three minutes. It’s not uncommon for the baker to feel like something the cat dragged in by the end of his shift. He usually gets a second wind after closing up, but he feels even more worn out than usual. Even his later customers noticed, one of them looking at him piteously and pointing out “You look tired.”.
Like I didn’t know , he thought as he waved them away.
Though the idea of an espresso is tempting, he knows it’ll rob him of what little sleep he normally gets anyway. Upon the woeful discovery that he can’t bend time to his will, Seungsik sighs and flops over the pastry case.
“Feeling ever so vibrant, I see,” Byungchan hums as he sweeps the back area.
“Oh yeah. Fresh as a damn daisy,” Seungsik groans. Part of him wonders if he ought to be more professional, but at the end of the day it is a family business and they are all friends. He always tries to be fair and even puts his foot down sometimes. Still, at the end of the day, he figures stuffy “professionalism” can stay in corporate high rises. They’re baking muffins, not trading stocks.
“Listen, just one day between now and open mic night at Huh Gak’s!”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” The baker hoists himself off the case (noting that the glass will need to be wiped off). “Hanse doing a set?”
“Like he’d ever pass up a chance to get on a stage with a microphone.”
“Fair point.”
“What about you, though? It’s been a while.”
“Wha?!” Seungsik’s eyes widen. “Me?”
“Uh, yeah dummy.”
“Why would I do it?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?! Because you have a honey voice and nimble pianists fingers!”
“I have- my fingers are what?”
“Come on, you’re acting like you’ve never been on that little stage before. Once upon a time, a young Seungsik used to love it…”
Heat flushes to Seungsik’s cheeks. He did have a stint in his late teens where he’d make it a point to sing any time Huh Gak would have him. Though he was nowhere near as driven as Hanse, singing used to be a hobby of his. He even composed a few songs - not that he let anyone hear them. Of course, now, his old keyboard hasn’t seen use in months. Occasionally he’ll tap out a little number here and there, dust off the plastic keys and go through an old piece out of boredom, but it’s not the same. Though he still loves those things, he has a difficult time finding the motivation.
Instead of unpacking that, though, Seungsik simply writes it off.
He shrugs, “I definitely wouldn’t be able to go on tomorrow. I- I don’t have anything ready.”
“Come on, you’ve got to remember at least, like, one.”
“It- it doesn’t work like that. My voice is out of practice-”
“Dude you totally sing in the shower.”
“I- Excuse me? Are you there listening?”
Byungchan points straight at the baker, “Don’t lie. Look me straight in the eye and tell me you don’t.”
“I- This is not about that-!”
“You’re right, it’s-” Byungchan dramatically crosses over to the counter by the pastry case and slams his hands down, “-not!”
Seungsik takes a few moments to muster a response. Unsurprisingly, Byungchan gives no elaboration on the dramatic outburst and instead simply stares him down, demanding a response.
Sik rolls his eyes, “Pray tell me, what, then, is this about?”
“This is about it being open mic night, and you- you getting back out there!”
“I- Me- I what?”
“You heard me. Look I know that, like-” Byung casts a quick glance toward the door to assure no customers are in sight. When the coast is clear, he lowers his voice, “-like you’ve been in a place.”
“In… A place?” The blush on Seungsik’s cheeks deepens. He likes to be reliable and unassuming. Having even his best friends make presumptions or even insinuate worry does little more than frazzle him more than he already would be.
“When’s the last time you made time to have fun with us? Or, like, took a vacation?”
“I mean, I’m basically the sole proprietor of this place,” Seungsik deflects. “Can’t exactly pick up and leave whenever I want to.”
“Gonna speak like a friend and not an employee now. Sorry, but, you know that’s crap. Your parents would be happy to fill in for you occasionally.”
“They spent decades doing this. I’m not gonna make them cover me if they don’t have to. They deserve their rest.”
“Okay- Spare me the whole filial piety thing. I know you love your parents, but don’t use them as an excuse for your isolating behavior.”
Seungsik’s jaw drops.
Well
that
was a callout.
“I say this because I care and love you,” Byungchan tries to soften the blow a bit. Seungsik isn’t sure it helps, but at the very least it’s not further twisting the dagger in his gut.
“I’m sorry, why are we having a therapy session right now? Because I don’t wanna get up on stage and embarrass myself?” he responds, slightly wounded.
“You will not embarrass yourself. Anything you do will pale in comparison to Mr. Lee’s trot numbers.”
“Oh, Mr. Lee. He does love a good trot song.”
“He really does.” The vivid memory of the older gentleman in a sparkly jacket singing off-key makes the two break out into a fit of laughter.
