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Bound in One is honestly a great cafe.
It’s cute and vintage without being in your face about it – not that over-the-top, curated-for-the-gram kind of place where the decor is clearly trying to make up for mediocre food and drinks. Here, the coffee is actually good and pastries are fresh and straight from the oven and there’s the comforting buzz of soft laughter.
But that’s not why most customers are here these days.
There’s a rumour going around: walk into Bound in One and you’ll meet your soulmate.
And, yeah, it does happen.
Sangwon has no idea who started it – maybe that couple who got engaged here last year or that old regular who swears she met her husband over a spilled cappuccino a few years ago – but he’s seen enough to understand why it’s stuck. Once in a blue moon, he’ll glance up after pouring a little heart into someone’s latte and, bam, he’ll catch it happening in real time.
Two strangers happen to collide into each other with a full tray and, oh no, their drinks are spilled and they’re frozen, staring at each other like it’s the last few seconds of a k-drama scene – the slow motion pause right before the two main leads kiss.
One of them lets out a sheepish laugh and, five minutes later, they’re leaning in way too close, grinning like total idiots while fumbling with their phones to exchange numbers.
Every time it happens, the rumours grow a little stronger.
The owner’s happy because word of mouth is the best kind of free marketing and the tables stay full.
The customers are happy because some of them actually walk out having met the love of their life for the small price of $6.99 plus tax.
Sangwon’s happy because tips are good even though he’d prefer not to mop coffee off the floor once a week because people are out here trying to manifest destiny with third-degree burns as collateral damage.
Especially now, with Christmas getting closer.
Everyone’s extra desperate.
And Sangwon?
He’s the exact level of hopelessness.
Because there’s always this cute guy who comes in every Thursday at 3pm right on the dot.
The first time he saw the cute guy walk in, Sangwon seriously wanted to drop to his knees right then and there behind the counter with his hands clasped like holy shit, thank you for this job, thank you, Xinlong for wanting to switch shifts today… I will never doubt the rumours of this place again.
But he’s gotta be professional.
He doesn’t want to scare the guy off with an overly bright “hi” or a stare that lingers too long so he forces himself to stay calm, slide into the usual routine of “hello, how can I help you?”
And the guy is ridiculously cute.
Like full on, unfair level cute.
Soft dark hair that falls just right, that kind of shy smile that makes him forget how words work, eyes that crinkle gently at the corner as he patiently waits as Sangwon stumbles over his words which really doesn’t help at all. It only makes him more tongue-tied until he ends up nodding like an absolute idiot while internally screaming.
It’s bad enough that Sangwon has rearranged his entire schedule to guarantee he’s always working Thursdays.
He swapped shifts and picked up extras – all so he can be the one behind the counter on Thursday at exactly 3pm.
No one has called him out on it (yet) but he’s fully aware it’s low-key creeping into crazy stalker territory.
He literally knows nothing about this guy except his usual order – ice tea with espresso – and the fact that he always says “thank you” in that soft boyfriend asmr voice that makes Sangwon want to crouch down behind the counter, bury his hands in his hands, and scream silently into his hand for a solid minute.
It’s not like this is his first time having a crush on someone.
He’s had crushes before.
Actual crushes on people he’s talked to for longer than two minutes, people who he knows the name of, people whose lives existed outside a single weekly coffee order and a gentle smile.
None of them ever turned him into this kind of flustered mess but, at least, this one is safely kept between him and the espresso machine.
“So, remind me again why you switched your Tuesdays to Thursdays?” Geonwoo asks, leaning in with that grin that says he already knows everything.
Sangwon shrugs as he wipes the same exact spot on the counter he wiped just fifteen minutes ago. It’s still clean but he’s just… making sure it stays that way.
“Xinlong wanted Tuesdays so it worked out perfectly,” he says, keeping his voice super casual.
“Right,” Geonwoo nods, slowly dragging the word out. “Xinlong wanted Tuesdays. Of course.”
Sangwon can feel his neck burning from embarrassment. Geonwoo doesn't believe a word of it and he can’t blame him for it. It’s completely bullshit. Thursdays are a complete nightmare: three classes back-to-back with zero breaks, and just last month, Sangwon had been dramatically whining to Geonwoo about how working Thursdays would “ruin his will to live.”
“So it’s not true,” Geonwoo continues (when he should STOP), eyes twinkling like he’s having the time of his life, “that you begged Xinlong to switch and promised to buy him bubble tea every shift for the next three weeks?”
Sangwon’s hand freezes mid-wipe, rag dripping a single droplet of water dramatically onto the once spotless counter.
“Nope.”
Geonwoo snorts. “You’re a terrible liar,” he says with a shrug but mercifully lets it drop.
