Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Long grass ebbs and dips, rustling loudly under the gentle urging of the summer breeze. The blades sway like the waves of the ocean, gushing and flowing this way and that. Remnant moonlight catches them, making the verdant surface gleam like water while clouds cast little shadows in between. The moon’s silvery rays begin to dip lower into the sky, giving way to the rising sun. Soon, the train will reach its final destination. It’s something Seungwoo has to remind himself as he pries his eyelids back open.

It’s not my fault , he thinks to himself. The steady movement of the train car effectively rocks him to his sleep. All the while its tracks sing him the muffled lullaby of metal on metal. Seungwoo purses his lips in displeasure at the sight out the window. It looks like something out of a storybook - one of those romance novels about love ignited in some provincial towns. The type his mother likes to read. Buildings had long given way to grassy meadows, and soon the few, sparse signs of civilization had even been reduced. Now, all Seungwoo sees as he passes through is the occasional farm accompanied with rolling hills.

He frowns.

This , he thinks, this is what I left my life for?

No ; he shakes his head.

He knows what he really left his life for: opportunity. The little town’s rehabilitation center was renowned nationwide. For some reason. Han Seungwoo didn’t know why some boony town in the middle of nowhere held one of the country’s finest facilities, but it did. He’d stayed up all night after submitting his application to the prestigious residency program.

“It’ll all be worth it.”

Those were the words he told himself over and over again. He genuinely believes them, he does, but he still can’t help the tiny twinge of regret he feels. Maybe, he thinks, one of the hospitals in the city wouldn’t have been quite so bad. But, no, he decides, the healing center is renowned for its recovery rates. People always tell unbelievable stories of patients walking out of the place with a spring in their step after being immobile for months. Not only that, but Seungwoo knows his friends would’ve killed him had he declined. Nearly everyone he knew had applied. Even after two of his classmates got interviewed twice, he was the only person to land a third one and, eventually, the residency.

Seungwoo pouts, looking out at the vast expanse of green meadows waving in the wind. He sighs. It’s gonna be a long summer.

“Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!”

“Ugh,” Seungsik groans, stuffing his face into his pillow. It’s barely light outside - as usual - and he’s got a long laundry list of things to do. Starting with: wake up, sleepyhead. Rubbing his tired eyes, Seungsik rouses himself out of bed with relative ease to start the morning. Things go as they always do: throw water on face, throw toothbrush in mouth, throw body into shower.

The day’s duties run through Seungsik’s head like a stock market ticker while he stands under the jets of water that never is quite warm enough (or occasionally too damn hot). One of the drawbacks of the old building he’d gotten used to. Showers are quick for Seungsik. He’s never the type to just sit in there for awhile; he was more the practical type. Get in. Do your business. Get out. That’s what he does.

Seungsik’s hands thoughtlessly slap on skincare products in their rehearsed sequence. He glances at his phone to see the time - four AM. Part of Seungsik laments that he’s gotta be up at such an ungodly hour; still, he’s gotten so used it, he hardly cares anymore. Maybe I was meant to be a grandpa ever since birth , he thinks to himself. Clothes, much like every other part of Seungsik’s life, are simple and unfussy. He throws on jeans that don’t say “I’ve given up” while also not really saying “I’m trying today” either. The maximum effort part of the morning comes when Seungsik blow dries his hair, and he does so quickly.

Cleaned up and dressed, Kang Seungsik is ready to take on the day. He heads to the door of his apartment, giving it a once over before leaving for work. Everything seems to be in its place - or, well, slightly out of place. There’s nothing fancy in the loft: he’s got a bed he had to build himself, a TV stand and TV, a fridge and a table that could sit no more than two people. All of these things are, of course, draped and decored generously with knick knacks, dishes, and clothes. Woops.

