Work Text:
In a quiet city alley, where the asphalt was always slightly warmer than elsewhere and the wind seemed to know when to whisper, there was a small confectionery shop with a sign that read "The Last Prince."
The sign was old but well-maintained — they don't change these for years because people get used to them, like a good bedtime story. The letters were slightly faded, but this only made them more familiar, and the painted crown seemed not a symbol of power, but something almost homely, as if it had been painted in the evening, by lamplight, between other tasks.
It was warm inside. Not just warm — cosy, like in cartoons, where even the walls listen and smile. The floorboards sighed quietly underfoot, the shop window glistened with glass, and the air was filled with the smells of vanilla, sugar and fresh dough — smells that don't make your head spin, but lull you to sleep. The cakes stood in neat rows, each with its own character: one was important, another was shy, and a third clearly dreamed of being the centrepiece at someone's celebration.
And now, for the third, maybe even fourth day in a row, the door of this pastry shop opened and Caelus walked in.
He came at almost the same time. At first by chance, then as if out of habit. And every time he said the same thing:
"I need a cake... for a celebration."
These celebrations were different. Sometimes it was an anniversary, which he spoke of too vaguely. Sometimes it was a small celebration that seemed to exist only in his head. Then there was the occasion that he himself immediately forgot to explain fully.
But the truth was not in them.
The truth was on the other side of the shop window.
He didn't go there for the cakes, no.
He went there for another reason.
Behind the counter was always Mydei — the owner, confectioner and, as soon became clear, the main attraction of "The Last Prince." His hair was always slightly tousled, as if he had just been distracted from something important. His face was calm and focused, with the expression of a man who knows what he is doing and does it well. His eyes were attentive and warm, as if they saw not only the customers but also their thoughts.
And his hands... his hands were like those of a master craftsman: confident, precise, with a thin layer of flour or cream, as if traces of work he was not ashamed of. Tattoos stretched across his skin, catching the gaze of strangers, forcing them to stop and take a closer look.
The sight of the pastry chef captivated Kelus, although, to be honest, his original plan was much bolder.
He was going to make this handsome man fall in love with him.
Because Mydei was too good.
And to let him go would mean giving him to someone else. Caelus was not going to allow that. No way. That was not why he came up with holidays, chose cakes, and lingered at the shop window longer than necessary.
Caelus always looked at him a little longer than politeness allowed. Involuntarily, though. He looked unconsciously: lingering longer than necessary, forgetting to blink, following his every movement. First at his hair, then at his face, and then he caught himself watching how Mydei bent over, how he adjusted his apron, how he concentrated on reading his order, how he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, how he leaned over the cake, how he wiped his hands with a towel. Sometimes Caelus caught himself smiling, and immediately put on a serious face, as if he had been caught doing something shameful. And each time Caelus looked away with a slight feeling of guilt, as if he had been caught reading someone else's letter.
"What's the occasion this time?" Mydei asked once, looking up and smiling slightly.
"A small one," Caelus replied. "A personal one."
He walked over to the display case, slowly examining the cakes. His gaze slid over the cream patterns, the berries, the chocolate swirls. He was really trying hard, as if he were choosing the most important cake of his life. He leaned closer, thought for a moment, and even sighed.
"This one is too bright..." he muttered. "And this one... too solemn."
He turned to Mydei, a little embarrassed:
"What do you think?"
Mydei came closer, leaned his hands on the edge of the display case and replied as if he really wanted to help with the choice.
"If it's a quiet celebration," he said, "it's better to choose something simple, but with a good filling, so that the taste doesn't reveal itself immediately."
Caelus nodded.
He always nodded too attentively.
Because in those moments, he wasn't just looking at the cakes. He was looking at how Mydei spoke, how he smiled slightly, how he leaned forward. He looked at his hair, his eyes, the movements of his hands — and each time he pretended to be simply lost in thought.
And then he would leave with the box in his hands and a smile that he hid too late.
And on his way home, he didn't think about the cake, or even about the holiday, which once again existed only in words. He thought that tomorrow or the day after tomorrow he would definitely come up with a new reason.
Not three days passed, nor four.
A week passed, then another.
And if anyone had decided to set a clock to Caelus's footsteps, its hands would have unerringly pointed to the door of The Last Prince confectionery.
He came every day.
Without fail. Without being late. With such precision, as if he were afraid that if he missed even a minute, something important would happen without him. Sometimes he walked faster than usual, sometimes slower, thinking about what holiday to invent this time.