Probably because Sangwon isn’t even listening anymore.
It’s 3pm.
And 3pm is cute boy time.
Sangwon is already positioned at the register, mentally preparing himself: calm smile, normal voice, do not drop the cup, do not stare at his mouth, do not forget to breathe.
He’s got this.
The bell chimes
“Hello,” the cute guy says, smile already in place. “One large iced tea with espresso, please.”
Sangwon nods – too fast, probably – and starts ringing it up.
He’s done this a hundred times. It’s easy peasy, lemon squeezy except his hands are trembling because Kim Fucking Geonwoo slides right next to him.
There is zero reason for Geonwoo to be this close when he’s taking someone’s order but there he is, learning casually against the counter which is fine… except his eyes start dramatically flickering back and forth – Sangwon, cute boy, Sangwon, cute boy – like he’s watching an interesting tennis match.
Even cute boy notices. He blinks, head tilting slightly in confusion.
“What’s up, Geonwoo?” he asks, voice soft but curious.
The betrayal is immediate because Geonwoo has interacted with cute boy enough for cute boy to know his name and he hasn't introduced the two of them to each other yet.
“Nothing, Leo,” Geonwoo smiles as he shakes his head. “Just curious about what you’re ordering today.”
Oh.
Leo.
His name is Leo.
Geonwoo says it is just a little louder than necessary – absolutely, one hundred percent on purpose – and Sangwon tries very hard not to light up like the Christmas tree in the corner.
Not utter betrayal.
Still kind of betrayal but Sangwon forgives him instantly because he finally has a name to go with the face he’s been quietly losing his mind over.
He takes a deep breath and tries to join the conversation like a functioning adult.
“Are you two friends?” Sangwon asks softly.
“Yeah,” Leo nods, his smile widening. “We’re in the same photography club on campus.”
“Cool,” Sangwon says. Then, because his brain is stuck on repeat, “Cool, I’m Sangwon by the way.”
He flashes what he hopes is a charming, totally normal smile and hands him the receipt.
“I know,” Leo says, nodding once, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Sangwon’s brain freezes.
I know?
I know?
What does that mean? He knows? Like, he asked someone? Did he think Sangwon was cute enough to secretly ask Geonwoo or another coworker for his name? Is this it – are they having their moment because finally–
Leo lifts one hand and taps his own chest lightly and Sangwon’s gaze drops instantly to his own chest.
Oh.
Right.
The shiny black nametag pinned to his green apron with his name clearly written on it.
He forgot it existed.
His face goes red instantly.
Geonwoo lets out a barely muffled snicker from beside the espresso machine.
Sangwon shoots him a glare, “Go make him his drink,” he mutters through gritted teeth, voice low and deeply mortified.
Geonwoo throws up a mock salute and turns to prepare the drink but both his shoulders are trembling so hard with silent laughter that he almost spills the ice when he scoops it.
Sangwon risks one tiny glance back at Leo, already mentally drafting his resignation letter, because this is peak embarrassment. He’s never going to recover but Leo is still standing there, watching him with that soft smile.
Then he lets out a shy little laugh, barely audible over the hiss of the machine, and mutters so quietly that it could’ve been wishful thinking:
“Cute.”
Sangwon’s brain short circuits, reboots, and short circuits again.
Cute?
Did Leo just–?
Was that directed at him?
He’s this close to grabbing one of the plastic spoons from the condiment station and start digging a hole straight through the wooden floorboards because oh my god, he’s definitely hallucinating now.
His crush has officially driven him insane.
On the bright side, progress is progress.
Sangwon no longer has to refer to him as “cute boy.” He has a real name now – Leo – and that alone feels like a tiny victory worth celebrating. He gives himself a mental pat on the back every time he thinks it: Leo. Leo who (probably) said “cute” under his breath. Leo who already knew Sangwon’s name because of his nametag.
Now, the next logical step on Sangwon’s mental checklist titled “How to Manufacture My Own K-Drama Moment Without Dying of Embarrassment” is to actually talk to Leo for more than the standard three barista phrases: “hello, how are you?” “What can I get for you?” “It’ll be $7.99, thank you, have a nice day.”
He needs a real conversation. Something that’ll last longer than eight seconds. Preferably a conversation that leads up to phone numbers and maybe, if the universe is feeling generous, a date.
So he comes up with a plan.
He will smoothly, ever so casually give Leo a cookie on the house – technically out of Sangwon’s pocket because the cafe doesn’t actually do free cookies but details, details. He’ll ring up his go to drink, slide a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie onto the tray and say something cool like “This one’s on me. Thought you might like it.” Then, when Leo inevitably says thank you (because Leo’s a polite person), Sangwon will follow up with the next line: “No problem! What other cookies do you like?” which will obviously flow into “There’s this great bakery nearby…” (never mind that Sangwon works at a cafe that sells cookies but a date is a date).