“I’ll take care of it later,” Seungsik mutters to himself. He always tells himself he’ll clean up, but he never does. Has no reason to, really. Not like anyone’s visiting. Grandma and grandpa - who so generously lease him the place at a meager price - haven’t bothered climbing stairs they don’t need to for years. Seungsik hardly blames them, he wouldn’t either at their age. His parents are typically the hosts, not the other way around; so, young Mr. Kang finds his esteemed residence fairly undisturbed. He’s fine with that.

“Well, off to work!” Seungsik says. Taking a deep breath, he descends the steps outside his apartment door into the back parking lot. A wall of muggy humidity hits him when he leaves the safety of his apartment door. Summer had barely started and it’s already hot as hell. Even though the sun isn’t even up, Seungsik can tell it’s gonna be sweltering. Great. Reaching the bottom, he fiddles with his keys to unlock the door at the back of his building. Swinging it open with enthusiasm, Seungsik announces:

“At work!” He chuckles to himself. The joke never really gets old. He starts flicking light switches, doing his morning walk-through. It’s wild , Seungsik thinks, how I can call something like this my own. Mostly.

Newvoice Bakery: established by his very own grandparents. Now, Seungsik runs the show. Well, he doesn’t sign the checks yet . He takes care of almost everything else, though. At four AM, he wakes up to bake the first batches, he greets customers, manages their handful of employees and shoulders a multitude of other managerial tasks.

The bakery occupies a cute little spot nestled in between a vintage boutique and gifts shop in the heart of the rural town center. The business has been in its spot along the downtown square for nearly half a century as a fixture of the town. On the outside, there is even a window through which people can order if they do not wish to go inside.

Walking in, one feels like they’re enveloped, wrapped in a warm blanket. An inviting warm wood spans the floor, inviting light into the space. It’s something that Seungsik had always loved, ever since childhood. There’s something to be said about a physical space that can just make someone feel welcome. An eclectic assortment of vintage furniture is arranged in such a way that nothing looks out of place, even though no two chairs look alike. Plants are present in abundance, whether hanging in pots from the ceiling or rising from pots in the ground (his grandma’s touch). On one side, immediately upon walking in, there is the long pastry case, lit up to display the day’s confections; on the other, seating. There are tables ranging from small to long, and a few couches and loveseats. The wall opposite the bakery counter has exposed brick, giving the old place a surprisingly chic feel (Seungsik commends his grandparents for never patching it up when they’d originally wanted to renovate it). The space goes fairly deep which compensates well for how narrow it is.

The town itself pretty small and provincial. The small downtown square has bars, a theater, local shops, and a park in the middle of the square. It’s pretty much the only place in the town that can be considered a hub of activity. Aside from that there’s a few farms, a school, a lot of open fields, and a very nice rehabilitation center. Half the people know each other and they’re always genuinely interested in how everyone’s doing. At the very center of it, for all these years? Newvoice Bakery - and, consequently: Seungsik.

“Knock. Knock.”

The glass of the front door rattles with the person’s raps on the frame. Seungsik strides over, letting his fellow baker and longtime friend in.

“Morning Sejun!” Seungsik says, a bright smile on his face.

Sejun winces, “How are you always so happy at four in the morning?”

“I like to fake it ‘til I make it,” Seungsik shrugs, locking the door behind the other. “Was just about to put the coffee on!”

“Thank goodness,” Sejun sighs in relief as he follows Seungsik around the pastry case. The younger of the two strides into the back room that sits just beyond the kitchen; he yells through the open door as he changes into a tee shirt. “Any specials this morning or just the usuals? You gonna make those ugly rolls again?” Seungsik chuckles to himself.

Sejun had gone away for university for a few years, but he’d recently returned. When he came back, he mentioned his remote programming gig wasn’t consistent work; so, like the friend he is, Seungsik offered him a job. Sejun had always been by Seungsik’s side throughout childhood. Trailing him by just a year, the two may as well have been peers. The two used to wreak havoc across the bakery until they were old enough to get roped into work (“If you’re going to take up space, you might as well be useful!” Seungsik’s grandpa had always said).