The door jingled with a bell, and in two weeks, this sound became so familiar that it became part of the confectionery's life, like the creaking of floorboards or the smell of vanilla in the morning.
Caelus stood at the display case and pretended to be choosing.
And, as one could already understand, he was not choosing a cake at all.
His gaze always fell on Mydei, which seemed like an eternity that always ended at the most inopportune moment.
But even so, he left satisfied again, happy again.
And he returned again the next day.
Of course, Mydei noticed this.
He noticed everything.
The glances that slid over him, cautiously but persistently. The way Caelus always stood by the window on the side where he could be seen best. The way he perked up as soon as he heard a voice, or fidgeted when asked what holiday it was today.
And every time, Mydei caught himself thinking that these holidays were very strange. Some had no name, others sounded as if they had been invented on the spot, and still others made one wonder whether something that existed only in one heart could be called a holiday. And yet Caelus spoke of them with such seriousness that Mydei did not dare to doubt him.
He did not show it, a habit of a master who knows how to keep a straight face. But inside, a quiet curiosity had long since taken root.
Sometimes Mydei himself would start the conversation. Just like that, as if in passing, to test and confirm his guesses.
"Did you like the last cake?"
"Would you like to try something new?"
"You often choose similar flavours."
And every time, Caelus reacted the same way: he straightened up and began to speak faster, more animatedly, as if these words were exactly what he had been waiting for all day. His eyes lit up, his movements became more confident, and his voice became more cheerful.
A few days later, he began to take notes.
It wasn't intentional, it just happened that way.
The first time, he marked the holiday almost mechanically.
He took a pencil, opened a small calendar, and carefully wrote the date, followed by a short phrase:
"Special day."
He looked at the entry and thought quietly to himself:
«What a strange young man.»
But this thought was neither judgemental nor mocking. It was more like surprise, as happens when you meet someone who lives by rules you don't know.
From that day on, Mydei began to celebrate Caelus holidays regularly. Entries appeared in the calendar:
"Little anniversary" — anniversary of what?
"Just a good day" — a holiday? Questionable.
"Almost a holiday" — ???
Sometimes Mydei did not understand where such names came from and thought that the young man must have a rare gift — the ability to find a reason for joy where others pass by.
The entries were neat, with dates and short comments. Mydei himself sometimes looked at them with a slight smile, as if leafing through someone else's handwritten diary.
Weeks and months passed, almost a year went by.
Over time, he stopped asking:
"What holiday is it today?"
Not because he no longer cared, but because Caelus came so regularly that his arrival itself became a holiday, albeit one without a name.
Mydei got used to seeing him at the doorstep. He got used to the ringing of the bell, to the way the young man paused for a moment, as if afraid to break the silence. He was also used to his gaze — attentive, lingering, but not bold.
He understood. Probably.
He wasn't stupid, no. He had long understood that it wasn't just about the sweets. Although, to be honest, he preferred to think otherwise.
«He probably liked my cakes.»
And that explanation seemed the most reasonable.
He knew which cakes to offer without asking.
Honey cake — well-soaked, soft, as if it had absorbed patience and time.
The chocolate and cherry cake — with a slight bitterness, as a reminder that sweetness is more appreciated when there is a shadow next to it.
Or the nut cake — generous, without stinginess, because Caelus loved it when the taste was rich and honest.
He also knew what the young man did not like: excessive cream, shortbread cakes that crumble too easily. This knowledge did not come immediately, but Mydei accepted it as one accepts the weather or the change from day to night.
Sometimes, leafing through the calendar late at night, he would pause and stare at the dates for a long time. The whole year was filled with foreign holidays — strange, inexplicable, but persistent. And in such moments, a thought would come to him, which he immediately dismissed as untimely:
«What if it's not about the cakes at all?»
But Mydei closed the calendar, turned off the light, and told himself that there must be a simple explanation for everything. After all, it was easier to live that way.
It was easier to believe that people simply liked his cakes very much. That someone liked them so much that it was worth coming in every day for them. This thought was safe, cosy, almost like the bakery itself.
And as for the looks...
So what if people looked?
People look. It's normal.
Only sometimes, late in the evening, when the bakery was empty and the smell of sugar and dough still lingered in the air, Mydei would close the calendar, turn off the lights, and suddenly find himself waiting for tomorrow.
Waiting for the familiar ring of the bell, waiting for another holiday, which might not be a holiday at all.
A year passed.
