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“Get out of my face, [Name].”
“Ban—”
“Go away!”
He’s screaming so shrilly it hurts your ears. But Ban doesn’t even give you a chance to ‘go away’, and leaves himself, using his abnormal agility to push past you and flee. You yelp and run after him, but he’s already gone, scaling rooftops until he disappears into the night. The shadows blur in your tears and you sink to the ground, alone.
Loss and heartbreak. Partners in misery.
---
Even though it had been years ago, you still remember him.
You and Ban had been a real pair of rascals. But that was just the way it had to be when times got tough. It wasn’t easy being an orphan; even harder being poor orphans. You never liked to steal, even if it felt like Ban was getting a hoot out of it. But his company made life a little easier. Brighter, too.
Back then you had promised, as a pair, that you’d be best friends for life. You even thought that you would marry him in that cloud of childish naivety. Looking back, it was hard to imagine why; you were on the meeker side. Humble, quiet in achievement. Ban was brash. Loud. Maybe it had been an “opposites attract” thing?
“I wish you’d just leave me alone, [Name], you—”
It still stings to hear the words in your head to this day.
Why had you fought? Once, you were inseparable. But on that night, he’d vanished and never come back. The grief had settled as a fog, and though you could remember the exact brutal words he had spat at you, you couldn’t even remember how it begun. In any case, you hadn’t totally moved on, but you were at least moving forwards.
If there was one thing you absolutely loved, it was baking. The bakery was your favourite place, then and now. Something about the smell of butter in the air had enchanted you. Sweets were tasty, sure, but you think you like the feeling of seeing people smile after they bite into one of your pastries most. It feels like you’re doing something right. Good.
After Ban had abandoned you, you sought out the only other thing to bring you comfort—the town bakery. To your eternal gratitude, the baker pitied you and took you in as an apprentice. It wasn’t long before you surpassed him in skill and passion, and once you were old enough, you opened a shop of your own. You found success even in the midst of suffering. Though you suppose you aren’t really done suffering when every day, years later, you mourn the loss of your then-best friend. You doubt he would even remember who you were, if he was even still out there.
You thought about what it would be like if he was still around. If he had never left. Maybe he’d be a nuisance in the kitchen, pouring melted chocolate into the ganache for truffles or mixing up salt and sugar. He’s a good cook, you remember, but a dreadful baker. It’d be chaotic, but you’d love him for it still. The thought makes you smile, but it’s sad. If only.
You bake an extra batch of lavender cookies every day. They’re popular, so it makes sense to have a lot of them. But they used to be his favourite. It’s not like you expect to see him again, but… you bake an extra batch every day, just in case.
---
“Ban?”
A younger version of you slips under the make-shift tent you and Ban set up in an alleyway. You watch them move slowly, dazed; you’re vaguely aware that you’re dreaming, but you have no thoughts of your own, fully absorbed in the moment that you’re spectating.
“What, [Name]? I have to get going for the heist, so make it quick.”
You bite your lip and wring your hands. With a sharp, little breath, you spit it out before you can regret not saying it.
“I wish you wouldn’t go.”
Ban’s brow furrows, his small face becoming ever more fox like. “Why not?” he asks suspiciously, lowering his bag. You know it has a dagger in it and clench your fists, more resolute.
“It’s just… it’s always so dangerous, and I care about you. So I don’t want you to keep almost getting hurt, or worse!”
“I’ll be fine,” he insists, exasperated, as if putting himself into life-or-death situations on the daily is too trivial of an issue to deal with right now. “I haven’t been hurt yet, have I?”
“No, but your partner did, right?”
The air grows colder.
“I heard you crying last night. I don’t want that to be you—”
“You what?” he just about roars, his entire body stiffening like he’s been burnt. You shrivel away, feeling the fear erupt deep in your gut, where real terror lives.
“Ban—”
“No. You care about me? We’re just using each other to make our way through life, aren’t we?”
The words are brutal. You think back, heart racing, to when the two of you laughed over a pile of (stolen) lavender cookies, pinky-promising to be friends for life. Even if that wasn’t forever, you were friends, weren’t you?