Flawless.
Oscar-worthy scripting.
He rehearses it in his head every night that week, even practicing the casual lean against the counter in the mirror.
Thursday rolls around again.
3pm hits.
The bell chimes.
Leo walks in and Sangwon’s ready.
He’s got this.
“Hi,” Leo smiles. “Large iced tea with espresso, please.”
Sangwon nods, fingers moving through the familiar motions: rings up the drink, grabs a cup, starts pouring the tea and adds the espresso shot.
Then he reaches into the pastry case, selects the biggest, most gooey chocolate chip cookie, and sets it on a small plate next to the drink.
He slides the tray across the counter with what he hopes is a relaxed smile.
Leo glances at the cookie, head tilting in that cute, confused way.
“I didn’t order a cookie.”
Sangwon opens his mouth.
The line’s right at the tip of his tongue.
This one’s on me – thought you might like it.
He’s practiced it a hundred times.
What comes out instead:
“This… uh… a new promotion!”
He flashes the widest, most unhinged grin imaginable.
Leo blinks.
“Promotion?”
He looks at the cookie, then at the counter where there is clearly no promotion sign, no flyer, not even a sticky note with a doodle – then back at Sangwon.
“Oh,” Leo says softly. “Thanks, Sangwon.”
He picks up the tray carefully and heads toward his usual spot by the window.
Sangwon keeps the bright, customer service smile plastered on his face until Leo is seated, back turned, before he slumps forward and quietly bangs his forehead against the counter twice for good measure.
Geonwoo who has been pretending to be very busy organizing the syrup bottles finally loses it and wheezes into his elbow.
Sangwon lifts his head just enough to glare through his bangs.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Geonwoo manages between breaths, shoulders trembling.
“You’re thinking it.”
Geonwoo holds up both hands in surrender but his smile stays on.
Sangwon exhales, long and defeated.
It’s fine.
Practice makes perfect.
The following week, Sangwon still hasn’t nailed down the move yet.
“Third time’s the charm,” he mutters under his breath, stabbing straws into the dispenser.
He’s got this.
Totally.
Except he’s forgotten one very important, very dangerous detail: Geonwoo knows about his painfully obvious crush on Leo and has been laughing in his face about it for days (which is annoying but survivable).
But today? Today, Geonwoo switched shifts with Xinlong and Xinlong is… dangerously sweet.
“When did we start the ‘buy a coffee, get a free cookie’ deal?” he asks Sangwon, eyes wide and genuinely devastated. “I’ve been handing out drinks all morning and no one got a cookie…”
Sangwon’s soul leaves his body.
He should come clean, that there is no deal and he’s trying to flirt with Leo by bribing him with baked goods but that’s mortifying and what if Leo overhears? Sangwon cannot risk him finding out like this. He also cannot say the deal only applies on Thursday at exactly 3pm for one specific customer named Leo.
“It… just started!” Sangwon blurts out. “We’re just testing it out!”
Xinlong lets out a huge breath of relief, shoulders dropping like a weight has lifted.
“Oh, thank goodness,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I was really worried…”
And for the rest of the shift, every single customer who orders a drink gets an enthusiastic “and a free cookie with that!” from Xinlong complete with his bright smile.
Sangwon watches in silent horror as the cookie trays empty faster than a free sample table at Costco on a Saturday.
Two trays of oatmeal raisin – gone.
One tray of snickerdoodles – wiped out.
Three trays of chocolate chips – poofed.
And the list goes on… sugar cookies, peanut butter, even the lemon crinkle ones that nobody usually touches. All gone.
Absolutely wonderful.
(Not.)
By the time Xinlong clocks out, waving cheerfully over his shoulder with a sunny “the promotion was a hit today!” Sangwon is left alone behind the counter, staring at the empty pastry in pure, utter silence.
He opens the till, pulls out his own wallet, and quietly slides in enough cash to cover every single “free” cookie that left the cafe today.
He does the math and, god, he wants to cry.
He basically paid to work today.
He officially throws Operation Flirt-With-Leo-Via-Cookies into the nearest dumpster – preferably one on fire – because he’s a broke university student who actually needs money to, you know, eat and pay rent. He cannot afford another shift where he ends up owing the cafe more than he earns. Xinlong’s innocent enthusiasm nearly bankrupted him last time. Never again.
It’s Wednesday anyway.
Leo only comes on Thursdays. Wednesdays are safe. Sangwon can just chill, wipe counters that are already spotless, reorganize perfectly organized syrup bottles and pretend he’s not mentally counting down the hours until tomorrow’s 3pm chime.
