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In true college student fashion, Akaashi Keiji was struggling. He lived in the smallest apartment he could find, never went out drinking, never bought useless things at the shops near campus, and yet he was never sure he’d make next month's rent. Who knew studying classical literature in a city far from home could cost him this much.
Really, though, if you were to look at his bank statements the issue would become clear. Akaashi Keiji spent too much on sweets. He constantly spent a few yen here on a pastry, a few there on a cupcake, a few more on a plate of cookies. It wasn’t his fault that the bakery near his apartment was the best place to study, nor was it his fault that the sweets there were so good. And, well, he had to study often, and sugar helped him concentrate, and all of this led to him showing up at the little bakery every day it was open.
This was no easy task, as the hours of the bakery seemed to depend more on the owner’s mood than any set schedule. Akaashi had seen it a few times before, where something would go wrong in the kitchen or a pan of bread would get burned, and the owner’s mood would instantly drop. He would make mistake after mistake following the first, and the next morning the bakery would remain closed.
Not that he paid that much attention to the baker. Akaashi had certainly never noticed the baker's bright smile or wild hair or frankly offensive biceps. He never paid any mind to the baker's contagious laugh and booming voice and perfect face and the way his arms looked as he kneaded bread and god- maybe he glanced in the kitchen from time to time.
But that had nothing to do with the reason he was sitting at his usual table in the small bakery now, textbooks out in front of him, half-eaten pastry in his hand, and a small stack of resumes in his bag. He had spent the better part of his morning doing some relatively unsuccessful job hunting. Apparently, none of the shops nearby were looking for any help, though one old lady had mentioned a granddaughter around his age he should get in touch with, but Akaashi didn’t think calling her would result in any sort of paying job. She didn’t sound like his type either.
So, Akaashi was studying. And it was going well- really it was. He had done almost a whole reading and only snuck a few glances into the kitchen. At this rate, he could get all his homework done and still have time to hand out more resumes before his evening class.
He sighed at the thought of more denied job applications, taking a quick look in the kitchen for comfort. The baker wore a tank top today (one that showed the glorious arms that certainly did not plague Akaashi’s mind as the baker worked behind the counter) and a bandana that held back his spiked black and white hair. His apron was caked with flour and sticky donut dough from every time he wiped his hands before greeting a customer at the counter with a flash of perfect teeth.
Akaashi absentmindedly tapped his pen while he watched the baker roll out some of the dough. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring, but he was sure that the baker would never notice, given how intensely he focused on the task before him. Finally, Akaashi pulled his gaze away from the other man, startled by the ringing bell that signified the entrance of a new customer.
He meant to go back to his work immediately, but something caught his eye between his textbook and the baker. There was a new posting on the small cork board attached to the counter. Akaashi never paid much attention to what the locals posted on the board, as he had much more interesting things to look at in here, so the sign reading “NOW HIRING” in bold black marker could’ve been there for days for all he knew. He listened to the baker’s cheery tone as he relayed a customer’s total and thought about the resumes in his bag. He pulled one out, quickly checking for creases before making his way to stand in line at the counter.
If possible, the baker’s grin grew wider as Akaashi stepped up to the cash. “And what can I do for you today ‘kaashi?” He asked. Akaashi wasn’t sure when the baker had learned his name, but he couldn’t say he minded the way he said it. It only made him feel bad he had never learned the other man’s name in return.
Akaashi held the stack of paper over the register, “I saw your sign, are you still looking for help?”
The baker took it quickly, flipping through the pages as he spoke, “Look at that! I could really use a hand around here, not that there’s anyone who can top my baking skills- I am the best in the prefecture y’know! I asked a friend of mine to lend a hand but y’can’t convince the guy to do anything. I think you’ll be a perfect fit though! When can ya start?”
Akaashi stared blankly at the baker, trying to process all that he said. A perfect fit? He was being offered a job here, on the spot? “You don’t want an interview first?” He asked.