Unintentionally, the two learned the tricks of the trade. Sejun had always had a more delicate hand, strangely enough. For how much of a pest he can be, it never fails to surprise Seungsik how beautifully he can craft a pastry. When it came to petit fours or little confections, Sejun’s hands move with incredible delicacy and care. He always likes to experiment with garnishes and plating to present the most perfect moment on a plate he possibly can.

Seungsik thinks of himself as almost the opposite. He doesn’t lack the capacity to create refined baked goods, but he lacks the motivation. For the older one, he has always viewed pastries, sweets, baked goods - all of it - as something entirely different. Sejun is an artist, he relishes in creating an unforgettable moment on a plate, a perfect harmony of flavors for the nose, tongue, and eyes. Seungsik just likes… food.

He likes joy. He likes smiles. In his perspective, what matters most is the joy that someone feels in that moment. People don’t go for a cookie or tiramisu because they think it’s good for their health. They do it because it’s good for their soul. A sweet’s power to bring someone that moment of joy, that “aha!”, that sweet moment - that’s what he loves. Joy can come from something beautiful, but it doesn’t have to. That’s the philosophy Seungsik adopted in childhood, and ever since, he’s gone with it. So far it hasn’t run the place to the ground. So that’s something. Ultimately, the two serve to balance each other out.

“Those ‘ugly rolls’ were delicious, for your information! They just looked weird because they have like three different kinds of nuts in them!” Seungsik retorts as he scoops grounds into the coffee filter.

Sejun emerges in a plain white tee, tying an apron around his waist, “You know food has to look edible, right?” He snarks. Seungsik throws a noncommital kick in the other’s general direction. The younger one dodges with ease, but the message is sent. That’s what counts.

“Alright, what’s on the agenda this morning?” Sejun asks, running to the sink to wash his hands.

“Like I said, just the usuals from you for petit fours. The panna cotta should be set, build those up, they’re in the small fridge, not the walk-in. Oh- Hold the victoria sponge until later, though. Could you actually start on the scones, too? I was up all last night thinking about how we should totally just add oranges to the cranberry scones. It would really lift it up, I think-”

“You thought about oranges all last night?”

“...Yes.”

Sejun laughs, “Dork.”

“Don’t hate! Ugh! Look, just zest some orange into some of the dough and, um… Juice! Put in some juice. Like- not even a cup.”

“I’ll give it a go real fast. Anything weird on your plate?”

“Nah, just the usual,” Seungsik doesn’t waste any time grabbing the bucket of all purpose flour they keep beneath the metal counter.

In a couple of hours, customers would be lining up by the window or in front of the pastry case, and the day would truly begin. Until then, Seungsik enjoys the groove that he and Sejun always fall into. They chat, drink coffee, and maneuver around one another, shoving trays into the ovens, grabbing ingredients, folding dough or refilling their cups.

It’s just another ordinary day, but Seungsik is fine with that.

--------

Seungwoo lugs his massive suitcase up the fire escape of the building he’d arrived at. The landlord is, apparently, out early in the morning (probably sleeping); but, they left a fairly instructive letter on the door. Its content were: a set of keys (two for the door, two for the mailbox down low) and a letter welcoming him.

The med student doesn’t even bother reading the letter. He sees some emphatic exclamation points, a few smiley faces, and the word “welcome”. Like he cares. The keys, however, are important, and he makes haste inserting them into the lock. It opens with a satisfying click, and Seungwoo nearly bursts through the door to the tiny loft area.

Rental options, unsurprisingly, were pretty slim when Seungwoo started hunting a few months prior. He landed on the listing by pure chance through the newspaper of all things. The newspaper. Well, he hadn’t looked at it - his mama had. She graciously texted him the contact information of the apparent fossils leasing the space. Luckily said fossils sounded nice on the phone, and when they heard he was going to work at the Sunrise Healing Center, they were thrilled. In desperate need, Seungwoo happily took the cheap rate they offered without even seeing the place. They had offered basic furnishings and even included a couple of utilities.