The cafe is quiet in the late afternoon with only a handful of customers buried in laptops or books in the corners.
Perfect time for Sangwon to brainstorm new, brilliant, definitely fool-proof plans.
Something subtle.
Something smooth.
Something that doesn’t involve him losing money or dignity (or both).
He’s mid-wipe, moving in slow circles, mind wandering to possible conversation starters when the bell chimes.
Sangwon glances up and freezes.
Blinks hard.
Once. Twice.
Because standing in the doorway is…Leo.
Leo on a Wednesday.
Sangwon’s brain short-circuits so fast he nearly drops the rag.
Hallucination?
Crush-induced delirium?
Did he manifest this by sheer desperation?
Sangwon straightens up and hurries to the register without pulling his eyes away from Leo that he accidentally bangs on the edge of the counter.
Ow.
But, hey, he feels pain so this is not a dream.
“Hi,” Leo grins as he steps up to the register. “Large iced tea with espresso to go, please.”
Sangwon nods on autopilot, brain still buffering the Wednesday anomaly. His fingers move through the familiar routine – grab a to-go cup, mark it, start the shot – while his mind races.
It’s a slow day and his coworker, Arno, disappeared into the washroom. Sangwon is alone behind the counter.
With a blank, perfectly writable to-go cup.
The idea hits him: write his number on it.
It’s the ultimate cliche romcom move. Bold, low risk and, most importantly, free. If Leo’s interested, he texts. If not, he tosses the cup in the nearest bin. No face-to-face rejection. No awkwardness.
Sangwon uncaps the marker.
He could do it.
He should do it.
But the cons crashes in: if it flops, if Leo thinks it’s weird, creepy, too forward from the random barista who’s been quietly pining for months – Leo might stop coming altogether.
Thursdays would just be… regular days and that’s devastating.
Sangwon stares at the cup way too long. Long enough that normal "writing the order” time has definitely expired.
Leo waits patiently, leaning slightly on the counter, and Sangwon panics.
He grabs the marker and, instead of digits, doodles a tiny, lopsided cat on the side of the cup. It’s … okay, not great, but not terrible. He quickly finishes the drink and slides it across the counter.
Leo takes it, glances at the doodle, and his smile goes softer, eyes crinkling in that devastating way.
“Cute.”
Sangwon’s brain latches onto the safest interpretation: he’s talking about the cat. Definitely the cat. One hundred percent the cat.
He nods like a malfunctioning robot. “Thanks. Have a good one.”
Leo smiles and he’s just about to turn when Arno pushes through the swinging door from the back, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Oh, Arno,” Leo says, brightening a little. “Don’t forget about our study session on Friday.”
Arno grins, “I won’t. Thanks, Leo. Seven at the library, right?”
Sangwon blinks.
His gaze ping-pongs between them like he’s watching a very personal, very unfair drama unfold in real time.
Arno notices immediately and shoots Sangwon a smile that somehow makes it worse.
“Leo’s been helping me with English on Fridays,” he explains casually.
“Oh,” Sangwon says slowly, nodding like he’s processing extremely complex information in his head.
Inside, his brain is screaming one word on loop: jealous.
Because Arno gets to spend actual time outside the cafe with his Leo.
Technically, not his but… kinda? In his head? After months of quiet pining?
Close enough.
Leo turns back to the counter fully now, tilting his head at Sangwon with that smile that should be illegal.
“Do you have English too?” he asks. “Do you want to join our study session?”
Sangwon’s eyes go wide.
His brain short circuits then explodes in silent fireworks.
Yes.
Yes yes yes yes yes.
“If you don’t mind me joining,” he blurts, words tumbling out faster than intended.
Leo’s smile widens as he tugs his phone out. “Nice, what’s your number? I’ll text you the details.”
Sangwon takes his phone and his fingers only shake a tiny little bit as he types in his number and hands it back.
“Okay, I’ll message you tonight.”
Sangwon is over the moon.
He’s soaring.
Flying.
(There’s not a star in heaven that he can’t reach.)
He finally has Leo’s number. Actual two-way communication. This is peak life achievement.
Until reality slaps him across the face.
He… doesn’t have English class.
At 7pm, Sangwon’s already sitting at the table on the library’s second floor. His “english review” notes are spread out in front of him. Definitely his. One hundred percent original work. Absolutely, positively not downloaded from some sketch study-share site at 2am last night and hastily printed out this morning with the watermark still visible in the corner.
He stares at his phone like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, avoiding Arno’s gaze across the table.
Arno, who showed up ten minutes early, had been staring at Sangwon. He’s sweet about it. He doesn’t question or tease Sangwon about it.
He just stares.
Quietly.
Which is great.