Not immediately, not noticeably — it did not march by, but quietly settled between days, like powdered sugar on warm pastries. And over the course of that year, Mydei changed, although he did not immediately understand when exactly it happened.
At first, he was simply waiting for a regular customer. That was how he explained it to himself. He waited because he was used to it. Because good customers are rare, and they are treated with care. But gradually, the waiting began to stretch like a thin thread through the day. He caught himself glancing at his watch, listening to the street, distinguishing footsteps behind the door, as if he could recognise them among hundreds.
When the bell rang, Mydei raised his head before he realised it. And when Caelus appeared in the doorway, something inside him shifted gently — not sharply, not painfully, but as if a curtain had been moved by a draught. He smiled involuntarily, and the smile appeared before thought, before caution, before all the explanations he later found for himself.
He told himself:
I just enjoy the attention.
I like being looked at.
It doesn't matter.
But Caelus's gaze was special. It did not contain the usual fleeting assessment, there was no demand, no boredom. He looked as if he saw Mydei as a whole — not just her hands in flour and her apron, not just her face and voice, but something deeper that usually remains hidden behind the counter. And this gaze made her want not to pull away, but, on the contrary, to stay under it a little longer.
Sometimes she caught herself thinking a strange thought:
«What if he really sees something more in me than just a baker?»
And immediately dismissed it as inappropriate. After all, that would be too much.
And yet he began to prepare for his arrival in advance. He chose flavours not by calculation, but by intuition. He thought about what Caelus hadn't tried yet, but what he should like. He rejoiced at this thought — rejoiced almost childishly, ashamed of it. He was warmed by the very possibility of guessing right, hitting the mark, doing something that would bring that very smile and brief sparkle to his eyes.
Caelus, on the other hand, lived in constant inner turmoil.
Every visit to the confectionery began with excitement, which he tried to hide under a guise of calm. His heart beat faster, his breathing became slightly uneven, and he scolded himself for it. After all, he had come with an intention, with a plan. He had to charm, act, play the game.
But as soon as Mydei looked up at him and smiled, all his carefully prepared thoughts scattered.
Inside Caelus, a joy flared up, almost painful in its intensity.
«He recognised me.»
«He's happy to see me.»
«He's smiling at me.»
Sometimes this feeling became so strong that he wanted to laugh, talk too much, confess everything at once. At such moments, he almost believed:
«He's in love, I can see it, I can see it, it's impossible to hide.»
And then doubt would come — cold, sobering.
«No, he's just being polite.»
«He's just a good person.»
«I'm just a customer to him.»
These thoughts brought him back down to earth. He took the cake carefully, as if afraid of scaring away something fragile, and was glad that at least he had become someone recognisable to Mydei. Someone who is not confused with anyone else, who is remembered, who is advised without unnecessary questions.
Sometimes his own situation annoyed him. It annoyed him that everything had not gone according to plan. That instead of a light flirtation and a confident game, he found himself drawn into a feeling he did not know how to defend himself against. The thought that he himself had been charmed hurt his pride, but he could not get rid of it.
Meanwhile, Mydei continued to convince herself of the simplest explanation
«He's just like everyone else.»
«If he likes my cakes, and maybe my appearance too, it doesn't mean anything.»
And yet, every evening, when he closed the bakery, he caught himself thinking about Caelus. About his voice, about how he stood at the window, how he lingered with his gaze. These thoughts were not intrusive, almost affectionate, and therefore even more frightening.
They both lived in this tension, not daring to take a step. Each was sure that the feeling was one-sided, each was afraid of hearing a refusal or, even worse, of destroying the fragile thing that already existed between them, or, what was not there, just politeness.
So they continued to meet day after day.
Smiling, silent, and loving — each alone, unaware that there had long been no distance between them.
The day was surprisingly quiet — something that only happens before New Year's Eve, when the city seems to hold its breath. The snow lay evenly, without fuss, the shop windows glowed more softly than usual, and even the footsteps of passers-by seemed cautious, as if no one wanted to scare away the last hours of the passing year.
Caelus walked slowly to the pastry shop. Not because he had nowhere to rush to — on the contrary, inside he was drawn forward, to the familiar door, to the bell, to the voice. It was just that today his steps were heavier. New Year's Eve always weighed on him with a strange feeling: he didn't like to take stock, and he was afraid to change anything. And yet he knew why he was going.
«Today I can just buy a cake for New Year's Eve, finally I won't have to come up with anything.»
Mydei noticed him from afar.