The baker tilted his head to the side. The movement looked a little inhuman, but somehow made Akaashi’s stomach flip all the same. “‘Course not. What can I ask you that I won’t learn while you work?”
Akaashi sensed there was no use arguing, and resigned to the baker’s odd hiring process. He relayed his class schedule to the baker, pausing when the other man scrambled to find a pen and something to write on. They agreed for him to start two days later, when his schedule was light and the bakery was typically less busy. Akaashi returned to his studying with a sense of satisfaction. He would no longer be spending his free time searching for a job. And it would surely be easier to sneak glances at the baker while working beside him.
--
“Hey,” Akaashi spoke into the common area of his apartment as he hung up his keys, dropping his textbook-heavy bag by the entryway.
He heard a soft “Welcome home” from somewhere nearby. The voice came from his roommate, Kenma, who was looking quite comfortable on their shared couch, possibly having just woken up from a nap. “How was the bakery?”
“I got a job,” Akaashi replied as he poured himself a glass of water, “And finished some readings.”
“A job?” Kenma questioned.
“Yes.”
“At the bakery?”
“At the bakery, yes.”
“Akaashi…” Kenma sat up and pulled his hair back into the bun it had escaped from, “do you know how to bake?”
Akaashi’s fatal mistake dawned upon him then. He had no clue how to bake. Not the slightest idea how to make pastries or cookies or bread, other than the latter required kneading by strong arms and carrying from ovens by broad shoulders and- oh no. What had he done?
This was how Akaashi found himself fanning the smoke alarm with a towel while Kenma covered his ears that evening. The two had tried their hand at cookies, something relatively simple. But neither had any experience and, well, the cookies looked more like volcanic rock than anything edible. The worst part was Akaashi wasn’t sure they would’ve been edible before the narrowly avoided fire, either.
Things were not looking good. All that work looking for a job, and he was sure to lose it on day one. Then he would have to find a new place to study, one likely severely lacking in hot bakers who made his heart flutter. It would simply be too awkward to keep going there after he inevitably got fired. He sighed in defeat, gauging the mess in front of him.
--
Akaashi woke up early two days later in preparation for his first shift. In the last 48 hours, he and Kenma had made three more attempts at cookies, each one only marginally better than the last. At least they had stopped burning them at some point. He got ready well before he needed to, figuring the least he could do was show up a little early to the job he would likely be fired from today. He showered, got dressed, put in contacts, sipped tea with his breakfast, and then left silently so as to not wake his roommate.
The air was cold as he stepped outside, though he knew it would warm up later when the sun had fully risen. He walked the short distance to the bakery and was greeted by the baker, unlocking the door as he arrived.
“Hey!” The baker beamed, far too energetic for the time of day, “New guy! You’re early, come on in!”
He beckoned Akaashi inside. The baker hurried to the back- to do what Akaashi wasn’t sure- and called, “Hey, can you open the blinds for me? Oh an’ flip the chairs down, too!”
Akaashi did as he was asked, carefully arranging the small seating area of the bakery. It felt odd to be here before it truly opened, almost dreamlike with the morning sun peeking through the windows and the sounds of birds somewhere outside. He peeked into the kitchen when he was done, looking for further instruction.
He was met with the baker, or rather, the large metal bowl the baker carried as he almost ran right into Akaashi. “Oh, sorry! Didn’t see ya there. Go on back and set down your stuff. I left an apron out for you- oh and make sure you wash your hands!”
Akaashi followed the baker’s instructions once again, tying the apron on and washing his hands thoroughly before rejoining him in the kitchen.
“I guess the apron’s a little big, huh?” The baker observed, setting down a second large bowl. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s the smallest one I have. Anyway, I figured since it’ll probably be pretty calm today I can teach you the basics, ‘cause you don’t have any experience and all.”
Akaashi nodded as the baker spoke. Of course he would train his new hire, Akaashi should’ve thought of that. “Right. So what do we start with?” He asked.