It would be even better if he stopped… staring.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. Line at the campus cafe is brutal.”
Leo appears at the end of the aisle and sets down a tray of three to-go cups.
First, he slides one cup to Arno.
Iced americano, extra shot, splash of vanilla syrup. Exactly Arno’s usual order.
Arno grins, “You’re the best, man. Thanks.”
Sangwon tries very hard not to stare because how does Leo know that? How many Fridays has this been happening?
Then, Leo turns to Sangwon and offers the second cup.
“Thought you might like this,” Leo says casually.
Sangwon thanks him, of course, mumbling a quick “thank you” that comes out higher pitched than intended. But inside? He’s staring at the cup like it personally betrayed him.
It’s a cafe latte. It’s nice. It’s thoughtful because he wasn’t expecting this.
It’s also the most basic, generic drink on the menu.
Not Sangwon's actual favourite, which is an iced matcha with oat milk, two pumps of brown sugar, light ice, and whipped cream on top. He can’t exactly say, “hey, next time, you should get my favourite too” because that would sound ungrateful and weird.
So he just smiles and takes a small, polite sip.
Leo settles on the chair beside Arno (not beside him, why is the universe like this) and pulls out his laptop.
And Sangwon spends the rest of the evening going through his very real, very legit notes that he had personally taken instead of just relaxing at home.
Sangwon is back to his regular Thursday schedule: pretending to wipe the already spotless counter while watching the clock like it’s a countdown. He makes sure there’s enough cups and napkins. Adjusts his apron. Checks his hair in the reflective surface of the espresso machine. Casual. Totally casual.
Junseo, his manager, wanders over with a clipboard and a smile.
“Sangwon-ah, are you free next Wednesday?” he asks, tapping the clipboard. “We’re doing a little Christmas event – kids come in, decorate the cookies, take pictures with Santa. It’ll be cute.”
Sangwon glances at his phone and opens his calendar despite already knowing the answer.
“Sorry, Junseo hyung,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m busy that day.”
Junseo shrugs, smile unwavering. “No worries. Just thought I’d ask.”
And right on cue – ding.
3pm exactly.
The bell chimes.
Sangwon’s head wisp toward the door so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. He straightens posture, customer service smile already in place. He’s ready. This time, he’s going to say something smooth. Maybe ask about Leo’s week or the weather or literally anything that isn’t just the order total.
Leo steps in, soft smile already aimed in his direction and… Junseo waves a hand before Sangwon can even open his mouth.
“Hey, Leo!” he calls out, voice bright. “You’re still good for next Wednesday, right?”
Leo nods, unwinding his scarf. “Yup, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”
Sangwon freezes.
The mental image hits him all at once:
Santa Leo.
Leo in a Santa Claus outfit.
Leo baking cookies.
Leo being surrounded by tiny children calling him Santa.
Holy crap, that’s so cute.
Sangwon’s brain malfunctions.
“I’ll help too!” he blurts out, words tumbling out in a rush. “I love kids! And cookies! And Christmas! I’d love to help out!”
Junseo turns slowly, an eyebrow raised. “Really? Cause I thought–”
“Really!” Sangwon interrupts because please, please do not finish that sentence. “I’m really free. Super free. One hundred percent available.”
“Really? Leo’s smile widens. “That’d be great. The more hands the better.”
Sangwon nods so enthusiastically he might pull something. “Abolustely. I’ll be there.”
Junseo hands Leo his usual ice tea with espresso – Sangwon doesn’t even remember making it, muscle memory is a beautiful thing – and mercifully doesn’t say a single thing while Sangwon rings him up.
Leo takes the cup and nods, “See you Wednesday then.”
Sangwon manages a completely normal “Yeah, see you!” that only cracks a little at the end.
The second Leo leaves to find a seat, Junseo just reaches over and pats Sangwon on the shoulder because Junseo is, deep down, actually nice about these things.
“See you on Wednesday, Sangwon-ah.”
“Yeah…” Sangwon exhales, staring at the door like it personally betrayed him. “See you, hyung.”
Goodbye to his once-free Wednesday.
Goodbye to sleeping in, to procrastinating on his assignments, to scrolling on his phone in bed until noon.
Hello to seeing Leo on Wednesday.
Hello to Leo in a Santa suit.
Come Wednesday afternoon and Sangwon is ready.
He’s fully prepared not to combust when he sees Leo in the Santa outfit. He’s got this.
He arrives at the cafe ten minutes early, buzzing with nervous energy, hands stuffed in his pockets to keep them from shaking.
The place is already transformed: tables pushed together into one long workstation, bowls of colorful icing lined up, rolling pins scattered everywhere.
Sanghyeon, the assistant baker, is tying aprons on early volunteers with way too much enthusiasm.