“Home, sweet home,” Seungwoo mutters to himself, flicking on the light switches. His first reaction is relief that he hadn’t been catfished or mislead. The place is, as described, a small studio apartment. It has all the necessities: a small kitchen in the front corner (with fridge and microwave), a full sized bed on the far wall, a desk that would fit his laptop and books, and even a new looking TV on a console table. The wifi is already set up (he’d called to make sure it was up prior to arrival) and it’s not too hot, meaning the AC works. It’s plain; white walls and beige carpet (except for the kitchen which has laminate wood). What catches Seungwoo’s attention the most is the view. There’s actually a pretty decent sized window across the room from the door.

The student plops his overstuffed duffel bag down, walking over to the window on pure instinct. He presses his nose to it, glancing across the breadth of his view. It’s the town square. His eyes trace the lettering of the signs - some neon and some painted wood or brushed metal. He purses his lips, glancing at all he can see. There’s a bakery, a tavern, a boutique, and a gift shop. He notices an assortment of restaurants varying in cuisine from what appears to be family style to more elegant bistros. A tiny grocer brandishes a chalk sign boasting its selection of “locally sourced selection of produce and snacks”. Oh, and there’s a bar!

“Thank God,” Seungwoo thinks. He highly doubts it’s anything near a bastion of sophistication or even necessarily very fun. Still, it’s somewhere to get a drink. Seungwoo hopes that the other residents won’t be total tightasses. Maybe, just maybe, they can go out some time. He’s fairly resigned to being bored out of his wits but not opposed to being pleasantly surprised. It seems as if he’s found the one place in the middle of nowhere town that could be considered a hub for activity. For that, Seungwoo is glad.

Speaking of activity, something catches Seungwoo’s eye.

He glances across the square to the storefront almost immediately across from his flat. It’s the bakery. His eyes blow wide open as he eyes the queue forming at the window.

“Yikes,” He mumbles. Do people in the country really get up this early just to eat a damn pastry? I can’t relate .

Feeling inclined to do very much the opposite, Seungwoo stretches his body and yawns. It’s nap time. He lazily lumbers over to the door of his flat, clicking the lock shut. Briefly, he wonders, do people even lock their doors around here? Heh. I bet they don’t. The old grandma didn’t even tell me to lock my bike up.

Seungwoo shrugs. He doesn’t care. What he does care about is getting his sheets on the bed, so he can finally fall asleep.

“Yah- Where’s my spatula?” Sejun calls from the kitchen. Seungsik had taken a seat at one of the tables in the dining area to go over the books on his laptop. Early afternoon is a slow time for the bakery. People are done with their lunch breaks, and the school hasn’t let out yet. Seungsik typically uses the relatively peaceful time to knock out delivery orders and do paperwork. Sejun’s toward the end of his shift, and he’s tasked with finishing some of the more detailed deliveries or special orders in the afternoon.

“Why would I know that?” Seungsik asks, hollering across the narrow space into the open kitchen door.

“You know I leave things places all the time!”

Seungsik rolls his eyes; he thinks for a few seconds before responding, “Is it next to the coffee maker again?”

“Why would it be-” Sejun’s voice halts, “Thank you!” He draws out the “you” exaggeratedly before falling into silence again.

“Hey- You almost done? Hanse’s gonna be here any second. Byungchan, too.”

“Yeah, this one’s simple, just gotta make the frosting nice and smooth, along with some lettering.”

“Cool, you can finish that up and go.”

“Thanks, boss!” Sejun chirps before going quiet again.

“Ding! Ding!”

As if on cue, the little bell attached to the door rings out. Two sets of loud steps follow through.

“Guess what I found by the dumpster!” One of the young men calls out with a grin.

Seungsik doesn’t bother looking up from his work, “Byungchan, what did I tell you about rifling through the trash at that toxic waste facility?” Byungchan doubles over with loud laughter. Seungsik had hired Byungchan on as his afternoon and evening help shortly after bringing Sejun on. He has a dignified air about him which customers eat up (especially young girls); however, Seungsik knows his true colors. The one behind him, however, seems infinitely less amused.