Maybe I should lighten up , Seungsik muses. But still…
“Come on, Sikkie, please,” Byungchan says after they come down from their laughter. “Put yourself out there a bit. It’ll be fun.”
“Fine, I’ll go. But I’m just gonna watch-”
“You’re being very funphobic right now.”
“What?!”
“Did you miss the part where I told you to put yourself out there?”
“Oh for- you sound like my mother,” Seungsik gripes.
“Well, she cares about you, too! Funny how that works.”
“Can’t care manifest in different ways? I will accept your care in compliments, cash, or credit- hey! Don’t throw straws at me!”
“I’ll clean them up!” Byungchan replies between tossing straws. They make pretty awful projectile weapons, most of them widely missing their target and falling sadly on the ground.
He better pick those up , Seungsik thinks.
“I just think you’re amazing, and we’re all in town, together,” the other sighs. “Like, I dunno how many more open mic nights we’ll have together.”
Oh no. Not the quarter-century crisis thing. Why is he getting all serious and existential now?!
“Well, I mean…” Seungsik frowns. He’s got a point.
“I think it’d be good for you and, like, all of us. Subinnie’s never even heard your voice. He doesn’t know that within those jowls resides an angel.”
Seungsik, ever the softie among them, heaves a sigh, “If you promise me to never, ever talk about my jowls again-”
“Ohmygod!” Byungchan chirps excitedly.
“-I’ll do it.”
“Ohmygosh, really!?”
“I just said yes, didn’t I?”
The bakery worker leaps forward and wraps his long arms around Seungsik, hopping giddily around him.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s gonna be so good, Sikkie, we can drink after and- ohmygosh!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Seungsik hesitantly return’s the other’s affections in a loose hug. “This isn’t very professional, you know…”
“Don’t care!”
“Yeah. Noted.”
I can’t believe I just agreed to that! I need to grow a spine!
“Byungchan,” Seungsik says.
“Mhm?” The other responds.
“Let go of me.”
“Hm. No.”
The things I do for friendship.
The baker shakes his head. By reflex, his eyes drift to the clock.
Well would you look at that. He chuckles inwardly upon reading the digits:
7:02PM
Seungsik’s keyboard lets out a pathetic, muddled noise as he bumps his head against the keys.
“Why did I agree to this?” He mumbles to himself.
Because you’re too nice , he mentally answers.
Maybe Byungchan had a point about that other thing, too.
His original plan after work was going to be dinner and gaming. He mentally prepared himself for a night of shouting on voice comms while munching on fried chicken. Instead, due to his bleeding heart, he swapped out a mechanical gaming keyboard for the musical kind. The box he kept his sheet music in had barely seen the light of day since he moved above the bakery. Now, its contents lay scattered across his table, floor, desk and the small stand that comes with his keyboard.
Song selection.
That’s where he started, knowing it’s of the utmost importance. He needs to choose something palatable to most - at least, he prefers to (unlike Hanse who got outright scolded for some of his freestyling in the past). Seungsik isn’t so ambitious as to pick some wildly difficult songs when he’s so out of form. However, he doesn’t want something boring, either.
After about an hour, he finally chose a song. After practicing it twice, he decided it was the wrong song. So he found another.
And another.
And another.
“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” he singsongs, tapping random keys manically. “Maybe I could just not…”
He eyes the state of his apartment, the papers scattered everywhere, carelessly tossed sheet music books and his upturned closet. Something about the sight makes his heart dip. He hadn’t anticipated gleaning profound insight from a literal tornado of music. Yet there he is, brain turned to mush and stomach in knots, drawing parallels between real life messes and metaphorical ones.
A sort of disarrayed mess, the picture of uncertainty, lack of commitment and conviction. Long neglected, the books ended up finding themselves scattered about without care. He wonders if that’s what would become of his friendships, too, if he doesn’t care for them. How many more turned down invitations and rain checks would they be content to check? How many things would he miss out on by just staying at home?
No. I have to do this. He decides.
I have to for them. Maybe for me, too. How bad can it be… Right?
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” he speaks as if the keyboard can respond. “But first…”
Seungsik gets out of the chair he’d pulled up and grabs a few books off of the floor.
He begins by tidying up the apartment, figuring sooner is better rather than later. A messy environment isn’t conducive to focus! At least, that’s what his old piano instructor would say, anyway. He stacks the books neatly atop his dining table, and that’s when it catches his eye.
“Hm… What about you?” Though his heart is still beating nervously, and his stomach is already twisting with nervousness, he determinedly starts his rehearsal anew.