And there’s Leo, not in the Santa suit, in a bright red “Kiss the Chef” apron that Sanghyeon definitely tied on him on purpose.
He’s rolling out sugar cookie dough on the table, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There’s already a tiny smudge of flour on one cheek and his dark hair keeps falling softly into his eyes as he concentrates, brow furrowed.
He looks… unfairly adorable.
His brain only has one thought: do what the apron says.
Kiss the chef.
He wants to step forward, cup those cute, flour-smudged cheeks and smooch them absolutely senseless.
He wants to politely make out with the chef right then and there.
Instead, Leo looks up and spots him frozen in the doorway and smiles.
“Hey, Sangwon!” he says, voice warm and bright. “You’re early. Want to help stir this dough with me? My arms are starting to give up.”
Sangwon nods quietly, drifts over like he’s on autopilot, and takes the wooden spoon Leo offers.
So here he is, stirring the dough instead of kissing the chef.
Sad.
Junseo puts Sangwon to good use in the “kid’s zone” and he’s stationed right in the middle, apron tied on tight, surrounded by a swarm of kids ranging from four to eight years old, all buzzing with holiday excitement.
The cookies the kids decorate on their own are peak chaos-cute: massive blobs of red and green icing, sprinkles piled on thick, tiny fingerprints pressed into the frosting. They’re messy but so, so cute.
Every time a kid thrusts one up with a triumphant “look!” Sangwon smiles wide, claps his hands and says “that’s the best one yet!” because it’s true in its own way.
He decides to (attempt to) show off a little – mostly to impress one specific volunteer currently helping at the other end of the room – so he grabs a plain snowman-shaped cookie and gets to work.
With steady hands, he pipes two tiny black dots for eyes, a curved smile, three neat buttons down the front and a perfect little orange carrot nose.
It’s cute, simple, and good enough for Sangwon to mentally pat himself on the back.
He holds it up for inspection.
The nearest kids go quiet for a second, staring in awe, then they erupt.
“Wow!” “That’s so cool!” “Do another one!”
Seeing their wide eyes and excited gasps makes him feel a little swell of pride so he grabs another snowman cookie and goes a step further.
This one gets a candy cane tucked one piped arm, a tiny black top, and a red scarf.
The kids lean in closer, practically on tiptoes, bubbling with suggestions.
“Mufflers!” “Make him hold a candy cane!” “Give him a hat!”
Sangwon laughs softly, nodding along as he carefully adds a few of their ideas – tiny earmuffs in pale blue, a little broom made from a pretzel stick and brown icing sugar.
Leo – still in that cursed (blessed) “Kiss the Chef” apron – wanders over at some point. He leans against the edge of the table, watching with a warm, quiet smile.
“You’re really good at this,” he says softly.
Sangwon, mid-piping the final swirl on the scarf, feels his face go instantly warm.
“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it,” he mumbles, trying to sound casual as his heart races. “Do you want to try?”
Leo nods and grabs a snowman cookie and a piping bag of black frosting, looking determined in the most endearing way.
He starts confidently enough – two neat dots for eyes, a curved line for the smile. Then comes carrot nose: an ambitious orange line that immediately blobs into something more… abstract.
The buttons follow – three dots that end up in different sizes, one sliding down the belly like it’s melting.
But it’s so cute.
Imperfect and imperfect yet somehow the most charming snowman on the table because Leo made it.
Leo holds it up at arm’s length, tilting his head to examine his creation, then bursts out into laughter.
“Okay, yeah,” Leo says, cheeks pink. “That’s bad.”
“It’s cute!” Sangwon blurts out.
Leo’s smile grows wide and mumbles a soft and surprised “Thanks.”
Sangwon’s mouth opens again – ready to blabber on about how the wonky carrot nose is actually charming, how the uneven buttons give it personality, how it’s the best snowman on the table because Leo made it – when, from the corner of his eye, he spots a small, sneaky hand reaching toward Leo’s cookie.
A determined four year old with icing on her cheeks is making a bold move.
Sangwon reacts on pure instinct.
He’s an adult.
He has long arms.
He’s faster.
He swipes Leo’s cookie right off the table before the kid can grab it, sliding it safely out of tiny-finger range.
“Here, kid,” he says quickly, forcing a bright, innocent smile as he nudges one of his own piped snowmen toward the child. “Take this one instead! It’s got a hat and everything.”
The kid blinks and then grins, happily accepting Sangwon’s snowman.
Sangwon exhales in quiet relief.
Yes, he just stole a cookie from a child but it’s not just any cookie.
It’s Leo’s cookie.
Leo’s messy, adorable, one-of-a-kind snowman.
That’s different.
Totally worth stealing from a kid.