He was standing behind the counter, wiping the glass of the display case, when he saw a familiar figure through the glass. His heart, already accustomed to this sight, responded with a gentle push — calm, warm, almost homely. He smiled even before Caelus opened the door, and only then remembered the calendar.
Thin and worn from a year of use, it lay open nearby.
Mydei glanced at it and suddenly stopped. His eyebrows knitted together slightly, and his gaze lingered on today's date.
«Festival of Last-Minute Changes»
He reread the line again, then again.
It was... strange, even by Caelus's standards. On the eve of the New Year, the very idea of celebrating something else seemed unnecessary. After all, the change of the year was ahead, a clean slate, and wasn't that enough?
Once, in the beginning, Mydei would have just smiled at the absurdity or shaken his head. But now he just exhaled quietly, accustomed to this guy's oddities.
«Of course», he thought. «Why not?»
He was already used to it. Over the course of a year, these entries had ceased to surprise him as they once did. They had become part of his schedule, as natural as Caelus's arrival, as his gaze, as his usual tastes.
And so Mydei did not hesitate.
He had prepared the cake in advance. Chocolate and cherry — rich, dark, with a subtle tartness, with the very balance that Caelus loved. He placed the box nearby, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The bell rang.
Caelus entered, inhaled the familiar aroma — and immediately felt the tension of the day ease slightly. He had already opened his mouth to say the usual, prepared words:
"I'd like a chocolate cherry cake..."
"Here's your cake," Mydei said calmly, not letting him finish, and pushed the box closer. "For your festival. Bon appétit."
The words hung in the air.
Caelus froze, blinked a couple of times and looked at the box, then at Mydei.
A second passed, then another. His face gradually filled with confusion, as if he had missed an important line in a conversation that had taken place without him.
"I'm sorry," he finally said quietly. "What festival?"
Mydei tilted his head slightly, looking at him intently. There was no mockery or reproach in his voice, only the calm confidence of a man who was sure of his notes.
"Today," he said, "you have 'The Festival of Last-Minute Changes', that's what it says here."
Caelus felt his fingertips grow cold.
He tried feverishly to remember, going over in his mind the thoughts, words, and jokes he might have said over the past year. Maybe in passing? Maybe in my sleep? He never thought that Mydei would actually... remember. Let alone write it down and prepare for his arrival.
The realisation dawned on him slowly but inevitably.
His cheeks immediately flushed, and his heart sank somewhere deep inside him and then jumped back up again.
"I..." He faltered, looking down in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I seem to have... forgotten. I didn't think you... that it was..."
He smiled awkwardly, feeling caught out about something very personal.
"I didn't think you celebrated it."
Mydei just shrugged gently.
"I'm used to it," he replied simply.
For some reason, those words sounded louder than any confession.
Caelus nodded quickly, paid, trying not to hold his gaze, as if afraid of giving himself away completely. He took the box with both hands, carefully, almost tenderly, and headed for the exit.
At the door, he paused for a moment, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. The bell rang again, and the cold air of the street closed behind him.
Mydei remained standing behind the counter, staring at the closed door.
Caelus walked slowly down the street, almost feeling his way, as if the city had suddenly become unfamiliar and demanded caution. The box with the cake was warm and heavy, pressed against his chest, and for some reason this feeling grounded him, preventing him from completely drowning in his own thoughts. The snow crunched quietly under his feet, the lights in the shop windows blurred, and the air was filled with pre-New Year's anticipation.
He thought about Mydei.
His thoughts did not follow a straight line; they got tangled up, went back, clung to each other. He replayed the moment over and over in his head when Mydei, without even letting him finish, simply said:
"Here's your cake."
He didn't ask what kind, didn't specify what it was for.
"He started a calendar", Caelus said slowly, ignoring the people walking by. "A real calendar..."
«And he wrote down... my made-up holidays.»
All these holidays: silly, made-up, said on the spur of the moment. Phrases that he himself sometimes forgot the next day. And Mydei, a busy, mature, intelligent man, found meaning in them. He wrote down the dates, remembered the names, prepared for them.
Caelus grimaced, as if the thought was too vivid.
"A sane person wouldn't do that," he said to himself. "They just wouldn't."
And then something inside him trembled. Because if that was true, there were too few explanations left. He tried to find another: professional courtesy, a strange habit, excessive responsibility. But they all fell apart when he remembered Mydei's gaze, his calmness, his smile — not a perfunctory, rehearsed one, but a warm, genuine one.
He didn't have to remember.