“Wow, rude! That’s no way to talk about your best deliveryman!” Hanse feigns grave offense.

“Hanse, you’re our only deliveryman,” Byungchan retorts.

“See? Best.”

“Okay, well when you’re done acting like clowns, Byungchan can you sweep out here before the evening rush comes in.”

“Yes, sir!” Byungchan says, giving a joking salute before walking toward the back to change.

“Alright, so what’ve we got today?” Hanse asks, throwing himself into the chair nearest to Seungsik’s.

“The usual four dozen cookies to the healing center and one small cake to a residence. The cake gets delivered first, it’s on the other end of town.”

“Damn. Where to?”

“East side, here’s the address,” Seungsik slips Hanse a slip of paper.

“Alright, they ready yet?”

“The cookies are packed, Sejun’s finishing up the cake. Nothing fancy, one tier with some lettering and simple frosting, but-”

“Be careful,” Hanse rolls his eyes, “I know. When am I ever not careful?”

“Literally always.”

“Okay, but I’ve never messed up any of the merchandise!”

“Yet.”

“Oh my god so rude-” Hanse raises his voice, “So rude! This is workplace hostility! Where is HR?”

“I’m HR!” Sejun yells from the kitchen. “What’s your complaint?”

“Seungsik’s mean!”

“Wh- Oh my god,” Seungsik shakes his head, laughing to himself.

“Ding! Ding-ding!”

Seungsik’s attention is brought to the door for five seconds; however, he sees that it’s not a real customer, so he goes back to his bookkeeping.

Hanse is the first to greet him,“Oh, hey, what’s up Chan?”

“Yo! I didn’t know you were here!” Chan replies enthusiastically, bringing Hanse in for the weird handshake-hug thing they do.

“His bike is in front of the shop, how could you not?” Seungsik comments. They ignore him.

“Yeah. Not too many deliveries today, though. When do you get off?”

“I can break away probably like seven.”

“Dude, Drake dropped his new album you gotta come over and listen. Bring leftovers?”

“Of course!”

“Yo, who wants an extra cookie?” Byungchan emerges from the back with a deck broom in one hand and a plate with a cookie on another.

“I do!” “Me!” Chan and Hanse look at each other tensely for a moment. Their pupils dash between the other and Byungchan with plate in hand.

Byungchan’s eyes go wide, and before getting caught in a singularity, he throws the plate onto the pastry case, dashing off with the broom. Hanse and Chan make a break for the thing, reaching toward it simultaneously.

“C’mon man, you work here-” “Exactly, I work for this cookie!” “You got the last extra!” The two begin grab the edge of the plate, yanking it toward themselves.

“Oh, boy, here we go,” Seungsik mutters. The sound of struggling and sharp words echoes across the empty bakery. Seungsik is glad that nobody’s there. He loves the two idiots like they’re his brothers - they basically are. Still, it doesn’t mean he wants them to break everything. Ever since childhood they’d been like this. Separate, they were idiots, but together, they were destructive idiots.

Hanse had grown up down the street from Seungsik, and he’d known the kid since he was allowed to play outside. He’s always been a bit of a pest and often forgets to respect the elder in Seungsik; but, he’s got a great heart beneath his buffoonery. When Seungsik had started to learn the ropes of management, he’d offhandedly suggested they let Hanse do deliveries during the summer. Hanse was restless, and with his friends all working, he’d started getting kind of gloomy. Grandma and Grandpa Kang actually thought it was a great idea - the first of many Seungsik proposed to the bakery.

Then there’s Chan. Chan had moved into town around middle school. He was shy at first, but Hanse (of course it was Hanse) broke down the barrier pretty quick. Soon they couldn’t shut him up. Seungsik had always gotten the impression that Chan was a nice kid, but when he’s around Hanse, he’s something else.

