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“Bitch,” Doyoung announces as he kicks open Taeyong’s door, a steaming mug in one hand and a rubber spatula in the other. “It’s boo season.”
Taeyong looks up glumly from the novel he’s been trying (and failing) to read for the last two hours. “Okay. So?”
“So?” Doyoung slaps the spatula to his chest, looking incredibly offended. “So c’mon, it’s time to bake some spiced treats for ourselves, our friends, our neighbors, our professors, the dean, and whoever else the fuck might be in the mood for some expired cinnamon and artificial pumpkin flavoring.”
The words fly over Taeyong’s head, because the only thing his poor, sleep-deprived brain can register at the moment is how Doyoung really just bust into his room. In the middle of the night. Fully awake. Dressed like an actual college kid. He’s wearing an old t-shirt—t-shirt!—with a hole near the hem and a faded print of a cartoonish ghost on the front. Taeyong thinks the last time he ever saw Doyoung dressed down like that must’ve been in their first year finals week, when literally NOBODY gave a shit about what they looked like anymore.
“Hello? Tae? Taeyong? Yong? Ding-dong? Did you hear a word I just said?”
If the evidence of Doyoung’s presence isn’t so blatantly apparent (read: the splitting headache Taeyong’s getting just from hearing his voice), this entire scenario almost feels like an insomnia-induced hallucination. Taeyong sets his novel on the coffee table before him and stretches himself out on the floor, feeling his joints pop and crack. He closes his eyes for a moment, and opens them again. Doyoung is still standing there, sipping from his mug and tapping the spatula rhythmically against his dumb jack o’ lantern-printed pajama pants.
“What the fuck,” Taeyong groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “You’re actually serious.”
“I am.”
“What’s with the sudden need to bake?”
Doyoung lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Bitch, I just said it. Boo season.”
Taeyong flops onto his back and stares up at his ceiling. He’s too tired to deal with Doyoung’s shit right now. All he wants to do is sleep, which is already hard enough to accomplish in itself.
“Go find someone else, Doie. I’m exhausted.”
“No, you ain’t. You’d be in bed and not on the floor if you’re really that tired,” Doyoung immediately shoots back.
“Who’s gonna wanna come by to get those treats anyway?” Taeyong grumbles. “The hall trick-or-treat event is off this year. No families are gonna visit the campus with their precious kids for candy or cookies and risk getting infected. Why bother?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Doyoung mutters, before taking a particularly loud slurp of whatever’s in his mug. "Get up. You're being pathetic."
Taeyong rolls over and groans into the carpet. "I'm not pathetic. Halloween is cancelled."
"Says who?"
"Says this pandemic."
Doyoung scoffs. "Diseases don't talk. Now, are you gonna mope or help me bake some snickerdoodles?"
“Doie, it’s 3 in the morning.”
“Does it look like I give a fuck?”
Taeyong ignores the question completely. “Why are you even up so late—early—whatever. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Okay listen,” Doyoung says, drawing out the words like it’s a chore. “I’m four mugs down on pumpkin spice lattes, and I don’t even like pumpkin spice lattes. Now all the caffeine is getting to me, so you’re gonna have to help me bake fall goodies because you’re the only other person awake at this ungodly hour.”
Now that he mentions it, that actually makes a lot of sense. Doyoung looks like shit. Maybe the most well-composed, neat, objectively attractive piece of shit Taeyong’s ever seen, but still shit by his standards. Dark circles hang heavy under Doyoung’s eyes and his lips are in dire need of some chapstick. His hair is sticking out at random angles and his posture is slouched, like he really can’t even find the will to stand properly anymore.
“So why the fuck are you still drinking coffee?” Taeyong asks.
Doyoung shrugs. “I dunno. It just makes my brain go stupid faster.”
“Can’t you go bother someone else for this?”
“You got any suggestions?”
“Johnny’s probably up. Or Jaehyun. And Jae likes baking. Why didn’t you ask him?”
“Y’know, I thought about it,” Doyoung says, tracing a finger over the rim of his mug. “But then I remembered that it’s Saturday.”