Leo watches the whole thing with growing amusement, lips pressed together like he’s holding back from laughing.
“You didn’t have to save it,” he says with a big grin. “I would’ve let the kid have it.”
Sangwon clutches the cookie protectively against his apron, trying – and failing – to play it cool. “This one’s… special.”
Leo’s smile turns softer, almost shy, eyes flickering from the cookie to Sangwon’s face.
“Yeah?”
Sangwon nods, throat suddenly dry.
He needs an escape. Fast.
“Uh– bathroom break!” he mutters, already backing away, cookie still gripped in his hand. Totally smooth. Zero suspicion.
Sangwon flees to the back kitchen like his life depends on it.
The second the swinging door closes, he leans against the fridge, heart pounding. He carefully unwraps a sheet of plastic wrap, wraps the cookie and grabs a sharpie and a sticky label: DO NOT EAT – SANGWON’S.
He opens the fridge, tucks it safely on the top shelf and then stares at it for a second, smiles like an absolute idiot.
He’s keeping Leo’s cookie.
Forever.
After the cookie-decorating portion of the event ends, it’s finally time for the main event: photos with Santa.
Leo disappears into the back for a few minutes.
Sangwon busies himself wiping down a table that’s already clean, trying to look normal, trying not to think about what’s coming.
Then the door swings open and Leo comes out in the Santa Claus outfit.
Red velvet suit, fluffy white trim, black polished boots, wide belt buckled tight. The floppy hat sits just right on his dark hair and there’s a full white beard.
He looks…ridiculously, unfairly, heart-exploding, super-duper, ultra cute.
Sangwon stops completely and he clasps his hands together and silently thanks the universe, Junseo hyung (kinda, for organizing this), the cafe for hosting the cafe and whoever invented Santa suits for letting him witness this moment in the flesh.
Leo catches his stare almost immediately and Sangwon immediately drops his hands down and pretends to be wiping the table again.
He adjusts the hat with a little tug, cheeks growing rosy, and gives a small wave.
Sangwon waves back before aggressively wiping the table again, scrubbing the same spot with way more force than necessary because if he doesn’t distract himself, his brain and heart will literally explode from cuteness overload.
Anxin, who had volunteered to help take photos, slides up beside Sangwon with his camera slung around his neck.
He snickers and elbows him lightly in the ribs. “You should line up with the kids.”
Sangwon splutters. “Nah, I’m good. I’m staff. Adult. Very mature. I don’t need a photo with Santa.”
Anxin raises an eyebrow, grin widening. “Come on.”
“I’m literally working–”
Too late.
A couple of kids overhear and immediately latch onto the idea like it’s the best thing ever since extra sprinkles.
They grab both his hands with sticky, determined little fingers.
“Sangwon hyung! Come sit with Santa!” “You have to!’
And because Sangwon is, at his core, a total pushover – especially when faced with six kids beaming up at him with hopeful eyes – he folds.
“Fine,” he mutters, cheeks already burning. “Just one quick photo.”
Sangwon shuffles into line behind the last child, trying to look casual while his heart flutters.
One by one, the kids climb onto Leo’s lap, whisper their Christmas in hushed, serious tones and pose with giant, toothy smiles.
Leo is perfect – gentle voice, patient, laughing softly at every ridiculous and endearing wish.
Sangwon watches from the line, trying not to stare too obviously.
He fails.
Finally, the last kid hops down and it’s his turn.
Leo looks up from the big arm chair, eyes crinkling, the red suit making him look like the coziest, most adorable Santa in existence.
“Come here,” Leo says as he pats his knee once like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Sangwon nearly combusts on the spot.
His brain shuts down completely. Legs move on autopilot. Dignity? Gone. He’s twenty-two years old and about to sit on Santa’s lap in front of children, volunteers, his manager and Anxin’s very active camera.
He lowers himself carefully onto Leo’s lap, perching more than sitting, back straight, hands clasped tightly on his own lap.
Leo’s arm comes around his waist and Sangwon forgets how breathing works.
It’s not bad.
Actually, it’s great.
Sitting on Leo’s lap? 10/10. Warm. solid. Smells faintly like vanilla and pine. Would recommend.
What makes things worse are the kids giggling in the background and Anxin circling them and taking way more photos than the standard two or three, crouching down for low angles, standing on tiptoes for high ones, directing like a pro.
“Big smiles! Tilt your head a little– perfect! One more!”
Sangwon’s face is already on fire.
Leo leans in just a fraction, “What do you want for Christmas this year?”
Sangwon’s brain offers zero helpful suggestions.
All he can process: Leo’s arm. Leo’s voice. Leo’s everything.
He panics.
“I’m… I’m good,” he mumbles.