“And voila!” Sejun steps out of the kitchen with a white box hin his hands, “She’s ready. I know I say this every time, but seriously be car- Whoa!” Seungsik’s eyes go wide and he glares at the commotion in front of him. Apparently Chan had gotten ahold of the plate and had decided playing keep away was a good idea. Sejun had narrowly avoided a calamity, swiftly getting the cake out of the path of destruction the two wrought.

“This is so unfair, you’ve got big arms!” Hanse groans, hopping toward Chan as he steps backward.

“Try harder!” Chan taunts him. He holds the plate high above his head, behind him.

“Thank you!” Byungchan throws his broom down, swooping in and swiping the cookie off of the plate. Before Hanse or Chan can do anything - or really even realize what he’s doing - he takes a massive bite out of the confection. “ Mm-mmm ! Oh, so good!”

“Wh- No!” Chan’s jaw drops in devastation.

“Nooo!” Hanse falls onto his knees dramatically, throwing his hands out toward Byungchan.

“Mmmm- Oh, are these yours Sejun?”

Sejun snorts, “Nope, these were Seungsik’s.”

“Sublime!” Byungchan exaggeratedly kisses his fingers.

“Boo, you,” Chan pouts, crossing his arms. Hanse joins him, getting off the floor to do so.

“Chan what are you doing here, anyways?” Byungchan asks with a laugh.

Chan’s mouth opens, but he pauses for a second; it takes him a second to find his words, “I was on an errand for the restaurant. Just had to pick up some eggs. You got any?”

“No, Chan, we’re a bakery that doesn’t have eggs,” Sejun chuckles sarcastically.

“What’re you offering?” Seungsik asks, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Chan works for the Japanese restaurant across the square that specializes in ramen. They do pretty traditional stuff along with some comfort food. Being across the square makes it mighty convenient for Chan to stop by. Often. Luckily, the owners are pretty laid back and have been friends with Seungsik’s grandparents for decades. Making exchanges and trades is just another part of day-to-day business for both of them.

“Twenty grams of nori.”

“Hmm…”

“Come on, remember- last time you made those crackers? They were gone before you even had time to properly portion them.”

Seungsik purses his lips but gives in quickly, “Okay, fine.”

“Thank you!” Chan trots into the kitchen; he knows where the eggs are, he’s been sent to grab them so many times it’s basically routine. Seungsik wonders if Chan’s work bothers putting eggs on their purchase orders anymore. Hanse joins Chan in the back, loading the deliveries inside the (very cushioned) cooler he straps to the back of his bike. Sejun helps Hanse load it, and Chan scribbles Seungsik an IOU.

“All set, little red?” Seungsik snarks at Hanse.

Hanse snorts, “Wh- I don’t even have red hair anymore.”

“It’s still kind of red!”

“It’s faded.”

“Come on, you know it’s perfect. You put sweets in your basket to deliver to grandma…”

“Oh- We should get him a red hoodie!” Sejun says with a clap.

“Yes!” Seungsik agrees, “We can put the bakery’s name on it.”

“Like a little billboard on wheels.”

“He’s like our mascot, almost.”

“You guys know I’m right here, right?” Hanse laughs.

“Yeah. Why… Is that exactly? Don’t you have deliveries to do?”

“Ugh, fine. Slave drivers!” Hanse leaves in a dramatic huff, and Chan bursts out of the back at his heels.

“Thanks for the eggs see you later bye!” Chan shouts as he clamors after Hanse.

“Clang!! Ding-ding-ding!”

The door slams loudly behind the two, and the volume in the bakery feels mute in their wake.

“Ah,” Sejun says with a chuckle, “Young love.”

Byungchan snorts, “Do you think we’re gonna have to do their wedding cake?”

“If we do, we’re charging them double,” Seungsik adds. The other two laugh, and Sejun retreats to the back to clean up.

Soft indie music lilts out of the bluetooth speaker Seungsik brings down from his apartment every day. Seungsik glances at his phone: 6:43 PM. Closing time is seven, and the place is deserted save for an old couple. I hope they leave soon, Seungsik muses, aren’t most elderly people in bed by now?

“Hey, boss,” Byungchan pokes his head out from the kitchen.