Taeyong frowns. “What’s so special about Saturday?”
“What comes before Saturday?”
“Friday.”
“And what happens on Fridays?”
“Jae and some of those other assholes gather in Johnny’s room for smash tournaments.”
“And what happens after that?”
“The assholes leave and Johnny closes the door.”
“And where’s Jae?”
“He usually stays afterwards to—”
A triumphant smirk stretches across Doyoung’s face as the pieces fall into place. Taeyong gags and reels back in disgust. “Oh, god. Okay. Touché. Motherfucker, I totally forgot about that.”
“See?” Doyoung nods towards the open door. “Now c’mon, help me out. I wanna bake goodies, and I wanna bake ‘em now.”
“We don’t even have ingredients,” Taeyong tries to protest weakly, though he already knows it’s a lost cause when Doyoung reaches into the hallway. A moment later, he comes back pulling in a small wagon literally loaded with baking utensils and various ingredients. There’s even piping bags and jars of frosting in the pile. He obviously came prepared.
“Double touché, bitch.” Doyoung grins, a little too wide for Taeyong’s liking. “So let’s go.”
“I really have no say in this, do I?” Taeyong grumbles, pulling himself up anyways. Technically speaking, he’s only supposed to stay up to make sure the kids come back alright from their Friday night rendezvous. His insomnia only helps with the whole “staying up” bit. It’s tiring, but he gets paid for it, so Taeyong can’t complain too much.
However, nowhere in his job description does it detail being another RA’s baking buddy.
Especially if that RA is a certain Doyoung Kim, who lugs around a wagon full of baking supplies at 3 in the morning and is probably one mug of pumpkin spice latte away from developing psychosis.
Doyoung leads them to the hall kitchen, and sets his wagon by the tiny table inside. The space is only big enough for two people without the wagon, and Taeyong winces when he bumps his hip into the counter as he squeezes past the door.
“So, how are we gonna approach this?”
“Well,” Doyoung says before taking another sip from his mug and setting it rather aggressively on the counter, “I’ve got a recipe book in here somewhere. Just flip to the sticky tabs and we’ll go from there.”
Taeyong squints at the mountain of supplies in the wagon. “You don’t even know what you wanna make?”
Doyoung shakes his head as he begins to pile the supplies onto the rickety table. “I just wanna make something. I don’t really care what it is. But we gotta include snickerdoodles in there somewhere.”
“Oof.” Taeyong wheezes when a book is suddenly tossed at him, nailing him square in the gut before he manages to catch it. It’s an old, worn thing with several sticky tabs in various colors and sizes poking out over the pages, and speckled with all sorts of stains.
“Go on, pick one. Any one,” Doyoung coaxes as he sets a bag of flour onto the counter with an unholy amount of spice bottles. “Just maybe not anything to do with real pumpkin, ‘cause that’s like the one thing I don’t have with me right now.”
Taeyong heaves a sigh and flips to a random page in the book, coughing as a small cloud of flour is suddenly blown up from the pages. Doyoung must’ve seen it, because in the next second he’s cracking up as he hauls a mixing bowl onto the counter, setting it down with a too-loud clank .
And Taeyong really hopes that Doyoung still has some of that latte, because he just might need it to make it through the night.
“Okay, so all we gotta do is fold in the flour and—Taeyong, would you please put down the fucking mug and help me ?”
Taeyong raises a finger as he tips back what is now his third mug of pumpkin spice latte. There’s a half-empty gallon of milk by the microwave and an open mason jar labeled “spicy pumpkin shit” on the table before him. Taeyong pulls the mug away from his lips and dips a clean spoon back into the jar, pulling out a heaping spoonful and dumping it into the nearly-empty mug before topping it off with milk.
Doyoung might call these lattes shit, but right now, it’s the only saving grace Taeyong has against passing out right there on the kitchen floor.