The cafe goes suspiciously quiet for a second and Sangwon wants to cry.
Why didn’t his brain come up with something normal? A new apron? World peace? A winning lottery ticket?
Everyone is staring at him.
He scrambles off Leo’s lap in the least graceful exit possible – knees knocking, hands flailing, nearly tripping over his own feet.
“Thanks, Santa,” he strangles out, voice squeaky and mortified, before speed walking toward the safety of the pastry case.
The evening is great so far.
He didn’t just publicly embarrass himself in front of children, volunteers, his manager and, most important, Leo.
Amazing.
The event winds down, kids bundled up in coats and scarves, led out by happy parents clutching printed photos and bags of decorated cookies. The cafe slowly empties until it’s just the volunteers stacking chairs, wiping down tables and sweeping the sprinkles on the floor.
Sangwon volunteers (obviously) to help close up which means he and Leo end up being the last two turning off lights and locking the door.
It’s quiet now with the low hum of the fridge in the back, the faint scent of sugar cookies and vanilla still lingering in the air like a sweet memory. The Christmas music has been turned off, leaving only the soft patter of snow against the windows.
They’re wiping the front counter side by side when Leo glances over, casual as anything.
“So, do you have your wish yet?”
Sangwon pauses mid-wipe, rag clutched in his hand.
There’s alot of things he could wish for – better sleep, fewer group assignments, maybe a pay raise – but right now, on the top of his mind, is just going home, collapsing on his head and replaying every single embarrassing moment of the day until he passes out.
He can’t exactly say that.
So he goes with the truth that’s been quietly lingering in the back of his mind since the library session.
“...an iced matcha with oat milk, two pumps of brown sugar, light ice and whipped cream on top:”
Call him childish but he’s still sulky over the fact that Arno got his exact order while Sangwon got a safe, generic latte.
Leo’s lips curve into a slow smile that makes Sangwon’s stomach flip.
“Anything else?”
Sangwon lets out a shy, nervous laugh, cheeks warm. “I thought Santa only gave one present per person.”
“That’s true,” Leo laughs as he leans against the counter now, closer than before .His voice drops just a little, warm and teasing. “Would you give me a gift too?”
His heart stops.
Then starts again – full somersaults, cartwheels, an entire Olympic gymnastics routine inside his chest.
Sangwon nods, small and breathless. “Yeah.”
Leo’s smile grows slowly, “how about a date?”
Sangwon’s heart launches into a standing ovation – cheers, claps, fireworks finale, the whole dramatic show.
“Yes!” It bursts out louder than intended, eager and bright. He winces immediately, “I mean– yes. Definitely. Please and thank you.”
Leo’s grin is huge now – relieved, happy, a little shy himself, the tips of his ears pink. “Cool.”
He pauses, then adds, almost too casually, “I’ll pay. Since I heard about your cookie promotion accident.”
Sangwon freezes. Then he groans, dropping his forehead to the counter with a soft thud.
“Oh my god…” he mutters into the surface, voice muffled and mortified. “Who told you?”
Leo doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Geonwoo,” he says cheerfully. “And Junseo. And Xinlong. Pretty much everyone.”
Sangwon lifts his head just enough to peek through his bangs, glaring weakly. “I’m never living that down. Ever.”
Leo reaches over and brushes a stray bit of flour from Sangwon’s sleeve, his fingers lingering for a second.
“It was cute though,” Leo says, grin softening into something warmer. “Really cute.”
“Yeah?” He asks, voice quieter.
“Yeah,” Leo confirms, like the answer is obvious.
“But I’m poor now,” Sangwon adds, the memory of his empty wallet still fresh in his mind.
Leo laughs again.
“So I’ll pay,” he says, tilting his head with a soft, playful smile. “For the next few dates.”
Sangwon’s breath hitches.
Dates.
Plural.
He tries to play it cool but his smile gives him away completely.
“Okay,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Deal.”
They stand there for a moment, just smiling at each other in the quiet cafe.
Leo pushes off the counter. “Come on. Let’s lock up.”
Sangwon nods, heart full and light.
The cafe goes dark except for the soft glow from the streetlamps outside and the faint twinkle of Christmas lights still strung along the window.
Then, Leo offers his hand and Sangwon takes it without hesitation. Their fingers lace together and Leo gives a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over Sangwon’s knuckles.
Sangwon smiles to himself, heart so full it almost hurts.
Because, wow – the rumors about Bound in One were right after all.
Walk in here and you’ll meet your fated person.
Technically, he didn’t walk in – he’s been here pretty much every day – but through fake promotions that bankrupted him, doodled cats on to-go cups, messy snowman cookies, one very mortifying Santa lap incident and a whole lot of hopeless pining…
He found his soulmate.