“What’s up?”

“Dishes are done. I mean- except whatever they’re using,” He points to the old couple sharing a slice of tiramisu and a couple of cups of tea.

“Awesome, thank you for today, Byungchan.”

“I’m just doing my job. The one you hired me for. And pay me for.”

“Yeah, but- you do it well. Competently… You haven’t broken anything yet.”

Byungchan grins, ”Wow, you speak so highly of me.”

Seungsik snorts, playfully smacking the other on the shoulder, “You know- I just- God, why am I nice to you guys? Why am I nice?”

“I dunno. Why are you?”

“I need to start-” Seungsik smacks Byungchan more, “-abusing you more.”

“No, no! Hey!” Byungchan puts his hands up in a feeble effort to protect himself, “Hey! Ah! I’m gonna report you to HR!”

“I am HR!” Seungsik giggles.

“I’m gonna tell on you! Nana Kang is gonna be sooo mad!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” Byungchan hovers his hand over his pocket, where he keeps his phone.

“Ugh! You know, I was going to tell you to go home early, but if you’re gonna be like that, you can climb into the ovens and-”

“Wait, did I say you were getting reported? I meant nominated! For the best boss ever award!” Byungchan doesn't hesitate to to start untying his apron. “Wait- are you sure. What about those two?”

“Don’t worry about them. I got it. Not like I have a long commute home, anyways.”

“Are you positive?”

“Well, I guess if you do stay I could go out tonight… Hit the clubs, you know.” Seungsik pointedly looks out the wide windows at the near-deserted square outside. The setting sun casts long shadows across the quiet little square. A few cars pass by, and one person walks their dog in the park at the center.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, really lit tonight.”

“Yup, so, get out of here,” Seungsik elbows Byungchan.

“You serious?”

“For real- stop before I change my mind!”

“Okay, fine, I’m going,” Byungchan sheds his apron, slinging it over his shoulder, “But…” He glances over to the old couple, “Don’t work too hard, okay? Like- Get some sleep. You gotta be up in eight hours or something, right?”

Seungsik shrugs. Sleep and him aren’t necessarily great friends. It’s the life of a baker, something he’s resigned himself to. He’s found that four hours is plenty of sleep. Coffee does a surprisingly decent job at augmenting him in where he’s lacking. It’s fine. Totally fine.

“Go,” Seungsik waves Byungchan away, “Go, go, go!” At least one of us can have a good night, he thinks.

“Okay, bye! See you tomorrow!” Byungchan trots into the back to grab his stuff before running out with another wave.

“Bye!” Seungsik gives the other a wave, watching him depart.

It goes quiet again. Seungsik sighs, leaning on the pastry case. His eyes drift to the couple eating contently in the corner. Their conversation is quiet. It looks nice.

Are they… Are they holding hands? Seungsik squints. The couple’s got to be at least mid sixties. Shouldn’t they be bickering or something? He can’t help but watch them, fixated. The two sit peacefully, hand in hand, happily chatting away. They kind of remind him of his own grandparents. He wonders how the heck two people can find each other and manage to stay together.

First of all, there’s the insane concept of actually finding someone who likes you the way you like them. Like, where are these people? They’re not dropping from the sky. They don’t grow on trees, and they definitely don’t live in small towns or walk into little bakeries. Even if they do admire you, then there’s the question: are they actually a decent person? Seungsik’s read his fair share of horror stories on the internet; he may be just a tad terrified of the human race because of it. Sure, some dude may like him, but what if he’s rude? Ornery, even? What if he’s got a wandering eye or he falls out of love with him?!

Then there’s the fact that, somehow, a person is expected to stand the other for, well years. Not hours. Not days or weeks or even months. Years . Of what, exactly? Seungsik doesn’t even know. He supposes that kids enter the equation somehow - at least, for straight couples they do. For guys? That’s a slim chance. So people wake up next to their spouse for decades on end. Working. Doing the same crap they did before, but with, like, obligations. And they’re supposed to be happy about it? It just isn’t realistic.