And to be fair, he deserves this. It’s been two hours already, and the kitchen is in a state that Taeyong can only describe to be ‘controlled chaos’. Cookie trays line the counter and table, each holding different types of cookies in various stages of baked. An apple pie sits pretty on a chair, cooling off and just asking to be sat on. Flour dusts the exposed table surface and forms white spots on both Doyoung and Taeyong’s shirts. A chunk of cookie dough has dried on Taeyong’s forearm and Doyoung has a smudge of orange food coloring along his cheek.
The sky is still pitch black outside the window, and it’ll be another couple hours until dawn. And based on how things are progressing here, Taeyong wouldn’t be surprised if they end up baking all the way into noon.
He sets the mug in the microwave and enters sixty seconds before dodging another chair with a cooling pan of cupcakes. Doyoung is still trying to fold flour into...hell, Taeyong doesn’t even know what it is anymore. All he knows is that it’s neon orange and apparently very sticky.
“What even is that?”
“Orange blondies.”
Taeyong blinks. “Wouldn’t that just be called redheads, then?”
Doyoung turns to him, with his signature ‘are you for fucking real’ face plastered on. “What?”
“You can’t call it a ginger. There’s no actual ginger in it.”
“What kind of logic is that?”
“The kind that stems from three mugs of fall lattes and a particular asshole dragging me all the way out here to bake enough food to feed this entire dorm with.”
Doyoung looks like he wants to snap back, but all he ends up doing is pressing his lips into a pout and pointing at the brownie pan at the corner of the counter. Taeyong retrieves it without question and picks up the oil spray, misting its surface thoroughly.
“So when’s the cinnamon almond scones gonna be done?” he asks.
“In about another five minutes or so. Then we can get this batter into the pan and the pan in the oven.”
Taeyong looks around the room. He tries to count the number of baked goods they’ve already produced, but his brain is not cooperating with him in the math department today.
So instead, he gives up and snags a snickerdoodle. It’s lumpy and lopsided, but the center is soft and slightly gooey just the way he likes it, and the cookie itself is thoroughly covered in cinnamon sugar. Taeyong finishes it in two bites and reaches for another one. Conveniently enough, the microwave beeps behind him, and Taeyong washes down his next cookie with a swig of his fourth serving of caffeinated pumpkin goodness.
At least they’re even now.
“Look, we already have so much stuff, Doyoung. Snickerdoodles, gingersnaps, those dumbass ghost sugar cookies or whatever, apple pie, cupcakes...like what else do you need to make?”
“We can make orange-flavored pancakes. I’ve got some orange flavoring and food coloring left around here somewhere.”
Taeyong picks up a spare spatula and smacks Doyoung with it. “Okay, no. Ew. We’re not doing that. This is an intervention.”
“Where was this intervention about two hours ago?” Doyoung snaps back over his progressively aggressive folding.
“It flew out the window with my will to live the moment you gave me three sticks of butter and told me to figure out how to make a pie crust.”
Doyoung grumbles something under his breath as he turns his attention back to the batter he’s working on. Taeyong watches him silently, munching on his third cookie of the hour. It’s almost hypnotizing how effortlessly Doyoung is incorporating the flour into the batter without getting anything onto the counter. The motions are practiced and precise, like everything else he does. Including pulling all-nighters, apparently.
It’s almost scary how focused Doyoung can be when he sets his mind to something. Then again, nobody else in their right minds would voluntarily chug four mugs of pumpkin spice latte and walk down an entire floor with a wagon of baking supplies just to annoy their best friend into baking with them.
“Here, let me,” Taeyong says as he sidles up to Doyoung and gently eases the spatula out of his grip. The batter is smooth enough already, and the moment the spatula leaves Doyoung’s hand, he’s darting off to bring forth the baking pan. All the caffeine really must be getting to him. Doyoung hasn’t been able to stay still for longer than seven seconds. Taeyong’s been counting.
“Okay, after we get these redheads—these blondies—these bars ,” Doyoung stresses, “into the pan, I’m pulling the scones out. Then we need to move on.”
“To what?”
Doyoung reaches behind him and picks up a large can. “Well, I still got some of this apple pie filling. How do you feel about apple strudels?”