The baker, (Bokuto, as Akaashi quickly learned) was an alright teacher. He first taught Akaashi how to roll and cut donuts, the bowls apparently holding dough left to rise overnight. He soon found out why Bokuto was always covered in flour. He also found out how much he hated the feeling of dough stuck to his hands and between his fingers and under his nails. He was certainly grateful when the rolling was done.
The fryer and Akaashi did not get along. He found it hard to tell when donuts were fully fried- undercooking some and burning others. Bokuto assured him he would ‘get the hang of it’.
Bread seemed to be easier, though the dough was still stickier than Akaashi would’ve liked, at least it didn’t involve using the fryer, and Akaashi didn’t burn a single loaf. Though trying to slide the large pan into the cooling rack proved a challenge, he got through it burn-free.
Bokuto also taught Akaashi how to work the register, greeting every customer with his usual grin and excited hello’s. He seemed to know many by name, even having a friendly rapport with some. Akaashi nodded hello to one such customer as Bokuto bragged about finally having an employee under his wing, “No thanks to you, skinny.” He complained.
Overall, the day was going well. Things hadn’t been too busy, and Akaashi had yet to mess up anything too miserably. Then disaster struck in the form of a hot cookie sheet. Akaashi was scooping out more cookie dough as Bokuto took a pan out of the oven, something the two had already done many times that day. However, as the day dragged on, Bokuto seemed to be losing focus, allowing the hot cookie sheet to graze his forearm. The burn startled him, causing him to jump and nearly drop the pan before catching hold of it again. Even though it didn’t hit the floor, about half the cookies still fell and needed to be thrown away.
Akaashi had seen this before, during some of his study sessions. Bokuto would momentarily lose focus and make a mistake and things would spiral from there. An event like this would often cause the bakery to be closed the next day. As Bokuto slid the pan into the cooling rack, Akaashi moved to pick up the fallen cookies.
“Oh, hey don’t worry ‘bout that, I got it,” Bokuto protested as Akaashi slid the trash can over.
Akaashi shook his head, “I’ll do this, you go take care of that burn.”
And with that, Bokuto was gone. Akaashi picked up the fallen cookies, slid the trashcan back to its spot, and went to wash his hands again. He found Bokuto by the sink, his head down as he ran cold water over the burn on his arm. It looked painful, Akaashi thought.
“That was impressive,” Akaashi said, startling the other man, “catching the pan like that. Most people would’ve let the whole thing fall.”
Bokuto’s mood seemed to instantly brighten at the words, “Well hey, I am the best baker in the prefecture! It’ll take more than a little burn to get me to waste some perfectly good cookies.”
--
To Akaashi’s surprise, the bakery was open the next day. At the ring of the bell above the door, Bokuto immediately perked up from whatever he was mixing to greet Akaashi, “Hey, ‘kaashi! I just pulled out some fresh pastries, ya want one?”
Akaashi felt a smile tug at his lips as he claimed his favourite table, “Sure, Bokuto.”
--
Working with Bokuto was harder than expected. Not because of his easily affected mood or chaotic work practices, but because he was so hard not to look at. Akaashi could hardly take his eyes off the other man. He watched as Bokuto kneaded dough, as he packaged cookies, as he prepared pie crusts, and helped customers. Akaashi found it difficult to concentrate on anything that wasn’t Bokuto. It was beginning to affect his work. He nearly added a cup of salt to a mixture instead of sugar, only catching himself at the last minute.
It didn’t help that Bokuto seemed to always be touching him somehow. Placing a hand on Akaashi’s back as a warning of his presence when he passed behind him, lightly tapping Akaashi’s elbow to remind him of proper mixing form. Akaashi was extremely aware of every little touch from Bokuto. He felt like a mess.