But… it doesn’t stop Seungsik from dreaming about it.

He glances at his phone again: 7:12. What?! It’s closing time. He glances at the couple again. They’re still there, nestled in the corner, cozy as ever. I should say something. I need to prep stuff for tomorrow morning, not to mention cleaning up after them.

“Gyahahaha!” The old woman laughs loudly - it echoes loudly across the long, empty bakery. She slams her hand on the table, throwing her head back in laughter. Her entire face scrunches with glee.

Well… Maybe just a few more minutes, Seungsik decides, a tiny smile crossing his lips as he looks on wistfully.

Seungwoo scrunches his nose. Is that what crickets sound like? He turns the volume of his headphones up, trying to drown them out. Why are they yelling? Why are they so angry?! He sighs. His first day in town was absolutely riveting, in his humble opinion. He moved all one bags of his possessions into his temporary digs.  

After passing out for four hours and totally messing up his sleep schedule, he played games. Four tragic losses in League later, he sits, dejected in his chair. With orientation the next day, bed seems like a good decision. Except. It’s not even nine o’ clock.

“Ugh,” Seungwoo wrings his hands down his face. He looks outside. The village square is dark. The few street lamps that light the way cast long, dark shadows across the street. It looks like a ghost town or something out of a horror film. Seungwoo half expects zombies to start crawling out between the towering trees in the middle.

He taps out one, simple message to some of his friends in Seoul:

“Save me.”

“Boring isn’t that bad… Right?” He says to himself. He eyes the square again. Almost every window has gone dark. Bright neon signs illuminate the little corner occupied by the local tavern. Little cracks of light slip through blinds and curtains in some of the flats above the shops. Aside from that, nothing.

“This summer’s gonna be real fun,” Seungwoo groans.

He looks at his phone again. No replies. They’re probably finishing up happy hour. Jerks. All out, having fun and stuff.

Seungwoo rolls his desk chair across the studio lazily. His chair hits the bedframe with a soft “thud”, and he flops over onto the mattress lazily. Seungwoo’s tired, but he’s not. He finds it hard to explain. He hasn’t done much all day, but he still feels weirdly exhausted. Guess that happens when you pack up what few possessions you have and move hours away from everything you’ve known.

Part of him wonders if that’s just some side effect of country air, too. It’s not just him. Everyone is, apparently, tired. At least, that’s what all the blacked out windows indicates to him. How could people be ready to just… Retire by eight thirty at night? How is that in any way, shape, or form normal?

He’s grateful that he at least isn’t one of those tortured types who “can’t stand to be alone with his thoughts”.  One of the shops on the square sells books, and Seungwoo sees himself going through a crap-ton of them. By reflex, he reaches for his phone, opening his browser app.

Click bait. Click bait. Click bait. A thread of cute puppy gifs (he clicks on that)! Click bait. Click bait. Click bait- Horoscope?

Seungwoo taps it indulgently. He realizes that it’s just sappy, vague crap spun by some woefully underpaid intern. Seungwoo wishes he could make a living doing something so stupid, but, alas, it’s not his calling. He’s not necessarily the superstitious type, but sometimes it’s like… A fun exercise in self reflection. It’s fun to see how random, incredibly nonspecific philosophical advice can apply to one’s life. The little goat symbol denoting “capricorn” pops up on the screen and he presses it curiously.

“What doth my future hold, oh great, glorious internet psychics?” Seungwoo asks facetiously as he stretches out on the bed. The block of text reads just as dubiously as any other divination:

“Hey, Cap. It’s not uncommon for an intuit like you to think you’ve got it all figured out - especially in relationships. Let your walls down, and an unexpected avenue might open for you! We know that with the sun departing into Leo, you’re going to start looking into outward appearances, but remember: it’s what’s in a person’s heart that counts. The astral energies are finicky these days, so you never know, you might find that spark with who you least expect!”

Seungwoo snorts. Yeah, okay. I bet I’ll fall head over heels for one of the trees in the park.