“That’s not true,” you say shakily. “Please, I thought—”
“Get out of my face, [Name].” He says it decisively, and you’re left floundering with questions. Mostly, you just want him to stay to hear you out so you can fix whatever had just opened a rift between the two of you. There’s nothing to apologize for, but if begging for forgiveness might make him stay, then you will. Anything for him to stay.
“Ban—”
“Go away!”
And he leaves.
---
But when he comes back, you almost can’t believe it.
He’s sleazy, waltzing into the door of your bakery in that… outfit. He’s taller than you thought a man could ever be, spine curved and figure angular. He didn’t grow out of that fox-like appearance; in fact, it’s more pronounced than ever with his sharp eyes and jawline.
“Miss me that much, [Name]?”
His smirk belongs to a womanizer, but his tone is soft and apologetic. You probably have the right to throw him out, or cuss him out, or beat on him, but you don’t. You don’t have the heart to. In fact, you’re just so relieved to see him that you forget decades worth of pain and wrap yourself up in a hug. Maybe it was a bit too bold of a move, as you feel him hesitate for a second. But later, his arms encircle you comfortingly.
“I couldn’t go an eternity without apologizing to you. So I found you. You did pretty well for yourself once I got out of your life, huh?”
He explains it all, covering the immortality thing first. It’s flying over your head, but you’re just happy to listen to whatever he has to say. It’s almost like nothing happened at all; despite all that time and distance, talking to him is just as easy as it had always been. His life’s been chaotic, though you aren’t surprised. He’s a hero, saved the world, blah blah blah. Lastly, he clears his throat, suddenly awkward.
“Anyways… this might sound weird, but I suddenly remembered those lavender cookies. Do you remember? The ones we used to share?”
“Yeah, I do!” you say breathlessly, aware that your excitement is a bit pathetic of a grown adult. But you can’t help it. Something about Ban overjoys you and makes you lose all sense of rationale. The brightness you love to bring to people’s faces seems just a bit skewed on his, but you can’t help but still like the look of it.
“Do you still bake them, by any chance?”
“I do.”
“Great.” His face splits into a wide, easy grin, slightly stretching the scar that decorates his body now. “I’ll need a batch.”
“You’re not going to steal them from me?” you tease, hoping he’ll also get a kick out of going down memory lane with you. He rolls his crimson red eyes which are pearlescent like oily rubies.
“Nah. My girl wouldn’t like that.”
My girl.
Your world feels like it stops spinning, throwing you and everything around you into high-velocity disarray. Apparently, these feelings are showing on your face, but Ban doesn’t interpret them right and seems to think you’re only surprised he didn’t mention it.
“Yeah, Elaine. I could explain it, but I’d end up talking about her all day, so…” He trails off as his eyes mist over. You can’t stand to look at him and avert your gaze, staring hard at the floor.
“Anyways,” he chirps, like he hasn’t broken your heart for the second time now. “I should be getting back. You think I can get them to go right away?”
He drops money on your counter as if that could ever make up for it. He never explained why he left you all those years ago, though you think you get it. Ban is selfish. Greedy. Whatever he wants, he wants—and nobody else can have it. Back then it was “pride”; the idea that he couldn’t have anybody caring about him, because that makes you vulnerable. It’s ugly of him.
So why is it that when you shakily hand him the bag of the extra batch of cookies, you still wish he’d stay? Why is that you still wish he’d smile at you and call you his friend-for-life? Why is it that you still think about when you dreamt about marrying him?
“Thanks, [Name].” He hesitates, seeming to acknowledge that it’s not enough. But all he does is shrug and extend a final, pitifully quiet,
“I’m glad you’re doing well.”
You want to tell him that you aren’t, actually—that you’re stupid and miserable and just want him back with you. The gentle scent of lavender brings you back hard to the day where the two of you grinned at each other over cookie crumbs and vowed, we’ll be friends forever and ever. But forever and ever is leaving, his back turned on you.
The first love is always so cruel.