The worst was the day he ran into Bokuto on his way to grab his apron – literally collided with him. Akaashi had been reading the last few sentences of his homework as he walked, and Bokuto was never one for watching where he was going, and the two collided somewhere in the kitchen. This caused Akaashi to drop his book, and both men leaned down to grab it at the same time. Their hands brushed as they reached for it. It was like in a romantic movie, the kind Kenma’s boyfriend loved so much. Bokuto seemed to recover quickly, but Akaashi would be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking about Bokuto’s sturdy frame and warm hands for the rest of the day.
So working with Bokuto was hard. But Akaashi continued to work almost every day, after his classes and on weekends, coming in to study on his days off. He grew closer to Bokuto, learning his favourite things to bake and picking up on the name of his friends from the enthusiastic stories he’d tell. And Bokuto always greeted him with a little more excitement than any regular customer.
--
Akaashi had run out of contact lenses. It had to happen someday. And it was Akaashi’s own fault, really, for using disposable contacts, so he couldn’t be mad about it. He didn’t even realize he was running out until the last pair of contact lenses were gone. And so he went to work for the first time wearing glasses.
Akaashi had never thought much of his glasses. He knew some people hated how they looked in them or felt they were uncool, but he simply opted for contact lenses because they were easier when it came to playing sports in high school. So he had no problem wearing his glasses now. Bokuto, though, seemed to have a different opinion.
When Akaashi entered the bakery that morning, Bokuto greeted him as usual at first, then stiffened, something Akaashi had never before witnessed. Akaashi narrowed his eyes in question, but Bokuto swiftly turned around, facing his work as he gave Akaashi an assignment for the morning.
--
Akaashi’s glasses needed to be tightened. He learned this as he rolled pie crusts, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He pushed them up with the back of his wrist, careful to avoid smudging flour across his face.
Bokuto’s soft gasp caught Akaashi’s attention. “What’s wrong?” He asked.
The other man stared at him for a second, mouth slightly open. He then shook his head and regained his normal, over-excited demeanor, “I almost forgot about the bread in the oven! Wouldn’t want to burn those.” Bokuto hurried over to the ovens at this, leaving Akaashi at the work table alone. The bread had been in the oven barely five minutes.
--
Akaashi stood with his hands deep in his pockets outside the bakery as Bokuto locked up for the night. He silently reminded himself to look for his winter coat when he got home, he would be needing it soon.
“Great work today!” Bokuto praised (whether it was directed at Akaashi or himself, Akaashi wasn’t sure). Then, instead of turning to leave as usual, Bokuto stood, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He seemed to look anywhere but Akaashi’s face, the cold air bringing a soft pink to his cheeks. The silence was beginning to border on awkward.
“Yeah.” Akaashi nodded. Was Bokuto going to say something?
The other man cleared his throat, “So, uh. Would’ya like to go grab something to eat? If you have time- I know you’re always studying and stuff so…”
“Yeah,” Akaashi was suddenly very grateful for the scarf covering most of his face, “I have some time. You have to pay, though.”
Bokuto put a hand over his heart in mock betrayal, “Ah! ‘Kaashi, I can’t believe you think so little of me. Of course I was planning to pay. Am I not a gentleman?” He began to walk as he spoke, going on about his gentlemanly ways. Akaashi rolled his eyes, but followed nonetheless.
They walked for a while, Bokuto telling one amusing story after the other. Akaashi felt a warmth grow in his chest despite the cold air as he watched the way Bokuto’s eyes sparkled. He had never met someone so upbeat, so friendly and kind to everyone he met. It made him all the more beautiful.
Finally, they stopped at a small onigiri shop a short distance from the bakery. “I know the guy who runs this place, it’s pretty good here. Plus onigiri is probably the only thing I’ve seen you eat that didn’t come from the bakery.” Bokuto explained, holding the door open for Akaashi.
Akaashi felt his face heat, both from Bokuto’s teasing, and the thought of the other man paying so much attention to him. He was right, though. Akaashi ate more onigiri than one person probably should. But it was good, and reliable, and tasted almost the same every time. It certainly took some anxiety out of eating at restaurants.