“How do you feel about defining what the fuck that is?”
“Pastries, you uncultured headass.”
“How much butter goes into those things?”
Doyoung flips a couple pages in the old cookbook, sneezing as a small dusting of cinnamon is suddenly released. “Uh...like half a stick.”
“Okay. Doable. Anything else?”
“Raisins.”
“Fuck no. Change your mind.”
“What’s wrong with raisins?”
“What isn’t wrong with them?” Taeyong shoots back, leveling Doyoung with a glare. “You absolute heathen.”
Doyoung brings out the can opener, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “If you can eat grapes, you can eat grape mummies. Stop bitching about it and just help me out.”
Taeyong gestures at the bowl in his hands. “What the fuck does it look like I’ve been doing for the past three hours, you asshole?”
“Help, sure. You do an awful lot of bitching, though.” Doyoung ducks instinctively, effectively dodging the measuring spoon Taeyong chucks at him. “You missed, by the way.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Taeyong lifts the bowl and begins to tip the batter into the pan. The bright orange contrasts sharply with the dull gray of the pan and somehow makes his eyes cross. It’s only by sheer force of will and a lot of blinking that Taeyong manages to scrape the bowl clean and not drop it too.
He needs a break.
They need a break.
God, what the fuck are they even doing?
The thoughts swirl into a jumbled mess inside his head, but Taeyong doesn’t even get the luxury of lingering on them, because in the next second Doyoung’s snatching the pan away from him and popping the oven open. He reaches in with a towel, pulls out the scones, and deposits the bars in one fluid motion.
“Alright,” Doyoung says, stacking the hot tray on top of a cooling tray. “Strudel time, bitch. Buckle your ass up.”
Taeyong looks around the kitchen. There’s pies and cupcakes on the chairs and trays of cookies and other goodies all over every flat surface. Somehow, a spot of frosting has landed on the window, and there’s specks of food coloring on the ceiling. The sink is piled high with kitchen equipment that neither of them have bothered to wash.
This is unbelievable. This is ridiculous.
And this isn’t going to stop anytime soon.
Taeyong closes his eyes and draws in a breath. He can still see Doyoung standing right in front of him, holding an opened can of apple filling in one hand and the other perched on his slim waist, waiting for an answer.
“Strudel time it is,” Taeyong finally relents, pushing his sleeves higher up his arms and ignoring the streak of orange that’s painted along his skin from the action. “Bring it on, bitch.”
Doyoung grins and turns to get butter from the fridge, and Taeyong takes the opportunity to grab the box of raisins on the table and hurl it out the window.
“Trick or treat?”
“Treat, please!”
Taeyong smiles fondly as he hands Yukhei a plate of cupcakes. The younger’s eyes widen in delight at the sight of the sweets and he hops giddily in place. Taeyong laughs at his antics and reaches out to gently ruffle Yukhei’s hair over his googly-eye hairband.
“Make sure you share, alright? If you want more, you know where to find me.”
Yukhei blinks at him, the sweet soul, and purses his lips into a pout. “But what will you eat?”
Taeyong sneaks a glance over at his desk, which is literally stacked with paper plates and baking trays full of fall desserts. Doyoung is standing by the tower of goods, trying to balance an overloaded plate of gingersnaps on top of a full plate of scones.
“I’m sure I’ll manage, Yukhei. Thank you for worrying about me, though,” Taeyong says, sending the boy off with another affectionate head pat.
“You know,” Doyoung says after Taeyong closes his door. “I never thought you’d actually send an email and invite everyone from the dorm and the next dorm over to trick-or-treat here.”
Taeyong’s face is completely blank as he regards both Doyoung and the mountain of baked goods on his desk. “Would you rather we eat all this and get diabetes or let them all go to waste?” He shakes his head. “I still can’t fucking believe I let you drag me into making all of this with you.”
Doyoung holds up an apple pie. It’s one of six—the rest are all squeezed onto Taeyong’s coffee table, away from their lone brethren. Taeyong still can’t quite wrap his head around how the actual hell they managed to bake six pies on top of everything else in the span of twelve hours.