He didn't have to prepare in advance.
He didn't have to pay attention to it at all.
And yet he did.
Caelus felt his heart begin to beat faster, and he didn't like himself for it. He had always considered himself cautious, able to keep his feelings under control. He had come there with a purpose, he had wanted to control the situation, and now it suddenly turned out that the situation had long since taken on a life of its own.
«What if he really...»
The thought broke off on its own, unwilling to be named.
Caelus stopped, exhaled, and looked at the box in his hands. Only now did he notice that there was something under the lid, between the cardboard and the tape.
A small business card.
He took it out, and his fingers trembled for a second — just a little, but enough for him to notice. The card was simple, neat, without frills. A name and a phone number, not like a typical bakery card, and the number was completely different.
And below — a line written by hand.
«Next time, just call if you want a cake. Preferably with your home address, so I can see how a sweet tooth lives.»
Caelus read it once. Then twice, then three times.
The city around him seemed to fall silent. The noise, footsteps, voices — everything receded into the distance, leaving him alone in the middle of the street with this little piece of cardboard and a cake in his hands. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.
Call.
With your home address.
So I can see how you live.
This was no longer just politeness, no longer a favour, it was an invitation — cautious, veiled, but too personal to pretend it meant nothing.
Caelus felt his cheeks flush again. His thoughts were completely confused. He didn't know whether to laugh or run, to be happy or scared. There wasn't a single clear, calm thought left in his head.
He clutched the business card in his fingers as if afraid it would disappear.
And at that moment, he realised: Mydei had taken the first step towards getting closer to him.
The step that Caelus himself had been afraid to take.
Of course, he was happy, but now there was no helping his heart.
The cardboard had already begun to soften slightly from the melting snow, and the ribbon, tied in a careless bow, fluttered in the wind. Meanwhile, the business card itself seemed unchanged. A small rectangle of thick paper. Nothing special: a name, a phone number, neat handwriting. But for Caelus, it meant more than the whole damn cake. He shifted it from finger to finger, awkwardly, slowly, because his fingers didn't obey him well. Sometimes the card slipped out, and he caught it frantically, as if afraid that if it fell into the snow, that would be the end. The ink would smudge and he wouldn't be able to make out the numbers, which were his last reason for joy.
He could have just walked home now, called in peace and quiet, in a calm environment, but he wasn't the kind of person who would do something after thinking it through carefully. Even if he did, it would be foolish. Another cake would be superfluous, and a phone call would be intrusive; people don't like it when they get calls for no reason. Especially people like him, especially in such cold weather, and especially with a trembling heart that felt like it was pounding somewhere in his throat.
Caelus looked at the phone screen. He had already unlocked it several times, already opened the dialer, already stopped at the last digit — and each time his finger froze. It seemed that between this press and his entire future life lay a thin, icy crack. Take a step, and you would either fall through or suddenly find yourself on the other side of the cold.
The wind picked up. The cold crept under his collar, slid down his neck, making him shiver. He sucked in his breath sharply, exhaled almost angrily, and finally made up his mind. His fingers, barely feeling the glass of the screen, began to nervously dial the number again, as if his hand would refuse to obey him again if he thought too long.
A dial tone.
Another one.
The call was answered almost immediately.
Mydei knew who was calling even before he heard the name. Only a few people knew his number. He rarely gave it out, as if he were sharing something personal, almost intimate. And now — the unfamiliar but all too familiar rhythm of the ring, the strange pause before the person spoke. Yes, it could only be Caelus.
"Hello?" Mydei's voice was calm, warm, not at all wintery.
Caelus swallowed. The words were stuck somewhere between his frozen lips and his constricted breath. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled — not only from the cold.
"This is... this is Caelus," he exhaled the name as if apologising for it. "I'm sorry for calling just 10 minutes after I visited you. I wanted..." He paused, gathering the last of his courage. "I wanted to order another cake."
There was a brief, attentive silence on the other end of the line. It wasn't heavy — more interested. Caelus hurried to continue, afraid that if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to go on.
"Only... not like last time. This one is in honour of the New Year. And..." He smiled awkwardly, although Midey couldn't see it. "And in honour of a new acquaintance."
Mydei laughed softly, deliberately moving the phone away from his mouth so that the caller couldn't hear him. Suddenly Caelus might think they were laughing at him, although they were most likely laughing because of the situation.
"All right, it will be done," he said calmly. "Address?"
Now the celebration was real. And there was no longer any need to come up with a new reason to buy a cake.