They ate at a table in the corner of the building, Bokuto talking wildly the whole time. Akaashi could feel the smile on his face and the heat in his cheeks. It had been a long time since he enjoyed a meal this much. They sat and talked and ate until the sky darkened and the shop owner threatened to kick them out. Bokuto laughed and joked as he grabbed Akaashi’s sleeve to guide him out of the restaurant and into the night.
“I didn’t mean to keep you out so late, let me walk you home?” He offered, tilting his head with the question.
Akaashi nodded, starting in the direction of his apartment. “That was nice. Thank you, Bokuto.”
Bokuto laughed, that beautiful, warm, contagious laugh that always brought butterflies to Akaashi’s stomach. He told more stories as they spoke, ones about his tall blonde friend and about others Akaashi had yet to meet. The air continued to get colder around them, but Akaashi couldn’t help feeling warm.
They stopped in front of Akaashi’s building, long before Akaashi wanted the walk to end. “This is it. Thank you for dinner, Bokuto.” He said, nodding towards the building behind him.
Bokuto nodded, shifting on his feet much like earlier, before asking Akaashi to go for dinner. “Yeah, right, of course.” He said, a hand on the back of his neck, “Listen, ‘kaashi, I have’ta tell you something. And I don’t know if it’s right to say this ‘cause I’m your boss and all but,” He sighed, pausing for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “Well, I might be in love with you. I always thought you were so cute coming in every day to study and you look so pretty when you get all invested in whatever you’re reading. And then you asked to work at the bakery and I couldn’t say no. You work so hard every day and you know how to get me out of my moods, and even when you’re mean to me it makes me feel weak.
“An’ I was gonna just keep this to myself because I’m your boss and I didn’t want to make things awkward but then you wore those glasses today and I couldn’t think straight. I get it if you wanna quit now or something and I’ll still give you the best reference if you want me to so don’t worry abo-”
“Bokuto.” Akaashi interrupted, stopping the other man in his tracks. “Can you just kiss me?”
Bokuto didn’t need anything more than that. He kissed Akaashi with the hunger of a man who hadn’t eaten in days, let alone twenty minutes ago. His fingers tangled in Akaashi’s hair and Akaashi’s hands gripped the back of his shirt. There was no way for them to get any closer and yet they didn’t feel close enough. If only they didn’t need to breathe, this could go on forever.
“You’re beautiful.” Bokuto breathed, adjusting Akaashi’s glasses when they separated. He leaned in again, this time gentler than the last, softer, but filled with all the same wanting as before.
There was no way to tell how long they had been outside of Akaashi’s building like this, but the cold was beginning to set in.
“So, I guess you don’t want to quit, then?” Bokuto asked, a hand softly cupping Akaashi’s face.
Akaashi smiled, a real, full smile, and ran a hand down one of the arms that plagued his mind day and night, finally lacing Bokuto’s fingers with his own for just a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bokuto.” He said, turning to go.
He said nothing as he entered the apartment, hanging his keys in their spot and dropping his bag.
“Looks like you and bakery guy had fun,” He heard his roommate say from somewhere inside.
-
Akaashi Keiji was struggling. He still lived in the smallest apartment he could find, only occasionally went out drinking, never bought useless things from the shops nearby, and while he had a good job and could make rent every month, it was hard work. There were early mornings and heavy lifting and the occasional burn from hot ovens and fryers. And there was Bokuto Kotarou, with his bright smile and wild hair and frankly offensive biceps. There was Bokuto, with his sturdy frame and warm hands that always seemed to be touching Akaashi in the smallest ways. From a hand on his back as he passed behind him, much lower than strictly necessary, to one on his shoulder as he leaned over to peer at Akaashi’s work, to one on his face as he kissed his boyfriend good morning.
There was Bokuto, who Akaashi Keiji was struggling to keep his eyes off of, even now, as they lay on his couch in the smallest apartment he could find, clothes caked with flour they were both too tired to wash off.
He was struggling, but struggling like this seemed like a good problem to have.