Yes.
That’s right.
Twelve hours .
Taeyong and Doyoung have not slept since the previous day, and the only thing keeping them both up right now is a cold shower and a mug of triple-shot espresso, because Doyoung finally can’t stand to even see pumpkin spice anymore.
Was it worth it?
Definitely not.
Would Taeyong ever do it again?
Hell no.
But would he, if it was Doyoung asking?
Fuck yes, because even though Taeyong would sooner smash his own face into a pie than admit it out loud, Doyoung will always have a special place in his heart. He might put up a bit of a fight at first, but ultimately, whatever Doyoung says, goes.
“Hey, Yong?”
“Yeah?”
Doyoung’s lips pull into a soft smile, the kind that shows his teeth and brings light to his eyes. He holds an arm out, and Taeyong finds himself immediately gravitating to him. Doyoung wraps his arm around Taeyong’s shoulders at the same time Taeyong wraps his arms around Doyoung’s waist and nuzzles his face into the junction between Doyoung’s neck and shoulder.
“I love you, bitch,” Doyoung says. “Thanks for putting up with me last night. This morning. Whatever.”
“I’m the only one who’d put up with you anyways,” Taeyong scoffs, before leaning in and pressing a quick peck to Doyoung’s jaw. “You’re lucky I was awake. If you’d woken me up—”
“You’d give me hell for it, yeah, yeah, I know,” Doyoung cuts in. “But you love me.”
“Do I?”
“You do.”
“I do.” Taeyong stifles a yawn behind his hand. “I still wished you could’ve bothered Jae, though. Now we gotta stay up and give these treats away.”
Doyoung lets go of Taeyong and holds up the pie in his hand. “Hey, I can’t believe that they’d forget what day it is. Spending all their time together the night before Halloween? How unspirited and selfish do you gotta be? They missed out on all the good shit! Like look at this!”
Taeyong doesn’t bother pointing out the fact that they basically did the same thing, except they spent their time together making all of the shit. And to be honest, he'd prefer baking in a cramped kitchen over some alone time in his dorm anyday. So he'll give Doyoung that much credit.
A sharp knock sounds at the door, and Taeyong steps away from Doyoung to answer it.
“Trick or treat!” Jaehyun shouts, draped with a white sheet and holding out a pumpkin cauldron. Taeyong can only tell it’s Jaehyun because nobody else has that rich baritone voice signature of the choir captain. Johnny is laughing next to him, wearing a tiger onesie with a triangle sticker on his nose and whiskers drawn on his face.
“Surprise, motherfucker!” he exclaims.
Doyoung drops the pie unceremoniously into Johnny’s hands. “Some pie, motherfucker.”
Taeyong opens the door and points at the mound of sweets threatening to overtake his room. “Supplies, motherfucker.”
Jaehyun immediately turns around. “Goodbye, motherfucker.”
Doyoung pushes past Taeyong into the hall, a long wooden spoon in hand. “Don’t try, motherfucker.”
“Uh…” Mark stares at the small pile of autumn desserts on his desk. “Yukhei, where’d you even get this from?”
“Oh, every RA in the dorm is giving out these goodies for Halloween,” Yukhei says around a mouthful of pie. He’s eating the thing straight out of the pan, that monster— “So I just dropped by every floor.”
“I thought it was just Taeyong who’s doing it though?”
“Nah, he just updated his email. Every RA’s doing it.”
Mark picks up a ghost-shaped sugar cookie and bites into it. “Man. Imagine all the work they all put in just to bake these for us.”
“Poor dudes probably had to stay up all night. You should’ve seen Taeyong and Doyoung. They looked like they were gonna drop.”
“Well, it’s nice they care about us so much.”
“Right?” Yukhei sets the empty pie pan aside and stands up. “Imma go return this to Taeyong. You want anything else while I’m at it?”
“I’m good.”
(Yukhei however, in true Yukhei fashion, returns with another plate full of apple strudels and absolute fear in his eyes. “Apparently there were supposed to be raisins in these things?!”)